Sigh. Of course more. Because I obviously have loads and loads of time to waste, and my life wouldn’t be complete without a mound of ineptitude or bureaucracy to deal with, now, would it?

Over here in the Netherlands, when you move you have to register your new address at your local town hall. It’s the law, and if you don’t do it within a specific period of time then the address police hunt you down and drag you off to prison in The Hague for a gazillion years and you’re never heard from again. No, not really. The police here are very nice and polite, and I have no clue what the authorities do to you if you don’t register at the town hall, but I’m guessing that it would include a strict talking to and a hefty fine (you can get arrested and fined for jay walking over here - it happens more than you’d think).

So, let’s wind back a few weeks to when we signed the lease for the new apartment with the management company. Nice Rep (before she became Ms. Hyde Rep) gave us an official piece of paper with our names on (including Teenager #1’s name) and told us that it was vital that all three of us took this to the town hall with us. Fine. We could do that.

Wind forward to a couple of weeks ago when Oh Patient One took a day off work so that we could go to the town hall en famille and do our legal duty. First, we go to the reception desk, explain our business, and Nice Receptionist checks our ID cards (everyone has to carry one by law), and looks at our paperwork.

“I’m sorry,” she tells us. “You also need to provide a copy of your lease agreement before I can give you an appointment.”

There was bound to be something!

But no problem. The town hall opens until 8pm on Friday evenings, so we duly trot back to see Nice Receptionist on the aforementioned evening, this time with the copy of our lease. We hold our breaths as Nice Receptionist checks our paperwork.

“Fine,” she says, hands us a ticket, and tells us to take a seat with the gazillion other people in the vast hall. Our ticket number will be flashed on the various screens around the hall, along with the appropriate desk we should go to when it was our turn. We wait. And then we wait some more. And then we wait some more.

An hour later it is our turn. Finally! So we find the appropriate desk, present our documentation, and. . .

“I’m sorry,” Nice Admin Person tells us. “This copy of your lease is not signed by your management company. I need to see another copy with signatures before I can change your address.”

Oh Patient One and I collectively hit our heads with the base of our hands. Of course it isn’t signed. The management company hasn’t sent us the signed copy of the lease, as promised, so you know what that means, don’t you? I have to go to see Ms. Hyde Rep and get a copy of the signed lease. Oh joy!

“I’m sorry you waited an hour for no reason,” Nice Admin Person adds as we turn to leave. “I can make you an appointment to come back if you’d like. You wouldn’t have to wait in line next time. Oh, and you don’t all have to come. Let me take a copy of your passports and give you an official document.”

Great. This means that Oh Patient One doesn’t to take even more time off work. We make an appointment for the following Tuesday at 8.30 am (the first appointment of the day).

The following Monday I steel myself and trek to the management company HQ. Oh Patient One suggests that I call first, but after my last experience with Ms. Hyde Rep I am not prepared to be fobbed off and hung up on. I am ready to do battle. As per with the key problem, I am not leaving the building without a signed copy of the lease and. . .

“No problem,” the nice reception person tells me.

I am pleasantly surprised. I’d forgotten how helpful she’d been last time about the key situation. I am even more pleasantly surprised when getting a copy of the signed lease does not involve Ms. Hyde Rep. Whew. Five minutes later I leave with a signed copy of the lease. Success! We’re very nearly legal! Nothing can possibly go wrong, now.

So I go to the town hall the following morning. I arrive at 8.15 bright and early, but by 8.45 there is still no sign of Nice Admin Person at her desk, and I am questioning my euphoria of the day before. Will we ever be legal? Do I have to go back to reception and get a ticket and wait an hour before I can see someone? Will there be Yet Another Problem when I finally get to see someone? I’ve wasted enough time. I decide to take action.

I go to speak to another rep who currently doesn’t have a member of the public with her, explain the problem to her, she apologizes profusely for her colleague’s absence and sorts out the paperwork for me on the spot.

Five minutes later, ta dah! Whew! Yay! Legal again!

©2008 Michelle Cunnah Blog. All Rights Reserved.

