Grandparenting

There are people around who never knew any grandparents, who never brought children into the world and raised them lovingly, and who therefore do not have grandchildren. Although now at an age when they could have been a grandparent themselves, they do not have that role, and never now can. I am such a person.

On Dad's side, the persons who should have been my grandparents lived in rural Devon. My Dad's mother (Eva Annie Broom, who became a Turner and then a Dommett) died in 1922, when he was only two. This is the only picture I have of her, taken around 1920:

His father (William John Dommett) never wanted to look after his son, and farmed poor Dad out - first to aunts and uncles, and then latterly to a rough farming family (the Trumps), who took money for Dad's keep. Dad grew up without knowing any parental love. Here is Dad's father doing manual work in a garden around 1930 (the child on the hobbyhorse isn't Dad):

Again, that's the only picture I have of him. He was born around 1880, so would have been about fifty then, and had clearly not made much of his life. He would have been a man of old country ways, full of narrow-mindedness and daft prejudices.

By the late 1950s, he was approaching eighty and getting infirm. To his credit, Dad had his father stay with us for a while, giving him a room to himself in our house in Barry. I have an idea that Mum wasn't at all happy with this, regarding Dad's father as undeserving of any special kindness and consideration after his shameful behaviour towards Dad as a boy. But Dad must have insisted. He was no fool, and firm with people; but on the other hand kind, and never one to bear grudges.

My little brother and I had to call William Dommett 'Grandpa'. I remember finding that hard to say. I hardly knew him, and found him gruff, and not very likeable. I was rather wary of him. I was a fastidious child, and quite possibly recoiled from his minimum personal hygiene, and whiskers, and tobacco-stained fingers. We did not bond.

His own attitude to me may have been quite different. Perhaps, late in life, he had seen what a poor figure he had cut, and wanted to make amends. I think he might well have made efforts to be pleasant, or at least give no trouble, and try to be a proper grandparent to Wayne and I. But I did not get to know him well at all. To me he remained the old man in the dimly-lit middle room downstairs.

He did give me a thrilling present one day. It was an ancient and battered pair of binoculars, all brass and glass. They didn't magnify much, and the lenses had rainbow aberrations, but I was entranced. Such a well-judged present might have led to something, but soon afterwards 'Grandpa' fell ill, and was taken to Aberdare sanatorium. I never knew why, although in those days people went to sanatoriums most often because of tuberculosis or other chest complaints (Aberdare was in the heart of the South Wales coal-mining area). I remember just one visit to see him, although I have forgotten the details. Soon after, I understood he had died. This was 1960, and I was eight years old. I did not grieve. I had never really known him as a person.

So that was Dad's side of the family.

On Mum's side, I fared no better. Her mother (Eva Johanna Carlson) had married a chap called William Edward Thomas in 1916. It sounded like a wartime wedding, and was probably ill-judged. It did not last. I have no picture of Mum's father, only this information on Mum's 1921 birth certificate:

This says he was a Civil Servant, an Employment Officer in the Ministry of Labour. I expect he dealt with people on the dole and looking for work. There were tensions at home, and Eva left him when Mum and her elder brother Desmond were still quite small. An uneasy truce was set up, William and Eva each having one child. Thomas looked after Mum, and Eva looked after Des. Rather an odd way of sharing the children really. I wonder whose notion it was? According to Mum, her mother had a special affection for her son, less for her. But Eva couldn't bear to be without both of her children for long, and one day, choosing her moment carefully, knocked on William's door, asked to see Mum, then just a little girl of course. When Wiiliam produced her, Eva immediately snatched her and ran for a bus that had been due, leaving an astonished William gaping on his doorstep. Of course there was a stink. It was in the local paper. But things quietened down, and parental access was put on a formal basis that lasted for some years. Naturally the children's own wishes carried no weight. I recall Mum telling me how, in her teens, she was forever wanting to make excuses not to visit her father.

It's difficult to gauge what sort of man William was. Eva clearly disliked him, and Mum said she would never discuss him in later years. Although permanently separated, I don't think they ever divorced.

