Passwords.
The bane of my life.
Passwords, passwords, passwords - I dread any site that asks for a password as - despite reusing the same three or four over and over again, it's never the right one that I enter.
With a phone having the battery life of an egg timer I find myself constantly searching for wifi friendly shops to check emails on an alternative gadget.
Sometimes I feel like binning all gadgets.
I never used to feel the need to check emails while out, yet now I'm a walking encyclopedia of Wi-Fi friendly shops in Swansea.
How did that happen?
Today was M&S.
''Please enter password.''
Wrong one.
Three times.
''Please enter your memorable place.''
Good, I know this one...
REJECTED!
How can it possibly reject the right answer???
I try capitals, no capitals, pic n mix, country, city, expletives - back to the place I tried first time round - back to the spelling I'm sure I entered first off - BINGO!
All signed in, only to find the new emails I have are all SPAM.
I give up on WiFi.
Tuesday, 10 February 2015
Wednesday, 4 February 2015
The not so humble skip. Right up there with an air ticket somewhere hot.
8pm, chicken pie in oven, rocket and balsamic plonked in an artistic heap and I'm feeling positively Delia-like.
It won't last.
Unlike my rosemary, which, despite being largely ignored, is spreading all over the garden at an alarming rate.
Like my ever expanding binbag collection, in the aftermath of a particularly brutal clearout.
And the lid of my oil tank, which appears to have taken up residence next door as a birdbath.
I'd still like a skip, and find myself staring enviously at said skips when I pass, even taking to photographing them.
At the moment, I think of a skip as a particularly desirable item, right up there with an air ticket somewhere hot.
Somewhere like SdotYam, the kibbutz I have never quite got out of my system.
Although in the neighbouring city of OrAqiva, skips have taken on an entirely different meaning altogether, and are best avoided!
It won't last.
Unlike my rosemary, which, despite being largely ignored, is spreading all over the garden at an alarming rate.
Like my ever expanding binbag collection, in the aftermath of a particularly brutal clearout.
And the lid of my oil tank, which appears to have taken up residence next door as a birdbath.
I'd still like a skip, and find myself staring enviously at said skips when I pass, even taking to photographing them.
 |
| Skip envy. |
At the moment, I think of a skip as a particularly desirable item, right up there with an air ticket somewhere hot.
Somewhere like SdotYam, the kibbutz I have never quite got out of my system.
Although in the neighbouring city of OrAqiva, skips have taken on an entirely different meaning altogether, and are best avoided!
 |
| Home as a volunteer, 1990, 1991. |
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| Josh, 1997. |
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| With friends, 2010, OrAqiva. |
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