It’s happening! At least, I hope it is…

Rock star physicist, Brian Cox, tells us about the Large Hadron Collider at CERN, and how scientists are trying to find the theory of everything. It’s thrilling, it’s exciting, it’s hot - literally hot for quite a long time after Big Bang. Brian is thrilling and exciting and hot, himself, and just damn well worth listening to

http://blog.ted.com/2008/04/brian_cox.php

Are you in love, yet?

Edit: I really should have mentioned this when I orignally posted, but didn’t, so decided to add it because I think it’s worth mentioning here, as well as in the comments section.

As well as being an excellent, enthusiastic communicator of science, Prof Cox really did used to be a rock star. He was the keyboard player for a UK band called D:Ream

This is D:Ream with one of their British hits:

Now are you in love?

©2008 Michelle Cunnah Blog. All Rights Reserved.

Like the time I came to the USA for a writer’s conference. My train from Rotterdam to Amsterdam airport was delayed for an hour due to a cow on the train tracks eating its breakfast.

Like the time I travelled back from another conference and the whole of the public transport system was on strike, so no trains. I had to wait for hours to get a cab back to Rotterdam with all of the other stranded travellers. That cost 200 Euros (about $300 - ouch). Fortunately, another stranded Rotterdamer shared the cab and the fare with me.

Like another time when I travelled to Hamburg to meet Oh Patient One there for a company social occasion (the launch of a huge container ship followed by a party). Not only was the public transport system on strike again and I had to get a cab to Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport (sigh, another 200 Euros), not only did the airline have the bloody cheek to have put me on ’standby’ without telling me when I booked the ticket (no, I didn’t want a gift voucher - I wanted on that plane!), but on the way back a bolt of lightening had shut down the train system so we had to get a cab back then, too.

Like yet another time flying to Dallas for another conference, I forgot to lock the bathroom door (how? how?) and a male passenger opened it while I was still in there. Fortunately, he didn’t see anything. On the return journey back to New Jersey a storm had delayed all of the flights by hours and hours and hours.

So, you get the picture. Me and travel. Not a good mix.

A few weeks ago I went to the RWA national conference in San Francisco. There was no point me worrying about anything that could go wrong, because what was the point? Why worry about the inevitable? There was sure to be something.

Got my train to Amsterdam airport, no cows, no delays, no unlocked bathroom doors, no problems. Got my flight to Newark’s Liberty International, ditto. Connecting flight to San Francisco, ditto.

Okay, thought I, something would happen in San Francisco. My very good friend Alesia Holliday and I had tickets to vist Alcatraz, so maybe there’d be a problem in the cab or on the ferry. Nope. It all went well and we had a fab time, except for getting a bit lost on the way out of the actual prison building (we found our way out and I jokingly said to Alesia that we had escaped from Alcatraz).

Maybe disaster would strike on the way back to Rotterdam?

My flights were all on time, I even slept most of the way on the red-eye from Houston to Amsterdam. I bought my train ticket from Amsterdam to Rotterdam from the machine while I waited for my luggage to make its appearance on the conveyer belt. The next train was in 20 minutes. Perfect. I’d go sit in the sun for a few minutes outside the airport terminal, grab a coffee, and make my way to the appropriate platform.

The train was on time, I was back in Rotterdam before I knew it. Yes! Maybe my luck was changing.

Wait, Michelle, I hear you all cry. Surely something must have gone wrong?

Nope. Not a thing. Except . . .

Well, when I came back into the terminal building to grab a coffee I accidentally forgot about my luggage, which I’d left sunbathing outside. It was nearly my turn to get coffee when I remembered it! With despairing thoughts about the airport authorities surrounding my luggage and carrying out a controlled explosion of my clothes and stuff (I took the good stuff with me to the conference), I ran like the bionic woman back outside the airport. Fortunately, my luggage was there waiting for me . . .

Michelle, Relieved in Rotterdam

PS. San Francisco was completely, utterly fab. I am going to take Oh Patient One there someday.

©2008 Michelle Cunnah Blog. All Rights Reserved.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/7570097.stm

A wild dolphin is apparently teaching other members of her group to walk on their tails, a behaviour usually seen only after training in captivity.

The tail-walking group lives along the south Australian coast near Adelaide.

And

“We can’t for the life of us work out why they do it,” said Mike Bossley from the Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society (WDCS), one of the scientists who have been monitoring the group on the Port River estuary.

I think they are doing it for fun.