Eventually he moved to London, still employed in the Ministry of Labour - presumably after promotion. I have thought of trying to trace him, but the chances of tracking down a 'William Thomas' of unknown London address are too small to warrant the attempt. I dare say he may have fathered another family, who would of course be relatives of mine. Well, if they read this, I hope they get in touch and tell me about William Thomas. I don't suppose he ever heard of my arrival in 1952, when he was probably not much more than sixty, and could have been a grandfather to me. But instead he was yet another potential grandparent who was not around when I was young.

That still leaves Eva, Mum's mother. But sadly she died of diabetes in 1948, four years before my birth. Diabetes was a killer back then. My younger brother Wayne had diabetes too, but he had access to insulin, and could live with it. So far it hasn't afflicted me, and I hope never will, as I carefully watch my sugar intake, especially now that I'm older. Fingers crossed, though!

The only series of pictures I have that show Eva were taken immediately after Mum and Dad's wedding in 1947. This one, for instance:

Eva is in the chair. Next to her is Des, who died in 2007, and was the uncle who provided the money for me to buy Fiona in 2010.  On the far left is Peg, the auntie who has just died this year, and whose funeral I will shortly attend. She was, like Mum, only twenty-six then, but had already known Mum some ten years. 

So there it is. For one reason or another, I never had the opportunity to develop a relationship with a grandparent. I don't know what is so special about it, from the child's point of view. It's a defect in my life-experience that can never be remedied. I have come to know a variety of old persons through the years - the parents of friends, for instance - but none of them have ever been my very own grandmother or grandfather, and it's very hard to imagine what it would be like to have such a person in my life. Not knowing, I feel socially handicapped.

Nor does it help never having had children of my own. That was always my own choice; but looking back on it, I do now have mixed feelings. I've missed out on a major human experience; and I will never know what that special bond between parent and child is really like. Again, I feel socially deficient because of it.

Without any children of my own, I cannot be a grandparent myself and enjoy whatever it is that grandparents seem to get out of their role. I haven't the slightest doubt that grandparents genuinely dote on their grandchildren, even if, from my outsider's viewpoint, it seems like hard work and not much else. And yet I've seen grandfathers getting literally misty-eyed over their little charges. And what grandmother hasn't - for years on end - acted as a super-reliable and endlessly patient childminder? No doubt some grandparents are shamelessly taken advantage of, their unrewarded assistance taken for granted. But all grandparents possess magical powers: where exasperated maternal pleading and cajoling has not availed, the sudden appearance of a loved grandparent will cure tears and tantrums instantly. 

A child treats a grandparent with a respect and veneration denied to mere parents. I dare say that fact is occasionally resented by parents who find it hard to cope, but if so the resentment is suppressed and kept secret. A willing grandparent is an asset to be treasured, not put off. And I imagine that savvy grandparents sometimes capitalise on their strong bargaining position -  although (I hope) merely to see more of the children they love. 

I wish I knew what actually goes on, but I can't relate to any of it, have no insight, and can only make guesses. To be honest, my gut feeling is that grandparenting should be left to those who know what it's all about, and have the experience to do it well. And that I shouldn't be wistful on one hand, nor too smug on the other, for not being in line for any grandparental duties.

My wave ring rebooted with diamonds!

My friend Jo is a star. She's a lady with many friends going way back, and I'm not her best friend by any means. But we get on really well.

Mind you, I can't figure out why! Nor indeed why people in general seem to take me to their hearts, when really I'd say that I'm no more than pleasant, helpful and supportive - perhaps a good listener too. Broadly-speaking, I'd characterise myself as a 'good value' person to spend time with. But then surely most other people strive to be like this, and surely most succeed - as well as, or better, than I do. I'd certainly claim to be inoffensive, and always upbeat and ready to chat in a cheerful way; but otherwise nothing very remarkable, or different from most others. I was certainly not much valued in my past life. Not much going for me then, to be sure.

