Wednesday, 30 October 2013

The Time Warp

The Time Warp

Sometimes dramatic events unfold, seemingly in slow-motion, as all the senses are heightened…
 
I was at a friend’s house helping to prepare a meal. The potatoes were boiling away on the hob, the salad was being prepared. Everything was going to plan.
 
Then her cat jumped up onto the kitchen counter.
 
Then the cat walked along the counter; the really thin bit by the gas hob.
 
I saw the cat’s whiskers pass through the flame and shrivel.
 
Then I could smell burning fur.
 
I heard myself saying “Your cat’s on fire!”
 
I heard my friend shriek and saw her lurching towards the burning cat.
 
I saw my friend frantically hitting at the cat to extinguish the smouldering fur along its flank.
 
I noticed that my friend was still holding a vegetable knife.
 
I heard myself shouting “No! Stop! You’re stabbing the cat!”
 
I heard my friend scream.
 
I saw the curly-whiskered singed cat jump off the counter.
 
I saw my friend lunge at the cat and tread on its tail.
 
I heard stereophonic squealing.
 
I saw my friend pick up the cat and wrap it in a towel.
 
I thought the cat bore a passing resemblance to Salvador Dali.
 
This dreadful chain of events took place in less than a minute but the memory will last forever.
P.S. The cat made a full recovery.

Tuesday, 29 October 2013

Slim Chants

Slim Chants

A colleague has decided to lose weight, get fitter and, more importantly, spread the good word...
Me: “Good Morning!”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Yes it is a good morning. I’ve lost two pounds since last week. I went on the ‘bouncer’ last night for ten minutes. It really gets the back of your calves.”
Me: “Bouncer?”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Yes, it’s a mini trampoline in my bedroom. I go on it every night.”
Me: “What do you wear?”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Just socks and underpants. I’d get too hot if I wore anything else.”
Me: “Oh, OK”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Have you had breakfast this morning?”
Me: “Yes, a piece of toast.”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Oh that’s no good; you should have more than that. I have muesli with yoghurt and a handful of strawberries, sometimes blueberries, and a couple of slices of wholegrain toast. It’s important to have a good breakfast.”
Me: “Right.”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Yes. I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been. I know because I can hardly do my belt up. I’ve been on diets loads of times so I know all about how to lose weight and get fit.”
Me: “Hmm.”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Look, here’s my lunch… two rounds of Pastrami sandwiches with pickles, some cherries and grapes, a little marmite flavoured babybel cheese, and a chicken noodle cup-a-soup.”
Me: “Wow! And is that a Cadbury Twirl in there too?”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Oh, yes, just a little one. I’m allowed treats. It stops me feeling deprived.”
Me: “I see.”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “What have you got for lunch?”
Me: “Oh. A sandwich, an apple and a few almonds.”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “That’s not good. You need more than that.”
Me: “It’s fine. It’s enough until my evening meal.”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Well, when I get home I’ll just have some sandwiches. I never have a hot meal in the evening. Unless it’s Friday of course, I always have an Indian takeaway on a Friday as a reward. It’s important to reward yourself; it keeps the motivation and discipline up.”
Me: “I like having a hot meal in the evening.”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “No. That’s the worst thing you can do. Just a light meal is all you need if you want to lose weight and be healthy.”
Me: “I don’t feel as though I need to lose weight and I feel pretty healthy.”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Ah well you’re probably just lucky. You must have skinny parents.”
Me: “No, not really.”
Born Again Health and Fitness Guru: “Well you need to be careful then. Trust me, I know all about health and fitness. I’ve lost so much weight over the years - if you add it all up.”
Well, you can’t question such impressive credentials.

Monday, 28 October 2013

Reasons to be Unreasonable

Reasons to be Unreasonable

Sometimes we all experience uncomfortable and unreasonable feelings…
 
An agency worker has been employed at work for the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately he has adopted the exact spot on the pavement outside the building where I like to be. The spot on the pavement where I have always gone to stand (or on a nice day, to sit) on my own at break times.
 
This experience has made me realise that, although I thought I was a spontaneous easy-going person, I am in fact rather territorial and a creature of habit.
 
