Post 403: My bum’s sore from keeping in the shade.
If there’s one thing that my Darling can’t stand it’s the heat. Born in the frozen tundra an hour west of Dublin, her 40 years living in the temperate zone down South you’d have thought she’d come to terms with the sunshine by now, but no she hasn’t.
So in view of being the supportive hubby that I am, I ferreted through the possibilities of psychological thrillers and especially foreign procedural types that we like the best on the masses of TV channels. A scandi thriller is hard to beat but we’ve waded and watched so many we have little to choose from these days.
But an old Polish thriller I’d watched years ago, that my Darling obviously hadn’t, took my eye and gave us a good enough reason to wade through the Mire all day.
Mire was the title of the story and was a 3 series story that I’d only watched the 1st series of, so I sat beside her while she waded through the mire and got up to speed with the characters.
This meant I could swan off to other things like insurance company claims, when the fancy took me.
You know, we’ve rarely claimed for anything. Yes really.I would add to that that we are naive too.
It was only at the weekend that I had thought about critical illness cover on the life insurance policy’s we have and I in particular might be able to take advantage of. That’s what’s it’s there for isn’t it?
In view of this revelation, and due to my medical circumstances I find myself in, I thought it quite right that I call the huge insurance company I’m with to get an idea of what is what. What’s the harm in that.
All our lives we’ve never claimed for any damage inside the house, for anything. Not a sausage have we had off the companies we’ve paid into all our lives, all these years. Why you may ask?
I don’t know is the answer to that one.
Other people claimed for things. I was brought up in a naive household where Dad was an old school guy in an old school job. Being a postman, the lads he worked with all had the safety at work with the unions. The post office unions in their day were a marvellous protection from the outside world and its ways. But I’ll not get into that old chestnut.
So he was not the modern man he could have been if he had either confidence or education. So when he was heading to retirement at the ripe old age of 60 he was interviewed by the Daily Mail who through the Post office had him picked for a financial article in money Mail about what you might expect when you retire.
I’ve still got the article somewhere and for a while he was called Mr Average in town but as he was a simple fellow both naive and somewhat stupid in the ways of the world of love, life and commerce he didn’t seem like Mr Average to me.
He was divorced and is eldest son (me) was chipping in with the mortgage just so we could stay in our home post divorce. Mr Average, I don’t think so. I wish.
It was just because he’d have a full pension at 60 and chose to apply for yearly contracts after that up to the age of 65 then he’d be gone.
He owned a step through 90cc motorbike, and in motorbike terms was barely a motorbike at all. All my mates dads had cars for their main transportation, probably two cars, his and her cars. Nobody rode a bike. Everyone had a car. This wasn’t the 1940’s.
He had no wife and no car and a solid pension that the big cigar smoking guys like Maxwell couldn’t pillage, hardly the Mr Average we knew and aspired to be.
Even from a financial standpoint a guy who used the train for a holiday down to Barry, South Wales isn’t going to break the bank in new age times of the package holiday boom.
Oh dear, what was I on about to get me here. Tut tut!
Claiming on insurance is where we were, but I’m glad I’ve got that off my chest.
So my uni parent co- owner of this home we lived in, to my knowledge, never claimed for anything and frowned upon claiming. That’s what beggars do, the poor people. I think he looked down upon some people in a classic tale of being fooled and kept in his place by insane attitudes.
I grew up differently.
I’m not mr Average, I’m Mr Unremarkable.
Oh bugger, have I been going in a circle right back to where I belong. Maybe I’ve not escaped the life my Dad had.
Anyway the other huge insurance company only wanted to know who my Drs were for GP and Oncology and that’s it and all about it to start with. The rest would be done by the powers that be after careful deliberation.
So it wasn’t long that I was back in the Mire, catching up on series two.
It’s well worth it, I can vouch for it.
So after a good few swigs of oramorph I’ve continued with the pain free existence, out of the pain-suit I was wearing early last week. The only problem is that I’m dropping off all the time. I haven’t the faintest clue of where the stories at to be honest.
In a month it’ll be time for another three monthly checkup and I’ll be asking for some more AS. Active Surveillance is good for me.
So it’s goodbye from Mr U and goodbye from me.
Sleep well
Take care