So, it was a surprise when, late last February, Jo said to me that she wanted to enhance the right on my right hand with a little diamond, as a gift. A gift for what, I wondered. I mean, a diamond. However small, that would cost. I demurred, hoping she'd drop the idea. But she didn't.

Jo reminded me that she had an account with a local jeweller we both knew - Pruden & Smith in Ditchling - and regularly recycled her own jewellery, getting the workshop people there to make new things for her from old pieces. They were holding several little diamonds from old rings. She wanted to put one of these in my silver ring, to add a nice bit of glitter.

So it was to be only a very small diamond then. The fitting-work would cost more than the value of the stone itself. Even so, I was still inclined to say no, not being able to see how a good but not outstanding friendship could merit such signal generosity. Be it a mere speck, a diamond is still very valuable. Or at least very, very special.

But I was not allowed to resist - I got a metaphoric kick-under-the-table from Jackie. I handed over the ring for its upgrade. It seemed to me that those two - Jo and Jackie - had been discussing the gift, and weren't going to let me refuse. OK, I didn't want to thwart Jo's wish!

The hand-over was on 16th March. I departed on holiday. Jo then decided that she'd make it two diamonds, not just one. Two? Crikey! Oh well, I was determined to enjoy her generosity like any normal person would, and not spoil it for her.

So no quibbling! It seemed out of my hands anyway.

Easter was early in 2018, and Pruden & Smith developed a backlog of work to be done. So I went off on holiday again without the ring. I missed it. I'd worn it 24/7 since buying it from Hi Ho Silver in Lyme Regis on 18th September 2009. For only £12.

The next development occurred on 23rd April. Jo texted me with a photo of the ring now fitted with the two little diamonds in her gift:

Presumably she took the picture, and that was Anton Pruden's finger! Jo said this in the text:

Check out your ring. Was thinking that two extra smaller stones either side might work what do you think? Hope u r enjoying your trip away. Lol Jo x

The following rapid exchange then took place (I've excluded any non-ring or non-holiday stuff):

Lucy: Is that a real image of the ring as it now is? Gosh. It looks fabulous! I've been missing my ring, and eagerly look forward to being reunited. You are SO generous. Trip half-over today: I'm now at Cheddar. The fine weather keeps on coming. Luby XX

Jo: Yes its yours for sure. Do envisage smaller diamonds either side of ones there already nearer the middle bit, would that be too much !! might just finish it off what do you think. Happy for you to have them sweetie. It would just be £25 per stone to fit them. The first two already in are on me. Hugs Jo x

Lucy: I took a screenshot of the picture in your first text today about the ring, and have been considering it carefully. In its original state the ring was a beautifully simple piece of design. Now some sophistication has been added, greatly enhancing its appearance (and status) as jewellery. But the design remains clean and uncomplicated. There's a definite risk that the ring could begin to look fussy if more gems were added. That said, I do see what you mean about finishing it off properly! Yes, a small diamond on either side, just inward of the existing larger gemstone, would look very good indeed. Is that £50 I'd have to pay? No problem. Please go ahead. Luby XX

Back from holiday, and with that £50 in Jo's hands, I waited with excitement for news of the ring. Yesterday, after several phone calls in the previous couple of weeks to chivvy them along, Jo got a phone call to say that it was finally ready. So was another ring that she had had remade for herself. After an après-pilates lunch, helping her choose plants from Lidl for planting, and a visit to her Mum, we drove out to Ditchling - and at last I was reunited with my very-much-missed ring.

Gosh, it did look good. Here I am in the shop.

My thanks to Jo were heartfelt. What a nice job they'd made. The ring looked new again! I quickly stepped outside while she paid up - I didn't want to learn what her gift to me had cost her. A lot more than the £12 the ring had originally cost me in 2009, I'm thinking. I took her off to the Ditchling Museum of Art + Craft for tea and cake, dropped her off with her plants, and went home.

Back indoors, I could study the ring rebooted.

It was subtly done. The ring's original character and appeal hadn't been compromised, only improved. For the first time in my life I had diamonds to wear! Thanks to Jo.

