Annette and Rory Cox, where are you?

As reported a couple of weeks ago, Martyn got home from the shops to find a document from bailiffs giving notice of a visit two days later to seize goods belonging to Annette and Rory Cox to repay a purported five-figure business rates debt.  Dialogue ensued with the bailiff, the local council involved, and  Experian, the source of their information as to the address of the alleged defaulters.  Another letter arrived about a week ago addressed to Mrs Cox, and I gave it back to Alan, our excellent postie, to return to sender.  Another arrived today, and I opened it: a TalkTalk bill for £568-something.  The debt collectors tell me they'll report back a failed trace.  It'll be interesting to see how much more of this crap we have to put up with.  Meanwhile, I've drafted a notice to stick on the door while we're away, telling bailiffs that if they try to get in or seize goods, they'll be reported for criminal damage and/or burglary.  The next question, when I feel energetic, is to ask the bailiffs why they gave two days' notice instead of the prescribed seven.  Probably a good job I'm on hypertension drugs these days.

Sharp frosts and brilliant sunny days.  Yesterday morning I'd an appointment in Goudhurst, another in Tidebrook and finally a trip to good old Fortnums in Crowborough, so my clockwise tour of Kent and East Sussex gave me a good chance to enjoy the lovely countryside.  The Tidebrook appointment was a good chance to catch up with Jonathan.  They recently had a couple of steers slaughtered, and we have bought a box of various cuts, and all bar last night's excellent sirloins are now in the garage freezer.

Off to art class tomorrow.  I need to make a few finishing touches to a view of the Seven Sisters from Birling Gap.  Thanks to a couple of tips from Miss, it isn't looking too bad.  I'm trying hard to resist fiddling, and just need to adjust the perspective of the waves crashing on to the beach, the texture of the latter and maybe a delicate touch or two to the clouds.  Suppose I could hint at a big cruise barge on the horizon - well, perhaps not....

Hrrrrmmph

A letter arrived yesterday while I was out daubing.  It was from a firm of 'Certificated Enforcement Agents' (bailiffs) addressed to people we've never heard of but addressed precisely to our number, street, village and postcode.  It demanded payment of five figures' worth of non-domestic rates for a pub fifty miles from here, and threatened to come along on Saturday morning to seize goods for auction to pay the debt.  Telephone calls ensued to the bailiffs and the local council.  They are evidently speaking to each other about it, but I've emailed the council demanding written confirmation in hard copy that they have no claim against either or both of us, an explanation and the source of the false information.  Not having this!

Though we've been on to the bailiffs and the council, we can't be sure that the word has reached those who would call on us.  We had planned to go to a matinée in London tomorrow, but do not want to come home to find the door broken in, and will have to man the ramparts of Forges-l'Evêque instead.  Snarl.  It may make me even more pernickety when I'm asked to grant entry warrants!

Progress and achievements

A couple of months post-surgery, there are days when, once I'm moving, I can get around almost painlessly, and at something approaching a normal pace.  Stairs are still uncomfortable, and, of course, some days are significantly worse.

Today's good news if that I've been round all the wash basins and cleaned the plugs of toothpaste and shaving soap residues.  Well, there's fuck-all else to celebrate, eh?