Mr Nunn's Phonetic Alphabet

So Mr Nunn was talking to me about my Plog.  "You're right," he said.  "I can never remember what the phonetic alphabet is supposed to be either.  And whenever I'm talking to someone at a call centre, I can only think of naughty words that start with that letter.  And it's not usually appropriate."

So, for you, my dear Ploggers, Mr Nunn's Sweary Phonetic Alphabet:

A - Arse
B - Bollocks
C - Cock
D - Dick
E - Elephant cock
F - Fuckwad
G - Gonorrhoea 
H - Handjob
I - Jap's Eye (I think this one is stretching it a bit)
J - Jap's Eye (I never said creativity is his strong point)
K - Knob
L - Lesbian
M - MILF (Or, at his age, "a younger woman")
N - Nonce
O - Orgasm
P - Prick
Q - Queer
R - Rim job
S - Sodomy
T - Tits, tits, tits
U - Urinary tract infection
V - Venereal disease
W - Wanker
X - Xenophobia
Y - Yanking myself off
Z - Zipper


Admittedly, to spell his own surname with this method, Mr Nunn would have to say, "My name is Nunn. Nonce, urinary tract infection, nonce nonce".  Which has its drawbacks.

Also, anything with a Y in it, has the potential for someone to put the phone down on him pretty quickly.  Unless he's phoning one of the "special" phone lines, where that's probably quite normal.  What's probably less normal is him dictating things via the phonetic alphabet to a sex phone line.  Unless that's what does it for him.  I think I've thought about this a bit too much.

I'm going off to be sick now.

Speak and spell

There are some things you learn at school that stay with you, that enhance your ability to interact with the world.  Off the top of my head, these are:

• Rudimentary understanding of the basics of grammar and punctuation
• Ability to do percentages
• How to order beer in French

Then there are some things that you will literally never need to know.  This list is quite extensive, so I have made it as concise as possible:

• That V=IR.  I guarantee three months after your final Physics class, you will no longer remember what the V, the I, or indeed the R stands for.  I have a vague feeling it's something to do with electricity, but then I thought V was velocity, so who knows?
• How to say, "I am fifteen years old" in German.  To be honest, if you try this after the age of 18 on the internet, you can actually get arrested.
• How to jump over a series of small fences as quickly as possible.  You call it hurdles.  I call it "pretending to be a horse".

Then there are a few things which actually it would have been useful to learn at school, but for whatever reason, weren't deemed part of the curriculum.  My top three are:

• Touch typing.  I actually learned how to do this in an evening class, and it's been far more valuable and time-saving than any other qualification I've ever received.
• How mortgages work.  Why would I care how to calculate the third side of a triangle, whilst having no sodding idea what the difference between a base rate tracker and an offset standard variable is?
• The phonetic alphabet.

Let's take the final one.  The phonetic alphabet.  Over the years, I've made a stab at it, as when you're on the phone giving your postcode and so on, it's useful to be able to distinguish between the phonetically-similar "n" and "m" or "b" and "p" and so on.  But I've never really nailed it.

So here, below, is my working draft of the phonetic alphabet.  Feel free to adopt:

A - Alpha

B - Bravo

C - Camembert

D - Dinosaur

E - Elephant

F - Finger food

G - Grandma

H - Halitosis

I - Ice cream

J - Juliet

K - Ku Klux Klan

L - Lesbian

M - Monty Cat

N - Nigel

O - Ostrich

P - Pimp

Q - Quibble

R - Restraining order

S - Substitute teacher

T - Tongue twister

U - Umbrella

V - Violence

W - Wanker

X - X-ray

Y - Yelp

Z - Zebra

I just hope I get a phone call soon where I get to spell the word "walks".

"Walks.  That's Wanker Alpha Lesbian Ku Klux Klan Substitute Teacher."

Actually, I think we had one of those in our sixth form.

Tigris dormiens nunquam titilandus

As you may remember, here, and, because they didn't learn their lesson, also here, Petals Florist in Port Elizabeth provided us with possibly the worst wedding flowers in the world.  Ever.