Reluctantly, I soon decided that the turquoise ring had to be taken off and put away. My diamond-laden ring needed a hand all to itself. It was the right decision. Less is more.     

Exquisitely turquoise

I must be going through a phase of self-decoration! Why, I know not. Perhaps 2018 is going to be a year of change for me - at least in the clothing, shoe, jewellery and accessories departments.

After all, having lost two and half stones with Slimming World up to early March, I can contemplate wearing styles I'd have previously dismissed as unwearable unless slim. Now I do have sufficient slimness, and can try those clothes out. What fun!

With the toe sorted, I've finally been able to get my right foot into different shoes. In fact I had three pairs - hitherto unworn - ready to step into. And now they fit perfectly. That's so nice. I feel normal again.

All of a sudden, my signature bag is not a big orange one, but much smaller, and blue-green (call it teal if you wish) - not only lighter to carry and more elegant to wear, but (surprisingly) still completely practical. I've adapted to life in a small-bag world. It's satisfying to know that I can still do things differently. And people now notice my clothes - not just a big, dominating orange bag.

As for jewellery, a silver serpent bangle has lately become my all-day companion. It seems much admired. And I am very fond of it. But it isn't the only new item. Two days ago I bought myself another ring.

Here it is. A dainty silver thing, set with a turquoise stone.

It's such a pity that the gnarled and wrinkled Melford hand doesn't show it off to its best advantage! It may indeed be too dainty, too youthful, for the withered claw of an Old Age Pensioner. But who is going to care? 

I wanted it as soon as I saw it in Lewes, at a branch of the Brighton shop Silverado. The perfect thing for the little finger of my right hand. And it had to be little, so that it wouldn't in any way outshine the ring I always wear on the adjacent finger - the silver one curled like a wave. (That 'wave' ring has been away at the jeweller's, for an exciting enhancement: I hope to present a post on that soon) 

This is how the new ring is shown on Silverado's website:

That's right: just £14. Who wouldn't at least consider buying it at such a small price? 

The web picture doesn't reveal how pretty this ring actually is. I love the colour of the stone. And it is a stone, not (as I first thought) just a bit of coloured plastic. Silverado say it's 'synthetic turquoise', which presumably means turquoise mineral dust reconstituted into a hard stone with resin. On the other hand, there is some rust-coloured veining, which you get with natural turquoise when it occurs with limonite. I don't mind which it is - a synthetic blob made in a mould, or a natural chip of turquoise ground to shape. It's all about the delicious colour.

Of course the thing goes well with my new Pittards bag. It also goes well with lots of things around my home. I hadn't realised before now how, in each room of the house, there have been blue-green accents aplenty. Few objects are entirely blue-green - certainly no large ones - but the colour is all around. It's on pots and ornaments, and in paintings, and on tiles, and in my bathroom towels. And if you look inside my wardrobes... 

I must have long had an unconscious bias towards blue-green! Unconscious no longer, though: now, with the purchase of the new bag and this little ring, I need to recognise this preferential liking, and go with it. And with its complementary colours too.

My eyes are a pale blue-green - should this be a clue? (I wish they were in fact not just a washed-out blue-green, but a brilliant turquoise. Oh well) 

QR code woes!

'Uuuuh,' some might say, 'What's a QR code?' Well, you do know. Here's one. In fact it's the subject of this post.

As you can see, it's the QR code on my current National Trust Life Member card. That card was sent to me back in January 2017, but until the last couple of weeks it has remained unused, partly because it didn't have the class of my older Life Member card (which I naturally preferred using), and partly because the staff at NT properties were able to cope with stick-in-the-muds turning up with old cards, scanning instead a generic list of cards, so that they'd know that 'a Life Member' had visited, although they wouldn't be able to record that it had been me in particular.

