This sci fi romp on a budget, a UK/Canada production is an absolute hoot.
Killjoys are state sanctioned bounty hunts for whom “the warrant is all”, except when it’s not.
We follow a team of Killjoys on their adventures through the quad, four moons that belong to a mining corporation that pretty much everyone works for. There are a few exceptions, the bartender and his backroom addict doctor, the scarback monks for whom pain is holy, and the killjoys.
Dutch is the captain of this crew, a tough level 5 with a complicated history and demons of her own, Jonny and his brother D’avin make up the team and there’s not a lot of blood lost there.
With a sarcastic ship called Sally, people on their tail and bad guys to round up, it’s all go for our heroes as they try to piece together D’avin’s missing memories, find out why Dutch is seeing a ghost and avoid toxic black rain and other problems.
Personally I loved this, and hope not quite Firefly, it will definitely appeal to fans of the cancelled too soon Joss Whedon show. Season one has just ended on Syfy in the UK and season two is on the way. Catch up on demand or through your favourite internet loophole now.
I have always been a bit weird about electric toothbrushes, and until now have dodged them, despite repeated and less than subtle comments from my dentist. But I was offered a pretty decent offer for a Quip toothbrush – advertised as the iPhone of toothbrushes.
You can pick your finish, and I went for a brushed metal finish in copper, it’s a very stylish toothbrush.
It comes from the US so you have to wait a while, but every three months when it’s time to change the head, a new one will appear in the post.
It’s rather fancy in appearance and has a sticky strip to mount it on the bathroom tiles. It runs off a AAA battery, so you can take it anywhere, unlike the kind that need charging all the time.
My plan was $55 (approx £38) and the replacement heads are $5 – but if you sign up online now, your first head is free and if you register, you can get them free for a whole year – which is what I did. Bargain. I didn’t order the toothpaste as well, mostly because I am fussy about my minty freshness, but that is another option.
I’ll let you know how I get on with my new gadget – a pearly white smile is always a bonus. 😁
I have dealt with depression and anxiety since my teens, and in the last few years struggled a lot.
My Mr suggested applying for PIP – which is a payment from the Government to help people with disabilities, mental health issues and long term illnesses afford all the extras that go along with their condition. It’s means tested and requires an interview in person.
I filled out about a million forms, submitted evidence in the form of a letter from my doctor and from the mental health centre at the hospital where I did CBT and psychotherapy.
My assessment interview was ‘near me’ in that it was in London, on the other side of town. Bizarrely it was done by a physiotherapist – obvious choice to assess someone with a mental health issue.
I was rejected on the basis I was able to walk – the application form and interview were very obsessed with mobility as a factor. Except that on my very worst days getting out of bed is impossible. So I can’t walk on those days, I can’t eat, sleep, talk, function at all.
It’s a really bizarre and completely illogical way of deciding whether or not to award someone the benefit of some money to assist in managing their condition. There are days when my anxiety is so bad I can’t use public transport so this money would have been useful to cover a cab to the doctor’s or hospital.
It affects my ability to work and manage the basic things, we’d discussed how having even a small amount would help cover costs when I’m too ill.
But no, a physiotherapist and the worst assessment ideas ever mean that I, like hundreds of others with all sorts of complex and exhausting conditions, are denied even the smallest assistance.
There are plenty of people for whom this is even more devastating – they need that money to survive. But more and more disabled and terminally ill people are being found “fit for work” by these assessments and stripped of their benefits. Never mind that there are no jobs for these people, that employers won’t employ people who need lots of flexibility to attend appointments.
Disabled workers take less sick leave than your average employee, as they feel they have to prove something, and it is illegal to discriminate, but it still happens. It’s just not given as the reason they didn’t get the job. Hidden conditions, invisible illnesses or disabilities, mental health conditions are even harder to prove discrimination against, and likely to receive less empathy.
My last full time permanent job ended because of a complete lack of understanding and support in my attempts to manage my health and continue working. Now I temp and the Mr covers much of our expenses while I look for something longer term.