I shan't rehash the entire story, but complaints were made, promises of refunds were issued... and then all responsibility denied, with the previous owner blaming the new owner and vice versa.  After charging us more than the original quotation, the R 850 we paid for a bouquet of lilies and some buttonholes (approx £90) which were wilted and drawn on in biro, we haven't received a refund to date.

Therefore, I told the owner of Petals Florist that I would be writing a review online, and that it would remain up until the refund was provided.  So far, so consistent.

Hilariously, Petals and their friends decided they were going to do some damage limitation by using my comments box to talk about how wonderful the florist actually was.  (My favourite said something like, "What an angry lady you are.  I think you should let this go."  What incredibly good advice.  From Petals Florist themselves.)  Like we couldn't see their comments coming a mile off.  I have deleted most of them. The latest one says:

"I live overseas and was recommended Petals Florist by a relative who lives in PE. I sent my mum flowers for Mother's Day and by all accounts they were lovely. I plan to send her flowers for her birthday through Petals. I challenge you to actually leave this post up instead of deleting it!"


This is brilliant for two reasons:

• Who would search for Petals Florist unless they were a potential new customer, or a "friend" coming to their defence?  It's massively unlikely that an existing customer would stumble across my review and feel moved to spring to the defence of a florist shop.  And a not very good, in fact, pretty shit florist shop at that.
• The commenter seems to be under the illusion that I am providing a lovely forum to give a "fair" view of the overall service Petals Florist in Port Elizabeth provides.  Of course this is ridiculous - this isn't my aim at all.  Why would I care if people have had a positive experience?  My aim is to showcase, and hopefully to shame, Port Elizabeth's worst florist, Petals and show how they did their very best to provide really fuck-wank awful flowers for my wedding - and then deny responsibility.

Also, please note the poster uses the incorrect (pet hate) "Mother's Day" rather than my preferred "Mothers' Day" (please see Fathers' Day post).  This is irrelevant, but worth pointing out, nonetheless.

So - anonymous overseas poster, your post will be deleted (though will remain in perpetuity on this post, where it is ridiculed).  

Interestingly, I've also just registered the blogsite address: www.petalsfloristportelizabethreview.blogspot.com and may use this in the future if I need to.

And for the cost of a refund for the rubbish flowers, all this could go away...

When TheBloke (TM)'s mum heard about this, she was astonished at Petals' response and poor customer service.  Knowing my tenacity, she said, "Why would they poke the tiger?"  I am taking this as a compliment as I know she likes cats.

The tiger has been poked. 

Old bangers

Every year, my friend Erica and I have an annual barbecue.  This first started when I lived in Bethnal Green, she visited for the weekend, we had an impromptu barbecue because the weather was nice... and decided to do it again.  So the second barbecue was named the Second Annual Barbecue Extravaganza (SABE).

For those who are interested, here are the highlights and lowlights of our barbecue history.

First Annual Barbecue Extravaganza, 2006


Erica and I poddled down to Victoria Park with a disposable barbecue.  We made lots of Pimms, got a bit tipsy and ended up barbecuing strawberries.  In case you were thinking of trying it, they didn't taste great.


Second Annual Barbecue Extravaganza, 2007


Didn't start promisingly, where the SABE coincided with the release date of the final Harry Potter book and there was an unfortunate mix up at Tesco.  I raised eyebrows with the cashier by purchasing J K Rowling's latest tome... and a book of matches (which I swear was for the barbecue).  Dean joined us, but unfortunately, the wind was windy, and the rain was rainy and the worst summer I've ever known blew out all 36 of the matches we'd bought.  One after the other.  Dean looked like he was going to cry.  Eventually we gave up, cooked all the meat in the flat, set off both my smoke detectors, swore a lot and went to the cinema to watch Hairspray.  Disappointing.

Third Annual Barbecue Extravaganza, 2008

TheBloke (TM)'s first Extravaganza.  The sun was sunny.  The BBQ was BBQ-y.  We took photos where we all looked like Dawson's Creek failed auditionees.  Dean and TheBloke (TM) got into a pointless contest of "who can stand closest to a pigeon".  This may or may not have been cider-induced.

