A weekend recuperating

Thanks to Natwest’s helpfulness, I lost my shit Thursday afternoon. And I know exactly where I lost it, too, in their ears! And as I’ve grown accustomed, losing my shit this way finds me a vertigo migraine.

Oh, the joys!

I’d rather not lose my shit in the first place, but it can’t be helped when with a very strict 3-strike rule.

I request.

I ask again.

Vertigo migraine.

And all avoidable if people listened to me the 1st or 2nd time around, but they don’t. They only want to listen on the 3rd. The 3rd is KABOOM! I wonder if that has something to do with it….

I spent Thursday evening wading through shit — after it explodes, it pours. Not very pleasant. At least it felt like wading. Everything was very difficult. Not helped by the drilling behind my left eye, which is a new development.

All Friday I couldn’t walk straight. I’d head off somewhere and end up where I started. Neat circle. To get to the place I intended I used an office chair as a zimmer frame. Very tiring. Proper rotten. Even my knees ached! (I suspect from compensating.)

And all this could’ve been avoided if Natwest had just don their job and got my money back. Of course, had I not spent the money in the first place… but I’m not here to dwell on the past.

Come Friday evening, I was done. My weekend 100% decided. It was going to start with a lie-in on Saturday morning. Oh, how I imagined up bliss. My eyes closed — asleep! Sheer amazing.

Well, it was going well until mystical bells woke me at 5:38. I silenced them and still don’t know their origin.

Roughly an hour later, something outside was being murdered. I think it was the cantankerous bird that squarks with such hate. Vile thing. You can guarantee, it’s not the one that’s been killed.

At around 7, my upstairs neighbour got dropped home from work in a big grumbling transit.

By 7:30, my bladder wanted in on the action.

Since I was technically awake at 8 I decided to get the tablet, return to bed, and watch a doomsday documentary on H2 with my eyes closed.

It was about a big asteroid that so happened to strike in the exact same spot as that one, 60 million years ago, that killed the dinosaurs.

What are the chances?

And let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty.

People within 200-miles were incinerated.

Earthquakes ripped away causing utter havoc.

Huge tsunamis wiped out cities like matchsticks.

So much rock was vaporised that it travelled the world and blocked out the sun. Plants died. Animals died. Everything died, except rodents. And turtles, for some reason. 

When the sun returned about a year later the ozone layer was gone. For the scant few humans alive, outside was hostile and there was no Netflix.

The closing credits sounded very familiar:

Rather abstract, I thought, until I realised it was my ringtone.

Unknown number.

I answered.

It was Natwest ending my lie-in once and for all.

I got up, got dressed, and paced so as to better speak with Amy from the complaints department.

My first reaction was shock because someone from Natwest had actually said they were going to be, and actually were, helpful. She called back! For this alone, I needed a sit-down but I was pacing.

That money for that paddle board that was a ladybird will be back in my account within 3 days, no need for that unnecessary additional evidence. This money will meet £10.80 added for all the many call minutes used, and join £20 goodwill gesture.

Can’t really moan, other than they should’ve done their job in the first place.

Amy said to me, amid the apology, that Natwest had only been following Visas rules regarding claiming back the money. All the little hoops they imposed were Visas. It’s strange, then, how Barclays dodge these.

She wished to carry on talking for a little while — I need to understand, after all — but who gives a shit? I’m leaving. I say this and I mean it. It’s just a case of doing it now.

With Saturday beginning a littler earlier than anticipated, I got out an about. I had a grand plan of walking into town but that was a little too ambitious. I popped to see Jackie and spent an hour with Shaun. I spent the rest of the day on the sofa.

Sunday was Saturday and Sunday combined — 10am I got up and I could’ve really done with longer. It was very much a nothing day filled with Columbo and not doing much other than online Christmas perusing.

There is a deceit in recuperating — by doing so you feel better until you’ve got to do something else. Turns out, you’re not better, just pretending for laughs. 

Tomos James