I have tried getting to my spot before he did but then he came and stood right next to me; too close for comfort. He also tried to engage me in a conversation about work which rather flew in the face of my concept of break time.
 
I have also tried to find other suitable spots to stand but they just don’t feel right.
 
I have therefore been reduced to random wanderings like a lost soul. Feeling bereft and cuckolded. I occasionally discretely wander to areas where I can see him enjoying my spot on the pavement. I can feel my eyes narrowing as I see him blithely eating a sandwich or making a phone call.
 
Of course I realised that these resentful feelings are irrational, that he is completely innocent and entitled to stand where he chooses. His choice of standing position was certainly not a good enough reason for me to loathe this man, and yet I did.
 
No one enjoys such feelings of ambivalence and so it is only natural to attempt to discover suitable cast iron justifications for seemingly unreasonable hostility.
 
Then I found it - perfect justification.
 
He had finished his break and went back to work a few minutes early. I meandered over to my dear old place and saw to my horror; right there on my treasured spot of the pavement – spit.
 
That dirty beast had been spitting – a lot - great glistening globules of foamy filth.
 
Not only that, he had been littering: casting his unwanted sandwich wrappers into the surrounding shrubbery.
 
I was at once revolted and elated. Although I had still lost my favourite spot, I now had license to thoroughly dislike this man and yet maintain a clear conscience.
 
As they say, “Every cloud has a silver lining”.

Thursday, 24 October 2013

Fifteen Minutes of Fame

Fifteen Minutes of Fame

Keeping with the ‘famous’ theme; because people visiting Stratford expect that they might spot a famous person, sometimes you yourself may be mistaken for one…
 
I went into one of my favourite haunts, The Vintner Café Wine Bar, placed my order, picked up a newspaper and relaxed, soaking in the congenial atmosphere.
 
There was a couple sitting at a table for two on the other side of the room and I couldn’t help but notice that the woman was regarding me with some interest. I acknowledged her attention with a lift of the eyebrows and a pleasant smile. She smiled back at me.
 
She leant across the table and spoke to her partner and pointed in my direction, he then glanced over at me. I say glanced but he did look for slightly longer than I consider polite. I gave a nod of the head and smiled at him too. He seemed surprised to be acknowledged by a ‘famous’ person and smiled warmly back at me.
 
They became engaged in deep discussion, occasionally looking over at me. I began to feel a little uncomfortable and thought that this is what real famous people must put up with all the time. I tried to appear unperturbed and continued reading the paper.
 
I became aware that they seemed to be in some disagreement; possibly over where they had seen me before. 
 
They summoned the waiter and questioned him. The waiter looked over his shoulder at me before turning back and responding. The couple nodded excitedly. I took a sip of coffee and maintained an air of calm dignity.
 
Then the woman looked over towards me again before saying “Yes! I think we’ll both have the carrot and coriander soup with continental bread.”
 
I turned my head and registered the fact that I was sitting in front of the “Specials” menu before becoming very deeply engrossed in the newspaper.
 
As the poet Emily Dickinson wrote “Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.”

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

Hobnobbing With The Rich & Famous


Hobnobbing With The Rich & Famous

It’s always nice to meet and interact with famous people…
 
I’ve just come back from a fleeting visit to Stratford-Upon-Avon. It’s lovely there and occasionally you might just spot a famous person.
 
I’ve seen Sir Ian McKellen there although I couldn’t interact with him because he was having publicity photographs taken and I wasn’t allowed near him.
 
The last time I was in Stratford I noticed a familiar looking woman in The Black Swan pub (or The Dirty Duck as it is known colloquially – the pub that is; not the familiar looking woman). I tried to figure out why she looked familiar but couldn’t quite place her. I did interact with her in a way as, after a while, she gave me a funny look. I later found out that she was Anita Dobson the actress from ‘Eastenders’ (wife of pub owner Dirty Den - the man that is; not the pub).
 
I find that famous musicians are a little easier to interact with. Simply attend one of their concerts and, for the price of their latest CD, they seem quite willing to engage with you.
 
