Accidents with Ebooks

Hopping through the Blogosphere one day, I came across a giveaway, David Powers King’s 500^th follower giveaway. After reading his post, I knew I just had to enter. A one in ten chance of winning the book of your choice? Too good to miss.

So, I popped onto Amazon and found my book of choice within moments: The Red Pyramid by Rick Riordan. I soon had my entry comment typed up and published. Now to wait and see what happened. Not that I’d win. That would be too good to be true.

Less than a week later I found, much to my great surprise and joy that I had actually won my book. The link to my ebook arrived a day later. Now all I had to do was download the book and start reading. Or so I thought.

This title is not available to readers from Australia the automated Amazon message told me the moment I clicked on the ‘download’ button.

What? How could an ebook not be available around the world? However, there it was. I’d chosen a book I couldn’t read. Oh well, I’d have to change it for a gift card and pick something else instead.

That’s when I made an important discovery. You actually need to have an Amazon account attached to your email to get a gift card. Well, maybe I could get it sent to Mum’s account.

Many complex emails later, the Amazon customer service people finally told me I couldn’t change the order. Only the giver could. Which meant asking for David’s help.

Oh why had I entered the giveaway in the first place? Why hadn’t I asked for help when choosing my book? Maybe I could just forget the whole matter.

Instead of forgetting the matter however, I typed up an extremely apologetic email to David in which almost every second word was ‘sorry’, and asked for his help in the matter.

Instead of sounding annoyed, David was very helpful and exchanged the book at once. Oh how thankful I was when his email appeared in my inbox telling me that the deed was done.

Now, no thanks to me at all and many thanks to David Powers King, I have an Amazon gift card waiting for me to pick a different book. This time however, I think I’ll get someone to help me choose my book. I’m sure to make another mess on my own.

Many, many thanks to David for his patience and help!

Have you ever had my problems when entering a giveaway? And does anyone know how to tell if a book’s available in Australia on Amazon?

Running Shoes

After my adventures in my Barefoot Running post, I was looking forwards to getting back to the safety of shoes. No more cold, wet, dirty feet. No more getting poked with sticks and pricked by bindies. No more worrying about whether someone might break a beer bottle in the grass. Yes, getting back to shoes would be good.

I walked out to the soccer field. My feet safely encased in my grubby old running shoes. How fast and far I would go in my shoes, now that my feet were comfortable.

Four laps later, I was starting to rethink the 'comfortable'. My arches shrieked in pain, cramping up and solidly refusing to run any further. I stumbled to a halt and plopped down on the ground, massaging my feet with my hands. This was terrible! I couldn't run like this

Off came the shoes. Off came the sodden socks. I stretched my feet. Ah, much better. The cool, damp grass was soothing for my poor, sore feet. In moment I felt I could run again.

I flew off round the field, leaving my socks and shoes to sit in the grass, lonely and abandoned. I couldn't go back to wearing them. Not when they hurt my feet so.

For the next few days I ran barefoot again, staying firmly away from the uncomfortable shoes. But I knew it couldn't go on like this forever. What about when winter came? I couldn't run barefoot then. What if I stood on something?

Yes, something had to be done. And something was done. Dad took me up to a big shoe shop where we were sure they'd be able to find us a pair of shoe to suit my feet.

From the moment we stepped into the shop I never stopped doubting we'd find the right shoes. The sales assistant measured my feet. Nice and routine. But then she led me over to a computer with a pressure pad. What would we do here?

What we did was take picked of my feet from a pressure point of view. She pointed out interesting features of my feet to Dad and I. Dad appeared to understand what she was talking about, but at times I was reduced to smiling and nodding. Maybe Dad could explain it to me later.

The most important thing was, she knew what shoes I needed. And when I tried on the high tech, super dooper awesome shoes, I knew that this was what I needed. I didn't need to try on the ordinary shoes that she offered me to know that I wouldn't like them.

We left the shop, shoe box in hand. How could I possibly wait until tomorrow to try out my new shoes? It couldn't possibly be done! But somehow it was.

