For those who haven't read the blog before, I'm craft inept.  As in totally and absolutely.  However, I've met online many people who are far from being inept, one of these people is my friend Caroline.  Not only is she crafty, she's also incredibly kind.  I'm not just waxing lyrical about a faceless name either, despite being active online in various communities for nearly 20 years, I've only ever physically met up with around five people (y'know because I'm an utter headcase) and yes, Caroline was one of these so believe me when I tell you she is not just full of but overflowing with awesomeness.

Despite being a very busy lady Caroline is donating her time to making bags for ladies with breast cancer to carry their drains in, many whilst already feeling horrific end up carting these things around in pillow cases etc  With these bags they get something pretty or funky, lovingly made just for them.  Everybody deserves something beautiful.  Especially these ladies.  If she creates a Facebook page for this generous venture i'll update here with a link so you can see the beautiful face behind the awesomeness.

Caroline's message:

If anyone else would like to donate it works like this...

Lancaster hospital asked my local fabric shop for people to volunteer their sewing skills to make pretty bags to hold the post-surgery fluid drain bags needed by ladies with breast cancer. I donate the sewing time, and you donate £3.50 to cover the cost of the fabric, and you get a finished bag, except you don't, a lady with breast cancer gets it, and with it hopefully a smile and a little bit of dignity .

You can pay me by paypal (carolinefarchie @ yahoo .co .uk), or e-mail me for my bank details if you want to internet bank it, or post a cheque

This is the shop website and charity details http://www.grace-favour.co.uk/blog/

When Caroline first put her message out among friends online she was overwhelmed by their response and has so far completed nearly 60 bags.  With your donations, she's willing to keep making them, donating her time and effort for free, getting back ache and squinty eyes so you don't have to.  She even lets you choose the fabrics and often posts pictures of the finished bags so you can see what you personally have donated.

If you don't fancy donating to sponsor a bag yet you're nifty with a sewing machine, why not make your own to donate?  More info can be found at: http://www.grace-favour.co.uk/blog/read_106932/breast-cancer-drain-bag.html

Maybe you're part of a sewing group who'd like to do something similar for your local hospital?  Together, you can make a difference, where it matters.

Although not breast cancer, cancer is a topic close to my heart, it stole my granddad, tried to steal my mum and is currently claiming my God Father.  It is ruthless and doesn't discriminate.  Currently we can't always stop it but we can help those who are battling it.

So if you can spare £3.50, please do consider sponsoring a bag, it's a worthy cause and one day it could be someone you know benefiting from one of these.

The big C word.

I want to take a moment to briefly talk about Cancer.

Cancer stole my granddad from me when I was a child. Cancer tried to take my Mum.  Cancer is currently brutalising my Godfather and one of his brothers.  I have a friend who's been recently battling cancer when she should be carefree and enjoying her babies first few years of life.  Cancer doesn't discriminate.  It doesn't give a shit.  Basically Cancer is a twat.

Something like 1 in  3 people will experience Cancer.

It's 2014 and it's still wreaking havoc, pain and misery upon us.

Now I could ask you to sponsor me yet I'm not very sponsor worthy.  Most things physical are out.  I can't make anything to sell as i'm craft inept.  Even the, to many, daring task of dying their hair pink is out of bounds for me because I frequently dye my hair a myriad of colours anyway so it wouldn't be impact enough on my life to make it worth of sponsorship.  I feel impotent of being able to do anything to make a difference.

So, I'm going to cut out the middle stuff and just simply ask you to donate direct to charity.  It's not me raising money, it's about all of us raising money, together. I won't beg or plead.  There's no competitive public page listing who donates and how much.  Nobody will know if you donate or not, certainly not me.  I'm not asking you to do this for me, I'm simply asking you to do it for you because the sad facts are, if your life hasn't already been darkened by Cancer, it probably will be in the future be it a relative, neighbour or friend.

Maybe donate the price of a pack of fags if you smoke?  A bottle of wine if you drink? Forgo, just once, your weekly takeaway treat if you have one?  Hell, even if all you can spare is 50p, it helps.  It all adds up.  It will make a difference.

