2015 — 19 June: Friday

Life still sends a few minor curve balls my way.1 This morning brought proof that it's possible to arrive at Waitrose sufficiently soon after they open on a sunny Friday morning that — despite having plenty of easy parking with minimal risk from preoccupied multi-tasking members of the distaff side of the team playing at bumper cars — their elves have yet to roll out any of my preferred choices of bread and croissants. But at least I was back home and supping my initial "wake up" cuppa in time to catch the 08:30 news summary.

Leaving the house without a cuppa inside me? Blimey!

Today's the day...

... I shall finally embark on my nascent career as a share trader. All it takes is one recorded delivery large envelope stuffed full of BP share certificates (all of which are of no value to anyone but the newly-registered shareholder who's been impersonating his late mother's Executor since mid-March as a pretend day job — on and off, mostly off). I have absolutely no idea how people can spend their lives working in this sort of area and handling all this essentially weird paper.


... not without some breakfast. And it's well past time for another cuppa, methinks. "Dizzy fingers" is playing. I am almost certain the same chap wrote "Kitten on the Keys" which Dad could usually be persuaded to play for me.

Correct. I knew the chap's surname was "Confrey" but had misremembered his first name as "Alex" for some cross-wired neuronal reason. It was, after all, a very long time ago. My parents sold the baby grand when they left Harpenden in 1971 for the tiny bungalow in Meldreth. They bought — technically, I should say "Dad was allowed to buy!" — a new upright piano in 1972 for the larger house in Penn. (By then, I was away from home living in my Hatfield digs as I worked the last two years of my apprenticeship as a pretend engineer.)

By 1974 Dad no longer played, and dear Mama sold the piano (but kept a few scraps of sheet music that are now up in my loft) shortly after his death in May 1975.

Edward Elzear "Zez" Confrey; now that's a blast from my personal past.

Bloody hellfire!

So much for my nascent career. I was wrong to think "all it takes" is a piece of envelope stuffing. There is yet another form for me to be sent. The young lady at the other end of the phone was perfectly friendly and helpful. I was exploring the telephone share sale option. But it seems the only way I can actually sell all the shares by phone today would be by once again going painfully through every last damn' share certificate. Registration number by tedious registration number. I already know from bitter experience2 this tedious procedure takes an hour or so and I simply refuse to do this all over again. I've therefore asked for a snailmail form to fill out and return. I hate shares.

It's mildly ironic that this particular asset of dear Mama's estate is the smallest item by value, and has already taken far longer to (fail to) sort out than all the rest put together. Thank you, Mother!

My mood...

... is much improved by the news that Arvo Pärt is to be the subject of next week's "Composer of the Week". Excellent.

Dying for apples?! In Hampshire?! (Link.)


... two CDs and three books:

2 CDs, 3 books

I seem to be closing in on that occasional completeist streak.

I'm amused...

... by the presumption, on the part of the most rapacious of my credit card suppliers, that I will be happy to use Apple Pay in the near future. But not very. Now, let me see: where did I put my iPhone 6, Apple Watch, iPad Air 2 and iPad mini 3? They were all here a minute ago. Not. Technology Towers is (of course) currently as uncontaminated by Apple as it is by Windows. "Breakthrough contactless payment technology and unique security features"? I wonder if anyone actually believes this? It leaves me stone cold.



1  Even at my present advanced age. So advanced, I actually have to stop and work it out as I give it so very little thought. [Pause, to find enough fingers on my paws.] I will be 64 in October, which is clearly impossible.
2  The first and last time I did exactly this was just a few weeks ago when I was changing them all over on the share register into my name as Executor and, in the process, successfully identifying 35 temporarily Lost Sheep. I was also assured at the time that I wouldn't have to do this again when it came to selling them. Pah! Life is far too short to be wasted fighting bureaucracies.