I don’t expect the government to support me, I don’t intend to demand benefits and sit at home. I want to work, the stimulation and mental exercise of work is good for me. But a little extra to help out during the really bad days isn’t a lot to ask for.
This new system is so flawed that it’s already caused deaths, some people genuinely can’t work, and probably contributes to so many conditions worsening and costing the NHS more money to treat and manage.
It’s cruel and unfair and dangerous. The people behind it, many of them with zero medical knowledge, should be ashamed.
As David Bowie and Freddie Mercury sang changes are heading to ramblingmads. I’ll still be posting beauty box reviews and other bits and bobs but I wanted to change some of the things about the blog and write more broadly on things I care about and am passionate about that might be more serious in tone.
I will mix it up with book and product reviews, recipes and handy hints but there will be more activism, feminism, rats and potentially grumpy rants.
Hope you all stick around for the changes and as always, join in the conversation in the comments. I love hearing what you think. I’ll also be on Twitter and Instagram as always, so come say hi. 🙂
This month is Women’s History Month, and I’m reminded of the Virginia Woolf line “For most of history, anonymous was a woman”.
For much of our history women have toiled in the background while men filled the history books with their deeds.
So in honour of International Women’s Day, here are some of my top historical women.
Ada Lovelace – daughter of the ‘mad, bad and dangerous to know’ Lord Byron, Ada’s passions were for science not poetry. She wrote some of the first computer code while working with Charles Babbage, the father of computers.
Rosalind Franklin – the only woman in the team that first sequenced DNA, she missed out on the Nobel Prize won by her colleagues as she had died of cancer and it’s not rewarded posthumously. Then she was pretty much written out of scientific history. Which is really bad. Watson and Crick failed to thank her when they received their prize and she doesn’t feature in many textbooks.
Boudicca (Boudicea) – queen of the Iceni tribe, scourge of the Romans, fierce and fabulous. Her statue stands at one end of Westminster Bridge to remind Parliament of the wrath of angry women. Or what happens when you try to crush the spirit of these isles.
Marie Stopes – a controversial figure, Stopes pioneered safe abortions and taught women about contraception. Her work saved lives and continues to through the organisation named after her.
Elizabeth I – my favourite of the small group of women to have held the British throne. She was the last female monarch to hold absolute power, famously never married and is thought to be the hand behind several anonymous poems (some to the French ambassador! Scandal!). Good Queen Bess was a tough cookie, seeing off claims to her throne, Spanish armadas and amorous attempts to control her through marriage. The last Tudor monarch was also famous for her incredibly pale skin – created by wearing lead based paint, which ate at her skin. Beauty was definitely painful.
Those of you who’ve been following me for a while know that about 18 months ago I had a breakdown, my depression and anxiety went into overdrive following an incident at my then job.
I spent most of the last year and a half on long term sick leave while I fought with myself and mental illness. I went to CBT and group therapy. Neither seemed to help.
I found the right medication with the help of some super dedicated doctors and started blogging as a means of getting outside of myself, even on days when getting out of bed was impossible.
Thursday was #timetotalk a nation wide initiative aimed at breaking the silence around mental health. It’s still taboo, treatment is patchy on the NHS and the media paints everyone with a mental health issue as a danger to the public.
We might be nuts but we’re mostly harmless. In fact people suffering from a mental illness are more likely to harm themselves than you. Which means they (we) need support and empathy all the more. Our own brains are against us. It can be absolutely terrifying when you’re at war with yourself.
I thought I would share some of the things that have helped me find some balance again. Please be aware that these do not replace the advice of your doctors/therapists etc. I am not an expert in the field and this is all based on my own personal experience of surviving two mental breakdowns in my life and battling depression and anxiety for over ten years.
Depression makes you unbelievably selfish. You just stop caring about anyone or anything else around you. Eventually you stop caring about yourself. You couldn’t care less if you never got out of bed again. You stop eating, washing, wear the same pyjamas for days on end. But sometimes you don’t have a choice.