Donate to Cancer Research
Donate to Christies (The wonderful people at Christies were angels for my Mum)

Charity

I absolutely understand that many charities feel the need to be 'seen' and thus harass random plebs upon the street under the guise of 'raising awareness'.  They're only marginally less repulsive than those who knock on your door, however there are a few who seem not to take 'No' for an answer.  Once upon a time you'd get someone rattling a plastic donation thing where as a kid you'd delight in being given a handful of shrapnel to post through the slot and usually be rewarded with a sticker.  Occasionally you'd get a somewhat optimistic collector who'd have a bucket, because sometimes you have to dream big.  It was rare that they'd actively approach you, they'd just make themselves visible and give you the option to approach and donate, if you did they always seemed ever so grateful.

These days walking round town is akin to a stint Takeshis Castle as you try and weave, dodge and outsmart the leering vulture breed of collectors who randomly leap into your path all hard gazed and fake smiled and with extraordinarily forward body language they manage to literally block out the world and prevent you from passing.  There's no collection boxes and not even any stickers.  Oh no, these guys don't want your loose change, they want your bank details and possibly your blood and first born too.  'No' is simply not an option to these guys who layer on the guilt actively trying to weedle their way into your conscience and become so overbearing many people will donate just to get them out of their way.  The Husband dared to say no once and actually got a right mouthful from the uncharitable bint who was ironically working for charity.

Then there's today, this really took the biscuit.  Whilst walking through town The Husband overheard someone talking to a scavenger of a Charity harrasser.  The person was explaining that they would love to donate, were more than willing to give out their bank details but could only afford £2 a week.  Did the Charity representative say thank you?  Were they gracious ?  Were they fuck. They replied curtly with 'It has to be £2 a week.  We can't set it up for any less.  You need to give us £2 a week'

Whatever happened to beggars can't be choosers? What about every little helps?

This new breed of charity collectors are even more malignant then those pushy energy suppliers etc who attempt to sucker you in on the streets.  They are relentless and vile.  These are hard times and not everyone can afford to give. Charity shouldn't be conditional on bank details.

Charity is the voluntary giving of help, it shouldn't be ciphered out through coercing and harassment.

I'll stick to the collection boxes, stickers and those fuzzy things with eyes thankyou very much.  I'll give because I want to.  Because I can.  Because it's asked not demanded.

As money is short we often donate items instead to charity shops.  We pick the shops and we take them direct to them.  Generally they're very appreciative.

Apart from the charity The Mother approached.  She wanted to donate to them a load of furniture that although not fashionable nor new it was in impeccable condition and was expensive.  Did they offer to collect it with gratitude and appreciation?  No, they uhhmed and ahh'ed and said they'd take a look at it first.  They then tsked and became picky about what they'd take with them.  Bare in mind The Mother could have easily got several hundreds of pounds for these on eBay.  Maybe I'm old fashioned but quite frankly I found this rude and terribly ungrateful.

Don't even get me started on the well known chain of charity shop who sold a £3 digital clock to The Husband, accepted his money and then tried to prevent him leaving the shop with the item until he handed over his name and address for 'warranty reasons' stating it was 'mandatory', yes...for a £3 second hand clock from a charity shop.  Just another way to try and con personal details out of you, because obviously buying from them isn't enough.  Needless to say The Husband was having none of it and told them so in no uncertain terms.

Don't get me wrong, there are many decent charity shops and amazing charity workers out there with genuine and dedicated  people working for them who are passionate without being aggressive.  There's just also some total twunts too.

I keep telling you i'm socially inept.

It's pitch black outside and it's the witching hour, you know that time after tea yet before bath when your little darlings turn inexplicably bat shit crazy,  If they were kittens they'd be climbing the curtains, when you heard a loud pronounced knock at your front door.  You're hermits, generally it's either the postman (too late) or Jehovas Witnesses (again, usually not at night) who darken you doorstep.

Two strange things proceeded, firstly I answered the door as opposed to panicking that humans may be outside on my doorstep and squeaking for The Husband to answer it and secondly I actually opened the door when usually we just open the lounge window which is right next to it and opens right out.  