The next day I strode out to the soccer field, my bright, white, new shoes on my feet. And I set off running, feet comfortable, dry, warm, happy. A runner with her running shoes at last.

Seven and Seven

Gemma-Rose and I were 7 and 7. Well, 7 and 17, but we dropped the 1. After all, you can have so much more fun together when you're the same age. And we have lots of fun together.

Every morning we tie our running shoes on together (I'm 17 when tying her laces). Then, hand in hand, we skip down to the soccer field together. Together we drop off our water bottles, and set off round the field, matching each other stride for stride. Then, having run a million laps (well, maybe 10) we trot off home for our matching sized breakfasts.

We cook together too. Gemma-Rose performs the important spoon and bowl licking operations, as well as mixing everything together. And taste testing, the best part. She helps me measure ingredients together. She hold the measuring cup, and I pour. We make a great team.

She even has a special name for me. I'm her Cinderella, her special twin. But now-horror of horrors- she's not 7 any more. She's 8! There is no more 7&7 for us now.

I guess we'll just have to resort to addition. 1+7 anyone?

School Visit

Dad led me up the stairs and into the school where he works. I didn't know what to expect, never having been to school. My eyes darted from one side to another, looking at everything. Would I meet the teachers Dad told us about every night? What was his classroom like?

Down a long passage and up a few steps and we came to his classroom, a tiny cupboard of a room crammed full of desks and chairs.

"I've got to find some books," Dad said. "Let's go raid the library."

So off to the library we went. There we found huge shelves of books, all to do with teaching. We dived in, searching for the right books, most of which were missing. However we still managed to leave the library with our arms full of books.

"If the librarian notices half the library is missing, I bet she'll know to come to you," I laughed.

On returning to Dad's classroom, we found two of his fellow teachers had arrived. Dad introduced me to them. So these were some of the famous teachers.

One of the teachers, Mrs G, had something to show Dad.

"Look what I found in the shops." She pulled a pack of cups out of her bag. "Four cups for 99 cents...So I bought 56 of them. And they're green and red."

Soon we moved on from cups to classroom decorating. While I sharpened pencils, Dad put pictures and posters up round his little room. It didn't take long for most of the walls to disappear.

"Ok, now let's go do my other classroom, my maths room." The maths room being a shared classroom.

We hauled desks around the room, 'borrowed' chairs from other classrooms, and stuck up millions of pictures, times table sheets, and maths posters.

At the end of our work, we left the school, our arms full of books, leaving two classrooms almost fully set up behind us. I gave the school one last look as we stepped out through the doors. What an interesting and different place. Not a place I'd like to go to every day, but good for a visit. Maybe someday I'll go back and help Dad again. That would be fun.

"It's Not The Done Thing In Cranford"

After the success of "Little Dorrit", Mum, Charlotte, and I wanted to watch another period drama together. Last time had been so much fun, we just had to do it again. So, which period drama to choose?

Over the internet grapevine Mum had heard that "Cranford" was a good movie to watch. And so, hardly a week after "Little Dorrit", we sat down to start Cranford. Even Dad was persuaded to join in and trial this new mini series.

Never having read "Cranford", or even heard of it before then, I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was what was written on the back of the case. And that sounded a little dubious. A series about old ladies running a village? Boring, right?

Wrong. It might have been a mini series about old ladies, but these old ladies had us in stitches before we were ten minutes into the first episode. Cats ate antique lace, cows wore flannel pyjamas, gossip flew around the village, and the characters embroiled themselves in more and more trouble every episode. We loved it.

One episode in, I went and looked up Elizabeth Gaskill's book "Cranford", which is one of three books the mini series is based upon. Again, I wasn't sure what to expect. Would it be as good as the mini series? As funny? Were they anything alike at all?

The book was just as good as the mini series, and heightened my enjoyment of it. I anticipated good scenes, and was never disappointed.

When the last episode ended, we sat back and sighed. It feels so good to finish a wonderful mini series like "Cranford". However we didn't take long to plan our next movie. Only the next evening we sat down to watch "Return to Cranford", which reunites most of the principle characters of "Cranford."