“This indicates that they do learn from each other, which is not a surprise really, but it does also seem that they exhibit elements of what in humans we would call ‘cultural’ behaviour,” said Dr Bossley.

Cultural behavior and having fun! I’m with Douglas Adams on the dolphins. They are really smart. That’s what I think and I’m sticking to it.

So long, and thanks for all the fish!

©2008 Michelle Cunnah Blog. All Rights Reserved.

“Are any of the keys security keys that we can’t get copied ourselves?” I ask Nice Rep. See, for our old apartment we got two sets of keys, and one of them was a security key. We had to purchase another one directly from the management company for Teenager #2.

“No problem, none of the keys are security keys,” she assures us with a smile.

She lied.

The main door to the apartment block does, in fact, require a security key. Of course, the representative handing us the two sets of keys can’t help us with an extra security key. Talk about confusing! He tells us we should contact his colleague back at the management company HQ.

So a few days later I call Nice Rep to see what should be done about the situation. There is another issue about the kitchen door (i.e., there isn’t one) that I need to clarify with her. I am nice, I am polite, I am friendly as I explain the situation to her. I mean, I don’t even mention the fact that she’d assured me I wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

“Why are you calling me?” she growls down the phone, no longer Nice Rep but inexplicably Ms. Hyde Rep.

“Um, sorry. If you’re not the right person to call, can you tell me who I should speak with?” I ask, wondering what the heck I’ve done to upset her.

“Another colleague deals with keys,” she growls again. “I’ll give you a number to call about the kitchen door.”

So she does. I make a note of it. And while I’m waiting for her to transfer me to her colleague who deals with the keys, she hangs up on me.

I call back.

“Why are you calling me again?” she all but snarls down the phone at me.

“Um, I thought you were transferring me to your colleague about the key.”

“No. I gave you the number.”

“Oh, the same person who deals with doors also deals with keys?”?

“Yes!” she hangs up on me again.

I don’t believe her. Why should I?

A couple of days later I go in person to the management company HQ. I am ready to do battle. I am not leaving without a key. The receptionist is totally great. She makes a call and five minutes later (and 35 Euros later) I have a copy of the security key for Teenager #2.

I still don’t have a kitchen door, though . . .

Michelle

PS. We still don’t have a copy of the signed contract. More about which at a later date, along with more Dutch Red Tape

©2008 Michelle Cunnah Blog. All Rights Reserved.

Before we moved out of the old apartment (we had an overlap of two weeks) I dialled the 0900 TEN EURO CENTS PER MINUTE customer rip-off number, got through to the obligatory automated system, waded through all the sub menus, and finally got to speak to a representative. I explained (again, in my truly awful Dutch) what it is that I wanted, and was rather shocked at what she said to me.

Very Nice Rep: “Oh, that’s no problem. I can see from our computer system that your new apartment already has all the necessary outlets and a cable connection. It will take about two or three working days for your request to be processed, and in the meantime you will also have Internet/TV connectivity at your old place, too.”

Me (once I have recovered from the lack-of-a-problem shock and pulled myself up off the floor): “Oh. That’s fantastic! It’s so easy!” Then, just a little suspiciously. “It seems too easy. Are you sure that I don’t need to do anything else?”

Very Nice Rep (laughing): “You don’t need to do anything else. It’s all taken care of.”

This was fabulous, this was wonderful, we were planning on sleeping at the new apartment from Friday (three days later), so we’d have the Internet and the TV straight away! Yay!

Anyway, we moved the beds, TV, computers, and modem over to the new apartment so that we could finally sleep there and be connected and . . . we couldn’t find the right outlets to plug the modem and TV into. Honestly, we looked and looked, but the ones in the corner of the living room were obviously the wrong shape and size for our equipment. Oh Patient One and I search everywhere. I just knew nothing could be that easy.

So Monday morning I trundled back to the old apartment to call the expensive 0900 customer rip-off number again. After a gazillion years (felt like) I got through to a real human being and explained the problem.

Very Nice Rep #2: “Are you sure you checked everywhere? Our computer system indicates that you have the outlets and the cable. Your service has been activated. You should be connected.”

Me: “There is a white box with two outlets, but they’re the wrong shape and size for our modem and Internet.”