I once met Julian Lloyd Webber the famous cellist. He was very nice and I think I interacted very well with him:
Me: “You play really well. Do you practice a lot?”
Julian Lloyd Webber: “Thank you. Yes, I try to practice every day. It’s important to play every day even if it’s just for a little while.”
Me: “Do your fingers get sore?”
Julian Lloyd Webber: “No.”
Me: “Mine do, when I play the violin a lot.”
Julian Lloyd Webber: “I think your fingers will get used to it.”
Me: “That’s good. Thank you.”
Julian Lloyd Webber: “OK” 
 
I have also met and interacted with Nicola Benedetti, the famous violinist:
Nicola Benedetti: “Hiya”
Me: “Hi. Could you sign this for me please?”
Nicola Benedetti: “Sure.” <she signed the CD>
Me: “Thank you.”
Nicola Benedetti: “OK”
 
Another famous violinist that I have met and interacted with is Pavel Ĺ porcl.
As I was queuing for him to sign the CD I was trying to think of a good question to ask him.
I was trying to think of a question that he wouldn’t have been asked a thousand times before as I was attempting to take the cellophane off the CD.
I was nearing the front of the queue I could neither think of a good question nor remove the cellophane CD wrapper.
Then I was there, at the front of the queue, with the wonderful Pavel Ĺ porcl seated before me, looking up at me with marker pen poised.
Me: “Oh. Hello. Could you unwrap this for me please?”
Pavel Ĺ porcl: “Sure.” <he deftly removed the cellophane wrapper and signed the CD>
Me: “Thank you.”
Pavel Ĺ porcl: “OK”
 
It must be nice to be famous and meet lots of interesting people.

Friday, 18 October 2013

The Dark Horse

The Dark Horse

We have a rather unassuming gentle shy draughtsman that occasionally visits to discuss new projects…
My boss seems to find the draughtsman a bit of a dullard and makes determined efforts to rattle his cage to get a reaction.
My boss: “Hi Mark. Take a seat.” <Yawns loudly>
Mark the draughtsman: “Thanks.”
My boss: “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Mark the draughtsman: “No thanks, I’m ok.”
My boss: “Would you like a smack in the face?”
Mark the draughtsman: “Pardon?”
My boss: “Do you want a bag on your head?”
Mark the draughtsman: “No thanks.”
My boss: “Don’t you remember that – it’s a sketch from ‘Not the Nine o’Clock News'. It was really funny. It was about a hi fi shop with Mel Smith and Griff Rhys Jones. Have you heard of them? I don’t suppose you have.”
Mark the draughtsman: “Yes, I have. I’ve written a few jokes for Alas Smith and Jones.”
My boss: “What?”
Mark the draughtsman: “Yes I wrote for them; a few of my sketches were used.”
My boss: “Right. So you have heard of them. Anyway. About these drawings…”
 
It is true that you can’t judge a book by its cover.

Thursday, 17 October 2013

The Zen Garden

The Zen Garden

Over the years I have adopted various methods to relieve the stress of the workplace…
 
One of these methods was the construction of a little zen garden in an out-of –the-way corner at the back of the building. My zen garden consisted of a rounded piece of concrete topped with two carefully selected stones of descending size.
 
They weren’t much to look, at but I used to ponder on the stones. I had my own thoughts about them. How they resembled life. How they were nothing like life. I gained peace and comfort from their constancy.
 
Then one day – they were gone.
 
I was surprisingly distraught about this, so much so that I asked my colleagues if they knew anything about the destruction of the zen garden. They denied all knowledge and seemed bemused to learn that there had been a zen garden at all.
 
Then the truth came out.
 
Bill from the agency, otherwise known as ‘Agency Bill’ said “Ah, was it that little pile of stones?”
 
“Yes, yes it was” I replied eagerly “What do you know about it?”
 
“Erm, I threw them over the fence. I was on the phone to the agency and I was a bit frustrated with them. I don’t know, I just saw the stones and chucked them over. I didn’t know it was a zen garden. I’m sorry.” He replied.
 
I didn’t bother asking why he chose those stones from the thousands of others. I reassured him that it wasn’t important and returned crestfallen to my desk.
 
The next morning, there was a little flowering plant, exactly where the zen garden used to be. Agency Bill asked me if it was ok that he’d planted it there. I said it was and thanked him.
 
It’s not the same as the stones, but I do like the little flowering plant - I’m trying not to get too attached though.
 