Fourth Annual Barbecue Extravaganza, 2009


TheBloke (TM) continues to hold the FABE against me.  Two days prior to the FABE, he took a cricket ball to the head.  He said he was fine and didn't want to go to hospital.  However, the day of the FABE, he was feeling a bit sick, so decided to stay at home whilst Erica, Dean and I barbecued all manner of tasty meats, including bacon cheeseburgers, which were a new addition to the 2009 repertoire.  I was a bit worried about TheBloke (TM) so left the FABE early (I didn't eat my second burger) to go and check on him.  Turns out I was right to do so, as he was bleeding profusely from the face, had to go immediately to hospital and apparently had a fractured skull and broken nose.  Who knew?  To this day, he loves to say, "Do you remember that time I had a broken skull and you left me on my own and went and had a barbecue whilst I nearly bled to death?"

Still, the weather was nice.


Fifth Annual Barbecue Extravaganza, 2010

This was combined with our engagement celebration, and marked the first Annual Barbecue Extravaganza in our own garden, as we've moved to the burbs.  There were cupcakes and the wearing of gay cowboy hats.  It was fun.  There were even balloons and cupcakes.  What more could we want?


Sixth Annual Barbecue Extravaganza, 2011


This was yesterday.  It was brilliant.  Not only were we in our own garden, not only was it sunny, not only was no-one bleeding profusely from the face BUT there were burgers and sausages and boerwors and biltong and dips and plastic cheese and celery and cupcakes and muffins and cider and mocktails, and the whole thing was more fun than you can shake a stick at.


Seventh Annual Barbecue Extravaganza, 2012

With a bit of luck, Erica and Dean will be bringing a small, new addition to our Extravaganza.  This will make our SEABE extra, extra special.  So long as Monty Cat doesn't try and eat him or her.  Watch this space.

Kiwi fruity

It was time to meet Mr and Mrs Nunn, plus Jack, my brother, for lunch.  TheBloke (TM) came along too.

Jack had barely sat down, before he had gleeful news to impart.  "Laura!" he said, "Ask Mum about kiwis!"

"Huh?" I replied.  "The green fruit?  Why?"

"No," Jack said, "ask her about New Zealanders!"

I still wasn't following.  Jack prompted me further.  "Ask her about my girlfriend."

"Go on," I said to Mrs Nunn.  Mrs Nunn clearly knew she was being set up, but carried on anyway.  "Well," she said.  "You know how I told you Jack's girlfriend was half Maori?"

"Yes," I said.  "I remember being surprised because she's tall and fair.  But yes, I do remember me telling you that."

"Well, she isn't half Maori," Mrs Nunn said.

"Well why did you say that then?"

"It's Jack's fault," Mrs Nunn proclaimed.

"How so?" my brother prompted.

"Well, Jack told me she was half Kiwi.  So he told me wrong."  Mrs Nunn looked haughty in her utter correctness.

"Huh?" I said, eloquently.

"Well, you know," Mrs Nunn continued.  "Kiwi is a polite word for Maori."

I didn't even know where to start with this one.  "Why would calling someone Maori be impolite?  And also, no it isn't.  It's just a word for anyone from New Zealand.  And it isn't offensive," I said.  "New Zealanders don't mind being called Kiwis."

"No," Mrs Nunn insisted.  "Kiwi means Maori."

"Mum, you have cousins who live in New Zealand.  They are Kiwis."

"No they're NOT," she insisted.  "They have English grandparents - they aren't Maori at all."

"Kiwi does not mean Maori," Jack and I said in unison.

"Well it does to me," said Mrs Nunn, thus finishing - and winning - the argument.

Editor's note: Mrs Nunn has recently returned from a round-the-world trip, taking in a two-week sojourn to New Zealand.  The mind boggles at the diplomatic incidents probably unfolding as I type.