That clearly matters, electronically counting my presence. The personal QR code on my new-style card can tell the NT what type of visitor I am - my age, sex, home address, how long a member, and so on. But by keeping to my old card, and denying the NT this useful information, I'm excluding myself from the day's Property Visitor Profile. You can readily see how developing such a profile - day after day, member by member - is very valuable in assessing the popularity of each property on different days and at different times, and whether its appeal might be broadened to cover (for example) younger members and their families, rather than just old fogies. Or vice versa. It's a bit like a supermarket scanning customer loyalty cards and discovering what sells, and to whom.

The NT have also decided to use these QR-coded cards to give members free parking, wherever there are ticket machines. I suppose there were complaints that at certain beauty spots non-members were making use of NT car parks, parking for nothing, and occupying so many spaces that paid-up members couldn't park their own cars. It's fair enough: non-members must now buy a ticket. Members, however, must let the ticket machine scan the QR code on their card. This is a new extra step in the visiting process, and not an especially welcome one. It means more hassle, even if scanning one's card provides a free ticket to display. This new procedure replaces the old-but-straightforward showing of a National Trust Member sticker on the front windscreen of the car. I had a little friendly lecture about it from a member of staff last March down at Cotehele in Cornwall. Apparently these annual stickers were too easy to get hold of, or fake up, and many members were forgetting to change their last-year's sticker to the current year's. I think they are being scrapped for 2019 onwards.

So the NT has gone somewhat high-tech, although I do wonder why it's not possible to use a member card with NFC, and just 'tap and go' at the ticket machine or property entrance - as you would with a contactless credit card. Or a phone, for that matter. And it's a bother having to park, then trek to the machine, spend time there getting a free ticket (one might have to queue for a long time), and then trek back to the car to display said ticket. All this faff, before actually beginning the visit! I'd much rather just 'tap and go' on the way to the property entrance. Or have the opportunity to do it all by phone.

Scanning a physical card already seems so last-year in tech terms. And the NT must have spent a small fortune on installing their new ticket machines - and those handsets for staff at property entrances. Money wasted, I fear. It will all be out of date so quickly.

As you might surmise, I have bowed to the NT's notion of technological progress, and started to use my QR-coded card. But not out of love for this unimpressive, unlovely-looking card, which is a dull grey on its business side ('It's not grey, it's platinum - for our special Life members! The ordinary annual members just get a magenta card,' I was told yesterday at Sheffield Park. No, I'm afraid it's a dull grey...). I just want to help the NT's visiting statistics along, in case that genuinely leads to improvements in property presentation and facilities.

It's a cheap-looking plastic card, all the same. But I can get over that. I do insist, though, that the NT's 'new technology' works faultlessly. And - guess what - I've discovered that the QR code on my card doesn't scan! The parking machines won't recognise it. Nor do the hand scanners at property entrances. And it's not just my card. I've come across several people in NT car parks who, like me, find their cards letting them down. Ditto at the property entrance.

It's an especial pain at the car parking machines. A queue forms while quick-witted and intelligent people (not just doddery old duffers) figure out how to scan their card - and get annoyed when nothing happens. We try one after another. I haven't seen anybody succeed yet. We all end up going in high dudgeon to the property entrance and explaining. Some are no doubt fearful that while visiting the property their unticketed car will be clamped, or a fine imposed by some official, all involving time and hassle to sort out. A few paid-up members must tamely pay for parking like a non-member, just to have a ticket. That's disgraceful.

The machine itself is not optimally designed. Here's the one in the NT car park at Ditchling Beacon, up on the South Downs. As I said, it's for the use of both members and non-members - this dual-purpose functionality introduces complication all by itself - with a screen that gives you 'simple' instructions, and with various buttons to press. Also (bottom left) an aperture for scanning cards. The on-screen instructions could have been clear and helpful, but are not. The scanning aperture is much bigger than the membership card. Why? Wouldn't a narrow slot be better? Is one meant to move the card in and out, or left to right, or up and down, in order to achieve a scan? Or do you stand on one leg, singing 'Just One Cornetto' while you waggle the card in a slanting, slicing motion? Nothing tells you. There is a sticker - just a picture, no words - that suggests that the card must be placed on top of it just so, precisely aligned with it, but doing that doesn't get you a successful scan. Possibly the card must be hovered over this sticker...?