Very Nice Rep #2: “I don’t understand!” Me, either. But after a moment or two of silence while Very Nice Rep #2 thought it through, he added, “Did you check the closet where your electrical fuses are located? There should be a white box with a green cable coming into it.”

Me (now hitting my forehead with the base of my palm): “Um, no. We didn’t think to check in there. Okay, white box, green cable. I’ll have to check, but in the meantime can we make an appointment for installation, anyway?”

Very Nice Rep #2: “I can wait if you want to check now.”

Of course, then I had to launch into an explanation about the telephone, and how I had to come to the old apartment to use it, and couldn’t actually check the closet in the new apartment from the old apartment. He explained that I couldn’t have an apointment until I’d checked, so I hung up, trundled back to the old aparmtment, and . . . there was no white box with a green cable in the electrical closet. Of course there wasn’t!

The next day I trundled yet again back to the old apartment, did the 0900 thing, waited about for ages, etc., got to speak to Very Nice Rep #3 (who told me my Dutch was better than his English, which it clearly wasn’t, but it was nice of him to say so), and made an appointment for the electrician to pay me a visit in two days’ time between 12 noon and 6 in the evening. Finally, I would have the Internet and TV. I’d be back in the 21st century again!

Guess what. I waited in all day and the guy didn’t show.

“Why don’t you call them on your cell phone?” Oh Patient One soothed me that evening, because by now I was not a very happy bunny. Cell phone. Good idea. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

I checked the credit on my pay-as-you-go phone (the only way I can have my very own phone rather than a plan in Oh Patient One’s name–I know it should be possible to get a plan in my own name. I I tried awhile ago and just couldn’t deal with all the bloody Red Tape involved). I had about 20 Euros credit (roughly $29.50 - that should be enough, right?).

Next day I called the 0900 number, and after I listened to the warning message that although this call cost 10 Euro cents per minute on a regular phone, it would probably be more on a cell phone, and after I did the automated voice system thing, I finally got through to a rep after about twenty minutes. We did the whole history, blah, blah, and finally:

Very Nice Rep #4: “I’m sorry, madam. My previous colleague made the wrong kind of appointment for you. We tried calling you to let you know, but nobody answered.”

Gah. I forgot to give them my cell phone number. They were calling the old apartment!

Very Nice Rep #4: Let’s make you an appointment for an engineer to come around.”

Progress! The ‘right’ kind of appointment. At last.

Very Nice Rep #4: “Sorry, madam, our booking system is slow today, can you wait for a few minutes?”

Me (worrying about the diminishing credit on my cell phone, because I have no idea how much it’s being charged for this call): “Um, fine, fine.”

Several minutes passed . . .

Very Nice Rep #4: “I have an appointment for you. Would it be convenient for you on–”

And then my cell phone died. Right at that precise moment. I kid you not.

About an hour later, after having trekked back to the old apartment, teeth gnashing, steam coming out of ears, I finally got to speak to another rep and I was told that I would have to wait two weeks for the right kind of appointment. Gah!

When the electrician finally turned up two weeks later (the appointment was for between 12 noon and 7pm - he turned up at 11.30 am so it was a good job someone was home to let him in) he took one look at our connector. We did have all the necessary connections (although no green cable was in evidence). We just needed the appropriate adaptor, available for a small cash sum at all reputable computer stores . . .

We could have been online two weeks earlier! But surely nothing else could go wrong with our move. Surely we’d had our share of sheer bloody incompetence.

Guess what? We were wrong on that occasion, too.

Coming soon - The Story of the Keys

Michelle

©2008 Michelle Cunnah Blog. All Rights Reserved.

Anyhoo, speaking of the move, those of you who are familiar with me from literarychicks know that I always have little disasters and red tape thwarting me whenever I am involved in arranging absolutely anything and, of course, this time was no different than before.

The Telephone Episode

I am always getting telemarketing calls from different phone companies who want to offer me a great deal if only I’ll switch to their particular super-duper, fantastically wonderful service immediately on the strength of a verbal agreement. So when it came to getting our telephone number switched from the old apartment to the new one, I thought it would be a case of our provider simply pressing some keys on a keyboard, and hey presto! How wrong could a person be, sigh? This is what actually happened.