“Most of our troubles are due to our passionate desire for and attachment to things that we misapprehend as enduring entities.” ~Dalai Lama~

Wednesday, 16 October 2013

A Handbag?

A Handbag?

My boss was talking to a colleague about football (again), discussing a confrontation between two players, describing it as “Just handbags” Later I quizzed him about this…
 
Me: “What does it mean… ‘just handbags’?”
 
My boss: “Well, it means it wasn’t a proper fight. It was just a bit of shoving about. Sometimes they call it ‘handbags at dawn’.”
 
Me: “But why handbags? They don’t have handbags do they?”
 
My boss: “No they don’t have actual handbags. I dunno. It’s just like… Ooooh stop it or I’ll hit you with my handbag! You know, like an old woman.”
 
Me: “Oh I see. It’s a sexist comment then?”
 
My boss: “No. No it’s not sexist. It’s just like saying someone fights like a girl.”
 
Me: “A girl? – and that’s not sexist?”
 
My boss: “No it’s not. It just means like a child. You know. You’re supposed to be a man and you’re acting like a child. You know, you need to grow up.”
 
Me: “And fight properly?”
 
My boss: “Yes; and not fight like a big girl’s blouse.”
 
Me: “A big girl’s blouse? You’ve talked about an old woman and her handbag, a little girl and the blouse of a big girl. You’ve just about covered all stages of womanhood there. But you say it’s not sexist.”
 
My boss: “No. No it’s not. It just means they weren’t fighting properly.”
 
Me: “Like a good old hefty punch in the face?”
 
My boss: “Oh no! No, no - they mustn’t do that. They’d get sent off or even disciplined.”
 
Me: “I see. So a bit of handbags is ok?”
 
My boss: “Yes. A little bit of handbags would be ok.”
 
And I thought the offside rule was supposed to be complicated.

Tuesday, 15 October 2013

Phonetic Fanatic

Phonetic Fanatic

We are strongly encouraged to use the phonetic alphabet at work to ensure fast and clear telephone communication; but this only works if both parties are familiar with it…
 
Me: “Yes, I’ll give you the product code. Are you ready?”
 
Caller: “Yes.”
 
Me: “OK,”
 
Caller: “O... K...”
 
Me: “No, sorry, I was just saying ok. That’s not the code.”
 
Caller: “That’s not the code? What is the code?”
 
Me: “M for Mike.”
 
Caller: “Yes?”
 
Me: “Is your name Mike?”
 
Caller: “Yes.”
 
Me: “Oh. Well the code is M for Mike or Mother...”
 
Caller: “Mother?”
 
Me: “Yes the first letter of the code is M.”
 
Caller: “Oh, right. Yes. M. M. Yes. M for mother.”
 
Me: “The next letter is N for November”
 
Caller: “Yes, I’ve got M.”
 
Me: “No, N. N for”
 
Caller: “Oh. N. N… 4…”
 
Me: “Not N4 just N.”
 
Caller: “Just N?”
 
Me: “Yes, M.N. The next letter is… Q for Quebec.”
 
Caller: “How do you spell Quebec?”
 
Me: “Pardon?”
 
Caller: “How do you spell Quebec?”
 
Me: “Listen, let’s start again shall we? Can I just give you the product code?”
 
Caller: “Yes.”
 
Me: “Are you ready?”
 
Caller: “Yes.”
 
Me: “M… N… Q... 5… 7... 6... 0... W...”
 
Caller: “M. N. Q. 5. 7. 6. 0. W.”
 
Me: “Yes, that’s it.”
 
Caller: “Thank you very much for your help.”
 
Me: “That’s ok. Goodbye.”
 
Caller: “Goodbye.”
 
So much for speed and efficiency.