Mind you, on the first attempt I didn't press the yellow 'member' button as well as the green 'start' button. No wonder I got no joy. Yellow button now pressed, I persevered for several more attempts. I did get a red light, which flashed a bit. And a couple of times there was a green line that moved fore and aft along the card. 

All the time I was holding the card firmly onto the green sticker. And you had to hold on to it, otherwise it would have tipped up and fallen to the ground. I really don't know how infirm members with shaky hands can manage. Despite having a screen, the machine displayed no tips on how to do the scanning. I can imagine many people thinking that 'scanning' means moving their card in and out, over and over again if necessary, rather as you would move food items across the scanner at a supermarket check-out. There was nothing to say what you should do. It was perplexing. And despite the red and green lights and lines blinking away, no ticket resulted. It was so frustrating to get this on the screen:

No handy member of staff, of course. And who in their right mind is going to leave a Life Membership card on display in their car while they go off somewhere? You could well expect a smashed window, and no card, on your return. In any case, if this were a car park at a property, instead of just a country car park, how would you show a card at the entrance, if you'd left it on display in the car? 

Methinks the NT didn't think this one through well enough. Or at any rate their requirements didn't get through to the people making the ticket machines.

At one point I stood aside so that a younger couple could have a go. They were equally unsuccessful and frustrated.

It winds you up. And yet, on a later attempt, I somehow did get the procedure right, and a free ticket came out. This was at my fifth or sixth attempt, I think. And I couldn't say what I'd done differently. 

This was the ticket.

So what's going on? Is the QR code on my card defective, so that it only works sometimes? Or are the NT's scanners not up to the job? Either way, they had better fix the problem pronto, or else people will start avoiding going to some places. 

On the advice of NT staff, I have now emailed the National Trust, requesting a new card. 

They have officially recognised a scanning issue 'with some cards'. I suspect it's really 'with most cards' and that the NT has egg on its face, but won't own up to making a big blunder. And to wasting money on bad cards and bad equipment. It's the arrogance of an untouchable (and powerful) national institution with lots of members' money in the bank. Mixed in, I suspect, with the tech-ignorance of a snobby policy committee that unwittingly let the tail (the card and machine manufacturers) wag the dog (the NT). 

But hey, whether I'm right or wrong, the QR codes are not working, and a lot of money - member's money! - has gone down the drain. And meanwhile hassle, hassle, hassle, and goodwill lost. NT, don't you care?

Ding! (But also a cautionary tale)

I was at Lytes Cary Manor this afternoon, a smallish but pretty National Trust property in the south Somerset countryside, not far from Somerton. It's one of a local cluster of nice NT properties that I've been to, the others being Tintinhull Garden, Montacute House, and Barrington Court. The old great house is the chief draw with the last two, but all have decent gardens, Lytes Cary perhaps more so than any. Chatting with one of the room guides, I learned that the new Head Gardener at Lytes Cary is a man of energy and has great plans for the already excellent gardens there. So do give it a visit.

Anyway, I was in the Lytes Cary tea room and it was nearly half past two, a bit early for afternoon tea. But hey, it was a dry but chilly day. I fancied black coffee and a slice of cake. My choice made, I presented Tigerlily to the credit card terminal and - DING! - the transaction went through almost instantly on Google Pay. The woman behind the counter very nearly clapped her hands. Even the man next to me, who had his own phone ready (an older iPhone, on which he had Apple Pay), said he was impressed and congratulated me: his phone was never so quick and slick. (And perhaps Apple Pay didn't make such a loud DING! either)

I'm getting used to reactions like this. It's still a novelty for me, and still a lot of fun. In fact I look forward to opportunities to use Google Pay. That doesn't mean I'm spending more - just that I never now pay in banknotes or coin, if there is a chance of doing it contactlessly with the phone. It's made paying for things rather fun.