I was greeted by two young men, and I use the term loosely as they appeared on that awkward cusp between boy and man, suited and booted.  I opened the door just enough, angling my body defensively and glowered, there's no pretense it's mere instinctual I could see them recoil slightly from my baleful expression as I arched my eyebrows questioning their existence both general and specific to being on my doorstep.  The taller of the two who looked like he had some giant fist lodged up his bottom puppeting him, smiled broadly, too broadly.  It was the nervous yet rehearsed smile of someone on the make.  To be frank it was fake, and rather made him look like a Muppet.  With over exaggerated gestures he mock stepped back with an overtly friendly 'woah! don't worry we're not preaching! you looked like you were about to come out and hit us for a minute' I continued to glower, unpacified and peversly unwilling to cut him from the hook he was dangling from. He tried to crack a joke about sensing evil, I didn't laugh. His companion remained nervously quiet whilst he then launched into his spiel 'Have you heard of the PDSA?' keeping faithful to his overly familiar nauseating act. 'Yes.' Well I may be awkward to deal with but I'm certainly not rude, he asked a question so I gave him an answer yet nothing could have prepared me for the, excuse me whilst I vomit a little in my mouth, high five.  Yes, high five.  He actually high fived me.  What to do to that?  Laugh? Cast a die now please spell on him?

He continues to drivel on and asks me if I have pets to which I replied 'yes a cat and until recently a dog.  It died.' He's working double time now to keep up his enthusiastic demeanor.  Blah blah blah blathering on about what they do etc and have we used them to which I honestly replied we would have but we don't drive and our dog was dying so couldn't possibly get all the way to where they are. His feet shuffled as he momentarily lost his momentum before picking up where he left off and tried to disarm me with a joke  'we trying to raise money and looking for help doing a naked calender!' His grin was making my teeth hurt it was that saccharine 'Good luck with that' Oh the panic in his eyes as I looked to be closing the door recovering his demeanor with a quick 'ha! that's what next door said, seriously that was just a joke ' Oh really?  I hadn't guessed. It's not that I try to be dead pan it just happens 'Good for you, trust me, you really wouldn't want people round here on a naked calender' In the midst of this another high five.  Must bleach my hand.

Trying to relate to me on a personal level he asks for my name.  'Not sure, haven't chosen one yet today' They're uncomfortable and trying desperately not to let it show, good, I'm uncomfortable having random mortals bother my door.  He speaks! His companion rather awkwardly comments 'erm, that was a weird answer!' to which I blankly respond 'Nearly as weird as two males, half my age, suited and booted and knocking on my door asking my name in the dark' They try and nervously make a joke of it and try and get my name again having preciously name dropped my neighbours first name earlier on the conversation, I think i'm supposed to feel charmed by them.  I'm not. They ask again, I reiterate my previous reply and then feeling a little sorry tell them they can call me Mrs S*****.  Obviously not accustomed to formality.  Finally they pick up on the age part of my line and ask how old I think they are 'you're around 19 and your friend (mute boy) is nearer 22' they look somewhat stunned, I've obviously hit the proverbial nail close to it's head. Changing tact they profess there is no way i'm double their age. I stare, hard, at them.  'You can't be in your thirties' I arch a plucked brow 'No way! I bet you get people not believing that all the time!' Flattery gets you nowhere. 'Not really.  I don't go out. Ever. It interferes with the general evil in the house if I do' referencing their earlier evil joke.  This isn't going at all how they had planned, they really should have gone to the pub instead.  I bet wholeheartedly they agree.

Then comes the money shot.  They want money.  They break it down and do the whole 'so it's only 20p a week and it's not immediately, you can't even get a drink in the pub with that,  can we count on you?' I know what comes next, modern day charities, every bugger wants your bloody bank details.  'Maybe, who knows. I don't drink'   They try asking again with an imperceptive increase in pressure aimed at my conscience. 'Maybe' If they ask again it will be a straight out no.  Finally they accept defeat, that Muppet grin still there he pumps my hand fervently exchanging the relevant pleasantry that it was nice to meet me.

I can finally close the door, ushering The Spawn back in who'd come to gawp and interject at random points in the exchange. I can finally breath.  Needless to say I won't be answering the door again in a hurry.  I have a natural inability to act normal.