Petals Florist, Port Elizabeth

So, I am sure many of you remember the dealings I had with Petals Florist, Port Elizabeth for our wedding day.  Those of you who've forgotten can refresh your puny memories here.

"What happened next?" I can hear you ask.  Well, gather close my many friends and I will share with you my review of Petals Florist, Port Elizabeth and their wedding service.

Petals Florist, Port Elizabeth, Eastern Cape Review

As you know, the flowers provided for our wedding were beyond awful (as per the previous Plog).  On the day, we were lucky enough that the lodge where we got married were able to make some new arrangements for us, so the day wasn't ruined.  Having said that, we paid approximately £80 in flowers (well, actually, TheBloke (TM)'s sister did) which were totally unusable.

Despite emailing and asking for a refund, the owner of Petals Florist didn't bother replying... until my Plog went live, and then suddenly I got two emails straight away.

One was from the owner of Petals Florist, a lady called Desere Heck.  This sounds like a made-up name (although it isn't) and if she were in a comic, I imagine she'd hang round with girls called Cynthia Crumbs, Bunty Golly-Gosh and Jemima Crikey.

Her email - at first - was civilised and explained that she'd recently taken over the business and didn't feel she could be held responsible for the previous owner's mistakes.


However on the very same day I had an email from Tersia Ferreira, the lady we'd dealt with whilst arranging the order, stating (and I truly love this):


"I would firstly like to apologize for your terrible experience – however I would like to advice you that I have sold the business before your wedding.   Trevor Bacon of Petals Florist did the wedding and I believe he did a good amount of mistakes in weddings after that as well."


Please note that throughout this, no-one is saying that they thought the quality was good.  In fact, poor Trevor is being blamed for fucking up weddings throughout the Eastern Cape.


Desere Heck is telling me that she DIDN'T own the business during my wedding... as is Tersia.  Now, as the customer, I don't really care who owns the business, I just want a refund.  I pointed this out to Desere; as they are trading under the same name, it is Petals Florists, Port Elizabeth who owe me the refund.


Desere's response was to offer me a free bunch of flowers (not that useful when I'm based in the UK - and anyone we sent it to in PE would know it was a freebee from a crap florist).  I explained we were looking for a refund.  She whinged a lot about how it wasn't her fault.  She said she was a new start-up business and I was damaging her business and she hoped I felt good about myself.  (I did actually, so it was nice of her to ask.)


We weren't threatening to sue.  We weren't asking for compensation.  We just wanted a refund for the flowers that were unusable on the wedding day.  Many brides would be a lot more agitated than I was.


I suggested what I thought was a very fair compromise.  Because she was a new company (albeit trading under the same name), I was willing to cut her two months' slack and she could pay the refund on July 6.  I would take all references to Petals Florist's name down in the meantime, and so long as the payment was made on 6 July, it would remain that way.


Desere Heck of Petals Florist, Port Elizabeth agreed to this.


A few days before the 6 July, I reminded her, and gave her the bank details to transfer the money to TheBloke (TM)'s sister.


This was the response (edited slightly to protect identities of the innocent - not Desere):

"HI Laura

I have decided against making the refund for the following reasons:

• I did not have anyything to do with your wedding so don't see why I need to pay for this
• I offered you flowers as a kind gesture twice and you did not want them
• Your friend mentioned she doesn't like flowers and so I am concerned about how much she knows about flowers. How do I know how she carried the flowers to your venue? Was she gentle, was it in the heat, was it touching the side of the container? The flowers were in her care for longer than they were in ours.*
• If the flowers were in such a shocking condition why did she not say anything when she collected them at the shop. Why did she not point out the pen mark in the shop?

So, if you feel good about putting the blog back up then please do so. What that achieves for you ,only you will know. I have a clear conscience about my decision.

Kind regards

Desere"

*NB The flowers were picked up a day before the wedding, against our wishes, and at Petals Florist's request as they decided to shut on our wedding day, despite initially promising they'd be open.  The flowers were kept in a cooler box the entire time... so much so that they weren't even taken out to be inspected.  They were wilted, yes, but the flowers were poor quality in the first place - too much green, not enough blossom, and that weird crimped edge you get on flowers that haven't been grown properly.