And I'm thinking that, to earn such applause, and such admiring commentary, paying by phone must still be fairly unusual. Indeed, the lady just in front of me had paid contactlessly too, but all she did was tap her credit card against the terminal. Blink and you would have missed it. There was no preparation, no big performance, no theatre, no DING, no 'transaction confirmed' message flashing up on the screen, nor an on-screen notification soon after, which, if you tapped on it, revealed an electronic receipt. The phone way is not only a fast way, it's also definitely the more entertaining way! I was given a paper receipt, but since I had that electronic receipt, I really I didn't need it. (I'd obviously make an exception for items carrying guarantees, or if I might need to return them)

Suddenly the payment landscape has changed. I'm now waiting for Google to enhance their app so that I can send and receive money from friends and family. Over the phone.

Goodness knows what some of the people I've known in the past would be making of all this. People now in their eighties, mainly, but some younger ones too. Do I hear dark mutterings? Well, the times they are a-changing, and one needs to keep up.

Besides, all this contactless stuff leaves an electronic trail - it perfectly suits born record-keepers like me. Cash left no trace of its departure, unless I got a receipt.

Might the stick-in-the-muds say that waggling a phone at a terminal makes paying far too fast and easy, so that money drains away without a thought? Well, anyone living on a fixed income will testify that you know exactly what money you have and how long it needs to last. The particular payment method doesn't change the ingrained habit of thinking about the affordability of every purchase. I think the 'reckless spending' notion applies only to people who would be reckless anyway. It may for some be hard to part with physical notes and coins, and for them that is a salutary brake on spending too much; but for me, if my Money Diary spreadsheet tells me I mustn't spend any more than planned, then I take heed and don't. I hate those figures looking bad. The slippage is recorded for all time, a stain on my powers of self-control, a reproach to my common sense. That's disincentive enough.

If for some reason I couldn't use my phone, then I would use chip-and-PIN. It's become the old-fashioned payment method now. But I suppose the PIN bit does add an extra level of security, and the credit card companies must like it better for that reason, and will always let the transaction go through. After all, who ever hands their card to another person and tells them the PIN? (Yes, yes, I know it happens...but this lady has never yet, and wouldn't ever, part with her credit card, let alone the PIN! I'd risk giving offence rather than do that)

But a little story now, to show how going contactless might lead to a glitch.

I had to use chip-and-PIN the other day at Waitrose in Gillingham, but not because the shop's card terminals were behind the times. It was because two attempts to make payment by phone had failed to go through. Twice I got a 'transaction confirmed' message from Google Pay on the phone screen, but the shop's own display nevertheless said the payment had failed. The bill for my groceries was £44.10, a typical spend at Waitrose.

There was no obvious reason why the payment process had hit a rock. After all, I'd used the phone a lot over the previous week or two, and indeed several times already that same day.

We tried chip-and-PIN as a last resort. (Actually I had plenty of cash with me, and that cash was the real 'last resort') Ah, success! It went through that time. Well, great...but why had Google Pay not worked? It had been a rather embarrassing experience!

I soon found out why. Back at Fiona, and still in Waitrose's car park, I got a phone call from my credit card company. Having gone through an extended series of security questions and answers to establish that I really was Lucy Melford, that well-known lady of leisure (and recently-embarrassed old dearie), the young man explained to me that their algorithms had picked up that my credit card was getting more use than normal, and consequently it had been specially monitored. After the morning's transactions (which included buying the new Pittards bag) an automatic block had been placed on further transactions until I could be consulted. That was why the first two attempts to pay at Waitrose that afternoon, both using Google Pay in conjunction with my credit card, had failed to go through. It was OK with Google, but the credit card company hadn't given their approval. They had sternly said no.