Monday, 14 October 2013

Halloween Shivers

Halloween Shivers

Halloween is almost upon us. It seems that it’s increasingly becoming an occasion geared towards children’s enjoyment – an occasion that’s dreaded by adults…
The other day I spoke to a teacher who has the unenviable task of supervising a large group of children for an overnight stay away on Halloween night.
One of the highlights is wearing fancy dress and drinking hot chocolate outside in the evening. She said that the children love it but that for her it was just cold and miserable.
Me: “What will you be going as?”
Teacher: “I’m borrowing my mother-in-law’s long silver and black dress because it’s warm.”
Me: “Just the dress, no other fancy dress type thing?”
Teacher: “No, I don’t think so, just the warm dress.”
Me: “But don’t you have to be a character? You can’t just dress up as your mother-in-law can you?”
Teacher: “I suppose I could get a witch’s hat from the supermarket.”
Me: “And what about the other teacher? What’s she going as?”
Teacher: “Oh… I think she’s going as something warm.”
It’s funny how your priorities change as you get older.

Friday, 11 October 2013

Questions Questions

Questions Questions

Being in an office where you can hear, but not see each other is not always a good thing - especially when on the phone to a voice-operated system…
 
Automated Voice: “At what time will the goods be ready for collection?”
 
Me: “TWELVE!”
 
My boss: “What?”
 
Me: “I’m arranging a collection.”
 
My boss: “Oh”
 
Automated Voice: “Are any of the goods hazardous?”
 
My boss: “Is it TNT?”
 
Me: “NO!”
 
My boss: “Who is it then?”
 
Me: “Yes it’s TNT.”
 
My boss: “Where’s it going to?”
 
Automated Voice: “How many parcels are there to collect?”
 
Me: “TWO!”
 
My boss: “Yes, where’s it going to?”
 
Me: “Australia.”
 
My boss: “Right, how many parcels did they pack it in?”
 
Automated Voice: “To the nearest kilogram, what is the total weight of the consignment?”
 
Me: “TWENTY SEVEN!”
 
My boss: “What! That’s ridiculous! 27? Are you sure?”
 
Automated Voice: “Have you prepared three copies of the commercial invoice?”
 
Me: “YES!”
 
My boss: “That’s going to cost a fortune!”
 
Automated Voice: “What is the total value of the goods?”
 
Me: “THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY TWO POUNDS FIFTY SEVEN PENCE!”
 
My boss: “What? No! That’s far too much! ”
 
Me: “No. I was just giving the value of the goods.”
 
My boss: “Oh. But still, it’s going to be too expensive. How much is the transport going to cost?”
 
Automated Voice: “I’m sorry. Please repeat the total value of the goods.”
 
Me: “THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY TWO POUNDS FIFTY SEVEN PENCE!”
 
My boss: “What! That’s nearly as much as the value of the order!”
 
Automated Voice: “Do you require additional insurance for this consignment?”
 
Me: “NO!”
 
My boss: “Yes it is!”
 
Automated Voice: “Thank you. Your collection is arranged. Do you want to access any other services with TNT?”
 
Me: “NO!”
 
My boss: “It is!”
 
Automated Voice: “Thank you for booking with TNT. Your call is complete.”
 
<I put the phone down.>
 
My boss: “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realise you were still on the phone.”
 
As Lord Chesterfield wisely said: “Hear one side and you will be in the dark. Hear both and all will be clear.”





Thursday, 10 October 2013

The Unwanted Gift Dilemma

The Unwanted Gift Dilemma

Sometimes a well-meaning person gives an unwanted gift…
 
The cleaner at work decided that the post table by the entrance door needed brightening up and had often remarked on the dullness of the area in question.
 
After she went the other day, she left something for us on the post table. We were then faced with the dilemma of the unwanted gift. In this case, a small pot of artificial purple flowers.
 
Artificial plants and flowers have come a long way in terms of realism, this one however seems to be a rather dusty and ragged early generation.
 
It’s not that the gesture isn’t appreciated, and she’s right; the post table was rather soulless, but we’re all in agreement that the newly arrived phony floral display is, is… well we just don’t like it.
 
We have considered giving it back to her, but felt that would be ungracious and insulting.
 
We have considered disposing of it and telling lies: “It caught fire.”; “We’ve lost it.”; “It broke.”; “A visitor fell in love with it and we felt she should have it.” – All highly unlikely.
 
So we have finally decided to keep it out of sight in the stationery cupboard and set an alarm the nights before her visits to remind us to put it out on the post table.
 