So there we go, UK.  Some lessons we can learn from customer service from our friends in South Africa:

• It is fine to provide the customer with a substandard product
• If the customer complains, ignore it
• If the customer goes public with the complaint, pretend it's someone else's fault
• If this doesn't work, grudgingly promise a refund
• Tell lies about above refund (despite having a "clear conscience"
• Lose our wedding certificate**

** This wasn't actually Desere of Petals Florist, it was South African Home Affairs, but I thought I'd mention it.

So, I hope you enjoyed my review of Petals Florist, Port Elizabeth and their wedding flowers.  I will be providing Desere with a monthly breakdown of how many potential customers come to my site, after Googling Petals Florist, so she can see how much potential business she's losing.

So, to finish, a limerick:


A florist called Desere Heck
Told lies right up to her neck.
The lilies were wilted
But TheBloke wasn't jilted;
The ceremony she failed to wreck.


And one for Petals Florist:


In PE a florist called Petals
Made a wedding bouquet out of nettles.
When someone complained
They said, "We're all untrained!
We could send you a dock leaf to settle!"

Physics - not my bag

I'd say I was the grand old age of eleven before I realised that my talents lay towards the arts rather than the sciences.  However, being at an academic school, the study of Chemistry, Biology and Physics was compulsory right up until GCSEs.  So I studied all three of them until I was almost 17.

Biology I enjoyed.  Chemistry I loathed (I hated its ridiculous terminology - whoever heard of measuring moles?).  Physics was kind of... meh.  I liked my teacher, but I struggled with maths.  But the maths in Physics was easier than the regular maths you did in the classroom, and - on the rare occasion I would get an answer right, I was rewarded with a nice whole, round number.  I can't deny I enjoyed the satisfaction.

So I studied Physics and I did OK at it.  But there are still some fundamental issues that remain with me.  Questions about the universe which I just can't answer.

So.  Physics boffins.  Riddle me this, if you will.

Imagine I am standing holding a lovely shiny handbag.

It's a pretty handbag, but I'm doing a sad face because it's heavy.  It's full of new shoes and my arms are beginning to hurt.  Also, in this drawing, I don't have any hands, which makes it even trickier to hold said handbag.

Because I am married now, and have a man to do all sorts of tasks I can't be bothered with (including, but not limited to holding heavy bags on my behalf), I ask TheBloke (TM) if he will carry me.

He reluctantly agrees, and we progress down Oxford Street at rush hour with me riding him like a pony.  Who says I'm spoiled?

OK.  So TheBloke (TM) now has a sad face because he is not only supporting  my (feather) weight, but he's also carrying the big bag of shoes... OR IS HE?

Here, physics boffins, is my question.  You'll notice MY face is sad too.  Because my arm is still hurting because I am still carrying the bag.  I can still feel the weight of it.  My little handless arms are still hurting.  So surely I must still be taking the weight.  So TheBloke (TM) is only taking my weight, not the weight of the bag too.

At this point (when posed this question) TheBloke (TM) refuses to talk to me anymore, saying I'm an idiot.

Now, in order for my little arms to feel much better, I have proposed a solution, as per the next image.  This way I no longer feel like I'm supporting the weight, and TheBloke (TM) is definitely taking my weight AND the weight of the lovely bag with all the shoes in.

Now, TheBloke (TM) is insistent that he would still be taking the weight of the bag in the second picture, but I do not see how this can be; if my arm still hurts from the weight of the bag, clearly I must be supporting the bag's weight.  Fair enough, TheBloke (TM) is supporting my weight, but surely this can't mean the bag's weight is being supported twice.  That would break all laws of physics (I expect, I don't claim to be an expert), and we all might disappear down some sort of bag-shaped wormhole.

So if we are both supporting the weight of the bag in picture two, then surely picture three must be a more energy efficient way of transporting my big bag of shiny shoes.

Please discuss.

Other than Chemistry, I'd probably say Art was my worst subject.  In case you were wondering.