The block was put in place in case my card had been stolen and somebody was having a spree with it. Well, it was nice to think they were on the alert like this. I assured the young man that all that spending was indeed mine, and I explained about starting to use Google Pay two weeks earlier, with the effect that most things I might have paid for in cash were now being charged to the credit card instead. This was the new normal. He noted what I said, and seemed to understand perfectly. He said something about giving me 'a £200 a day allowance' for contactless paying using Google Pay, for the next two weeks anyway. This sounded like a short-term restriction, but I may have misunderstood. It was, anyway, unlikely that I'd be paying any really big bill in a contactless fashion until mid-May, when Fiona would be having her annual service and MOT: and so a temporary £200 daily limit was presently no hindrance.

So this is something of a cautionary tale. They are watching you, and if you do something uncharacteristic, or depart from your established track record, they may withdraw payment approval until a check has been made.

It's hard to argue with this cautious approach. After all, if my card had really fallen into somebody else's hands, I'd want them to pick that up pronto and stop the thief having a good time.

And after all, the thief would be spending the credit card company's money, not mine, so it seems reasonable for them to protect themselves from such a loss. (Possibly inconvenient for you or me, of course, until that check is made)

Well, I'd better buy more bags, so that they get used to the idea that now and then I treat myself to more than just groceries, diesel and the odd afternoon tea!

Where do I stash the brolly?

Hmmm. The last three days of my holiday have turned wet - well, sunshine and frequent heavy showers anyway - and this has shown that my 'small bag' notions are inappropriate for bad weather. I need to carry an umbrella, a scarf, possibly a cardigan, and maybe even some gloves (it's been pretty chilly in the Somerset wind and rain). I can't really put all of those things in my new blue Pittards bag, certainly not the umbrella or cardigan. Even just the scarf and gloves wll bury the other stuff (meaning the basics I must always have with me, such as my phone and comb) so that it's no slick operation to reach in and draw things out when wanted. I might even have to unpack a little. Not cool at the till. And definitely an inconvenience.

The new blue bag will be excellent if it's summer weather and I don't need to carry much around. But it hasn't got the chuck-it-all-in, can-hold-it-all-with-space-for-even-more versatility of the old orange Florence bag. The wet and chilly weather is forcing me to revert to my old friend, when I thought I'd hardly be using a large bag again before next October.

Well this is unexpected. You know how it is with brand new bags. You want to wear them all the time, and put them through their paces so to speak. It's frustrating not to savour that pleasure. But I have to bow to circumstances. Look at this picture that I've just taken in the caravan. You can appreciate the size difference between the old orange and new blue bags. Let's be realistic. Which might in fact be the better all-day bag?

There's another thing. The larger bag has two big inner compartments, and I can organise my things by splitting them between the two. The 'business items' such as Tigerlily go into one compartment, and the miscellaneous items like my comb, lipstick, tissues, scarf and gloves go into the other. The twain never get mixed up. Not true for the smaller bag, which has just the one compartment for everything - which is not unreasonable, but a limitation nevertheless. My larger bag allows for a higher degree of convenient functionality. This isn't a clincher for toting around a large bag all year long, but I have to admit that the old orange bag can cope with any practical situation, swallowing a paperback, water bottle, spare shoes, and little shop purchases with ease. And it has done so for years past. That will never be true for the new blue bag. But then it would never be true for any small bag. It's the nature of small bags that they tend to get crammed full - to the point of bulging - with all the essentials that women need to take with them. What's better? A small bag bursting at the seams and hardly possible to zip up, or a large slack bag that holds it all with space for an elephant too?

Yes, small bags can look sweet and girly and stylish and fun. Yes, they are light to carry and don't dominate an outfit. And for sure, they can be absolutely right if you are a minimalist and can - literally - get away with just a smartphone, lipstick and keys. But real life is not a non-stop stroll across the piazza in Italian sunshine, to meet friends and lunch al fresco. It's England. It's damp. You need something to stash your woolly hat and spare socks in.

Late morning already. Time to set forth. It's stopped raining (for now) and I'm off to Wells for Waitrose and a walkabout. Which bag shall I take? I think it'll have to be the orange one. How else will I carry a brolly?

Sequel
Back from Wells and it's brightened up. I've popped everything back into the small Pittards bag. A beach walk at Burnham-on-Sea is on the cards.