My boysies
We got Algernon and Justin last May, they’re part emotional support, you cannot be depressed around them, and part un-selfish device. They need to be fed, fussed over, talked to, cuddled and spoilt all the time. They were joined by three girl rats, sadly Peaches and Cream crossed the rainbow bridge but Custard still rules the rat house.
Boss Rat
Pets force us to think about something outside of ourselves – I’m not saying go out and buy an animal to make yourself better, but for me, these little balls of fur have been such a great joy.
I can’t always articulate why I am having a bad day, depression steals my words and anxiety stops me from locating them. But books are always there. On the days when crawling into a novel was too hard, there were graphic novels/comics, poems and declaiming speeches from Shakespeare (I knew my degree would be useful one day). Other people’s words when mine failed.
Adult colouring books were huge in 2015, and I was there, scribbling away, mostly mandalas, but finding the edge taken off my anxiety by the repetitive nature of the activity and the colours. No wonder little kids seem so happy when they colour in.
Blogging helped me immensely, it distracted me from the war in my head. Same with Instagram and twitter, though I had to step away from Facebook and its barely controlled anger, I explored more of the things I enjoy, finding my way back to me.
Going back to work, just not that work. I tried to go back to my old job, I’d been there five years, but there was no support, I was treated like I’d been off with the flu, not a serious illness. So I left again, this time for good. The relief was amazing. Then I started temping, and while I now know that’s not for me, it gave me back a lot of confidence.
A "cookie"
Finding the funny – above is what should have been chocolate chip cookies, I honestly have no idea what happened, but instead of panicking about how I’d messed up, I took a photo, sent it to my best friend and reminded her of previous baking fails. Then I laughed, proper deep belly laughs. Because life is ridiculous and none of us are getting out alive.
Lean on others – I’ve been really lucky, the Mr has been the most amazing support. And I know it hasn’t been easy for him. Lean on the people who love you, whether it’s a friend, family member, your mum, partner or Samaritan. Let them take the strain for a moment, don’t be afraid of letting others in.
Asking for help is probably the hardest thing you can do. But it is also the most liberating. We fight our monsters in silence, but it is OK to say “I can’t do this anymore” and ask for help. I cried in my doctor’s office as I finally admitted I couldn’t cope and needed help. I am so glad I did. I’m honestly not sure if I would be here now if I hadn’t.
I don’t post about this often but it’s been on my mind recently and it’s weighing me down.
I love the theatre and I love ballet, have done since I was tiny (expelled from ballet lessons aged 7 for wanting to do ‘real dancing’ not endless good toes, bad toes, expelled from drama class at 13 for being “too dramatic” – I kid you not).
But since meeting the Mr a serious question has arisen – why are so many arts spaces hostile to the disabled?
My Mr broke his back aged 21 falling from a window at a party, he had extensive spinal surgery and rehab, he now uses a wheelchair to get around as he is paralysed from the waist down (yes he can still have sex before you ask, no I won’t explain in detail).
He wasn’t a massive theatre goer before we got together 6 years ago, he’d been to a few musicals and some live comedy. I took him to his first festival, first Shakespeare play and first ballet.
Some arts venues are brilliant, super accommodating and helpful (the Lyric Hammersmith, whatever the Hammersmith Apollo is now called, the O2, and a few West End theatres can’t do enough), others are a bit of a pain (Barbican, with its annoying registration process for example) and others are just downright obstructive.
We went to Sadler’s Wells a few years ago to see Matthew Bourne’s Gothic Sleeping Beauty, he’s my favourite choreographer, and I was delighted. The Mr booked the tickets and while they were a bit useless about it, we did get sorted in the end.
Christmas 2014 – Bourne’s Edward Scissorhands is at Sadler’s Wells. I want to go, the Mr says he’ll book, a Christmas present.
We don’t go, because SW have decided people lie about needing a wheelchair space and they want proof – a very particular proof, that even Government agencies don’t ask for, before they’ll make any booking.
We complain, it’s a really obnoxious policy and the access manager isn’t much better. We can’t find the document they want, and no other, even a note from his GP will do.