So I call the 0900 customer service number from the old apartment (at a charge to me of TEN EURO CENTS PER MINUTE - that’s approximately 15 US cents - which is more like ‘customer rip-off services’ than ‘customer services’ if you ask me). Of course, I am connected to one of those automated menu systems where you have to practically give them your entire life history before you can speak to a real human. I manage to work my way through all the sub menus, and finally, about 20 minutes later, I get to speak to a very nice, helpful representative. I explain to him (in my terrible Dutch) what it is that I want, and Very Nice Rep tells me something astonishing in this day and age. At least, I think it’s astonishing.

Very Nice Rep: “Sorry, madam, but it will take at least two working weeks for us to change over your number.”

Me (perplexed): “But. But. But I only want my current number switched to my new apartment. It’s only about five miles away. It’s in the same area. How can that take two whole working weeks?”

Very Nice Rep (repeating himself patiently because of the obviously dense English woman): “Sorry, madam, but it will take at least two working weeks for us to change over your number.”

And then he went on to explain in fast, techinical Dutch why it would take so long, and at this point I totally lost him, so I gave up and told him thank you and hung up. Oh, well. Two working weeks it would have to be.

Oh Patient One tracked our account on the Internet every day at work. The phone company delayed our date and time for changeover twice. We would have to wait nearly THREE WEEKS. At least we’d have the Internet so that we could call people on Skype and generally keep in touch with the rest of the world during the transition. Or so I thought . . .

Back next time with the sorry tale of the Internet and the TV

©2008 Michelle Cunnah Blog. All Rights Reserved.

With the forthcoming launch of my first Young Adult book, Almost Fabulous, later this month, I am now Michelle Radford. As well as being Michelle Cunnah for my adult romantic comedies. Which can be very confusing!

But what have you been up to since you and the literarychicks disbanded, I hear you cry?

Well…

• I’ve managed not to lose my purse…
• I’ve not had any problems with trams, trains or planes…
• And I’ve managed not to get conned by any telemarketers…

All in all, a good start to 2008!

Well, I have had one little kind of maybe mishap, and a train was involved…

Recently, a friend of mine from America was planning a whistle-stop visit to Amsterdam on her way back from visiting family in England, and she got in touch to say did I want to meet up. To which my reply was, of course, don’t think you can sneak into the Netherlands and not see me!

So we sorted out a date, and a couple of weeks later off I trotted to Rotterdam Central Station, got my ticket, got to the platform and…the train was delayed by nearly an hour. Of course, I didn’t have my cell phone with me because I’d forgotten it, or else I could have phoned ahead to Anna’s hotel.

Anyways, I arrived (finally) in Amsterdam, got on a tram, followed the instructions to the hotel, went into the lobby and Anna was nowhere to be seen. Oh no! She got fed up of waiting for me and went out, thought I. And then I thought, no, Anna’s probably popped up to her hotel room so I’ll just sit right here and watch out for her.

Thirty minutes later I was still sitting there…

Then I had the bright idea of checking with the reception desk.

“We do not have anyone of that name staying with us,” the very helpful receptionist told me.

“Um, well maybe the reservation is in her husband’s name?” said I, starting to panic.

“Sorry, nobody of that name is staying with us,” Very Helpful Receptionist said, after checking her computer screen. “Perhaps you have a cell phone number for your friend?”

Great idea! Fabulous idea! Very Kind Receptionist let me call her, even though Anna has an American cell phone and I warned Very Kind Receptionist that the call might cost quite a bit.

“No problem, I’m here to help,” she said, as I dialed the number.

I got Anna’s voicemail. But it sounded a bit odd, because her message said that neither she nor her husband could come to the phone right now, and why would her cell phone message include her husband? I left her a breathless message to let her know that I was in the hotel lobby, and about my trouble with the train, and how sorry I was to be late…

And then I had a thought. What if I’d gotten the date wrong?

In the corner of the hotel lobby I spotted a computer, so before you could say Michelle’s-a-bit-of-an-idiot-for-not-thinking-of-this-sooner, I logged on, opened up her last email to me and…

I was a week early. It’s true!

The following week off I trundled to Amsterdam, met Anna, had a lovely, lovely time, and all was well.

©2008 Michelle Cunnah Blog. All Rights Reserved.