And where to after this? What will our next period drama be? Well, on my shelf sits yet another mini series, "Bleak House". Both Charlotte and I have read the book. Now we can't wait to get started on the series!

How (Not) To Break Into A Car

The door lock in Dad's car was jammed tight. No amount of tugging and wiggling it could persuade it to budge. It just sat there, wedged tight and unyielding.

Dad, being very practical, grabbed his laptop and looked up a way to open the lock. It sounded so easy. All you needed was a long piece of wire with a hook on the end. You just stuck the wire down past the window, pulled up and voilà! The door would open.

He pushed the wire down the side of the door and fished around for the actuator rod. I looked around the street. What would people think if they saw us? Would they think we were robbers? Certainly our method was like a robber's.

After twenty minutes of putting the wire down the door and pulling it up without success, Dad gave up. The door lock still sat there, as stuck as before. Maybe robbery wasn't the way to go with this door.

"Ok, let's try the manual," Dad suggested next.

So we examined the pages of the car manual, searching for a way to open that lock. There were pieces of electrical systems, instructions on how to take the window glass out. But nowhere could we find how to unlock the door.

Finally we gave up on that too. Obviously sense wasn't the way to get that door open either. It was time for some brute force.

"Let's take the door handle off," Dad said.

The moment the handle came off, we saw our lock's actuator rod, the very thing we'd been searching for.

We tried pulling at this rod with pliers. No luck. We tried pulling on the lock knob with pliers. No luck either.

"Ok, you pull on the actuator rod with these pliers, and I'll pull on the knob," Dad said.

Together we heaved on that lock. For a moment it looked like it would give up and pop open. Then it dropped down again. Still stuck. Again we heaved, and again. Still that stubborn lock would not give in.

On more time we heaved together, pulling harder and harder until...pop. The lock shot upwards, smooth as cream.

Dad wiped his face and gingerly took the door handle. Would the door open now? Yes! It opened. The lock was freed!

I now defy any robber to get into our car when it is locked. No mere piece of hooked wire and a bit of jiggling is going to get past out security system.

Barefoot Running

It started with a bee sting and a swollen heel, a heel that did not like shoes. The moment it touched a shoe, it itched and tingled in protest.

For every day life, this wasn’t too bad for me. I could manage without going out. But what about running? Maybe I could bear the itching and tingling for running. Well, I could start small and try walking.

After two laps of walking, it was clear this wasn’t going to work. My foot refused to behave, even for half an hour, even for walking. It seemed that I’d have to give up my beloved running until it healed.

I moped around sadly until Mum hit upon a bright idea. “Why don’t you run barefoot?” she suggested.

Barefoot? The idea had never occurred to me before. On thinking about it, I wasn’t sure I liked it. I could get something in my foot. The grass would be cold and wet. Besides, no one else in the family ran barefoot.

But then, if I didn’t run barefoot, I couldn’t run at all. And that would be too much to consider. No, I’d have to run barefoot, even if the grass was cold and wet, even if there were sticks. I’d rather run barefoot than miss running altogether.

On the way down to the field, my dreaded thongs flopping on my feet, I still wasn’t sure about this barefoot running thing. I might find it much harder than normal. But I’ll give it a go, just once.

Dropping my thongs off with the water bottles, I started my first lap. The wet grass bounced beneath my feet. I hardly felt the little sticks. I even avoided the snail, crawling slowly across my path.

I finished one lap, then another, and another. My feet didn’t care that they didn’t have any shoes to protect them. They just wanted to run and run. So run they did, lap after lap after lap. Bare feet weren’t a handicap, not when I ran as many laps as ever.

On the way home, thongs slapping against my cold, wet feet, I had to admit, running barefoot was something special. Just to feel the grass as you run, just to know that it’s only your feet hitting the ground, pushing you is amazing. Yes, I like running barefoot.

What will I do when my heel is better? Well, I think I'll go back to wearing shoes again. Nice as running with no shoes is, it's still cold and wet and dirty. But it can be done.