Who lies about needing a wheelchair space? They’ll look incredibly stupid when they turn up and have to stand, as chairs are removed to make room. You just refuse them then or ask them to pay the full value, or whatever.
It’s a policy I’ve never come across before or since. But it basically says “ballet is not for you” to anyone ringing up.
Ballet gets a lot of stick for being elitist, something many companies and venues are trying to change so to have the dance venue in London behave like this is extraordinary.
This Christmas just gone Sleeping Beauty was back, we didn’t even discuss going, we saw Bill Bailey in the West End instead (he was brilliant and the theatre’s assistance excellence) but I did ring Sadler’s Wells and they still have this mad policy in place. Way to tell disabled dance fans you don’t want them cluttering up your audience.
I took a bus through part of London today, something I rarely do, preferring the speed of the tube or walking the back streets. But it was nice to watch the city pass by.
The city called me/so I
came
– Emmy the Great
The buildings, some Victorian, some older, some new and glass fronted. The columns of St George’s Church in Bloomsbury, the narrow alleyways you can almost see the Artful Dodger vanishing down.
Photo via Twitter
When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life – Samuel Johnson
I didn’t take photos, blurry through the bus window, I just took it in. The quirky old fashioned gentlemen’s outfitter, the cafés and restaurants serving cuisine from every corner of the globe.
Picture via Twitter
That mix of old and new, those glass fronts amongst brilliant red brick, the people rushing by.
The title of this post is from a song about San Francisco by Vanessa Carlton, but London hums, the trains beneath the streets, the traffic rumbling past. The ranks of black cabs and red Boris bikes, hundreds of languages carried by the wind.
Via Twitter
What has always fascinated me is how organic London is, it grew not from plans drawn up in an office somewhere, but from necessity, taking in farmland and spitting out city.
There are hundreds of stories, both real and read in this city. The echoes of Twist and Holmes, the Ripper and Whittington. Soaked into the paving beneath our feet.
Here’s two stories about two very different ways to respond to a customer. I should preface this by saying I have worked in several customer service roles and I know that while the customer is not always right, they do deserve a decent response.
Story one.
I bought a necklace from Punky Pins in their Boxing Day sale. It arrived, I failed to even take it out of the packaging for a while. When I did I discovered it was damaged.
So I dropped the team an email, and asked where to send it for a replacement. A response appeared the next morning. They were so sorry that had happened, could I send them a quick photo so they could see the damage and know whether or not to strengthen the chain before posting me a replacement.
That took all of ten seconds, they confirmed my address and promised to send out a new one asap.
Story 2.
I received an email from Glossybox that there was a problem with my account but not to worry, my box would be sent out once I’d checked my details. Which I did, a confirmation of updated details appeared, money went out, I sat back to wait for my box.
A week later, another email. I wasn’t going to be receiving a box. No reason given. So I sent them a message through their contact page. I heard nothing. Then my subscription was cancelled, something I only found out after logging into the site. I renewed it, they took a second payment.
I popped on Twitter and asked why I hadn’t received anything. They were busy. So am I, but I don’t use that as an excuse not to reply to emails in my job.
Eventually they said they’d never received my message and that I should give them a ring. I did, no answer and as I was at work, no time to keep trying.
So I sent them another message. And got a reply! Only it was a very rude one, they’d sold out of the boxes for January and would be sending me a ‘starter box’ despite my having been a subscriber for some time. If I wanted to return it, I could, at my own expense.
I complained via Twitter because I was so fed up. If I sent an email to a customer in any job like that, I would have been in serious shit.
I got another email, I could return the box (which I haven’t even received) and send my postage receipt and they’d pay that. But I am still two payments down, with no boxes.
Then they had the cheek to send a ‘how did we do’ email. Nothing has been resolved. I have sent an email laying out the whole saga. It probably won’t get read, easiest thing to do is claim they never received it.
To be continued.
How about you? Ever had to deal with companies like this? What’s your take on the importance of customer service? Let me know below.
ramblingmads 