This strategy is not without risk of course. I visited a neighbour once and passed comment on her extensive collection of owl ornaments. “I don’t like them. They give me the heebie jeebies and take a whole morning to clean.” She said “It all started thirty years ago with the first one and then everyone thought I liked them - and it got out of hand as you can see. They even call me ‘The Owl Lady’ – I don’t like that either.”
 
What should be done about unwanted gifts? Ms Post, author of Emily Post’s Etiquette advises: "First say thank you. There's got to be something you like about it. Say, "What a lovely shade of blue." "How unique!" Say it sincerely. You must also write a handwritten thank you note."
 
So, as there doesn’t seem to be a complete and elegant solution to the problem, I shall now pen the letter of thanks. Hmm, something positive…
 
It was getting dark and so I used a lighter to admire the fine workmanship – tragically it caught fire.

Tuesday, 8 October 2013

Don’t Give Up

Don't Give Up

We all make mistakes...
I read an inspirational post by Patricia Elliot concerning the experience of someone saying something negative to you and bringing your confidence and self esteem down. Her advice is to reflect on what has been said and then smile, as you have power over your own emotions.

These negative reactions of others are not always overt comments nor are they always intentionally designed to knock your confidence.

Many years ago I heard Itzhak Perlman on the radio playing Schindlers List and fell in love with the sound of the violin. One day I saw a sign offering a very reasonably priced violin kit for sale and bought it there and then. The violin shop owner suggested a teacher and I booked my first lesson.

I had been given a few lessons on my brand new ‘Primavera’ Chinese violin outfit and was learning to read music as I went along. My teacher was very encouraging. I felt confident and went along to play at his amateur orchestra.

Of course I was oblivious to little details such as key signatures and playing in tune. I played loudly with gusto and spirit.

Then a little girl in front of me, whilst continuing to play, slowly turned her head round and gave me a disbelieving look. It was like a scene from the Exorcist.

It was awful.

I suddenly became aware that I was making mistakes, lots of them, and it was not ok.

I didn’t return to the orchestra until several years of lessons and solitary practice had passed.

During this time I was lucky enough to see Itzhak Perlman in concert at the Barbican Music Hall in London. It was wonderful and he played superbly - but at one point made an obvious mistake.

I took a little sharp intake of breath at hearing it (like you do when a tightrope walker wobbles).

Everyone else in the audience took a little sharp intake of breath too.

The sound of almost 2,000 little sharp intakes of breath is impressively and incredibly loud.

Itzhak of course knew that he had made a mistake but he didn’t stop.

He smiled. He continued. He received a standing ovation.

Friday, 4 October 2013

The Land Of Dreams

 
The Land Of Dreams

As a child I read Enid Blyton’s “The Magic Faraway Tree”. I remember thoroughly enjoying it but feeling afraid when the land at the top of the tree changed. In ‘The Land of Dreams’ everything that happened was very dream-like and unreal and there was confusion as the characters tried to work out where they were and how they could get back down the tree…
 
The supermarket occasionally moves sections around so that we are forced to actively look at all their different products rather than heading like an automaton to what we actually went in there for. It was for this reason that I found myself unnecessarily in the cat food section.
 
An elderly lady turned to me and said “Look, mouse!” This instantly unsettled me; serving as a reminder of an unfortunate experience with a mouse (which I shall come to shortly).
 
Pardon?” I asked.
 
“Mouse. Mouse flavoured cat food.” She said pointing at a gourmet variety tin.
 
I looked at the tin in question and said “No, it’s not mouse, it’s mousse.”
 
“Moose flavoured cat food, oh!” she exclaimed.
 
“No, it’s salmon mousse. Salmon that’s light and frothy.” I said, wondering how I came to be an authority on cat food.
 
“Oh, I see” she replied “My kitty doesn’t like salmon, she does like mice though, she’s always bringing them into the house.”
 
This last remark brought the mouse experience back to me with full force:
 
I had been at a friend’s house when her cat brought a mouse in which then escaped. After much futile chasing with towels and cardboard boxes it was me who cornered the mouse. I reached out to pick it up and it bit me. It sunk it’s little yellow teeth into my finger and didn’t let go, it’s feisty little body was swinging from my finger. We managed to release it’s grip and let the ungrateful rodent back into the garden.
 
The next day my finger was rather swollen and sore and, with some reservation about appearing overly dramatic, phoned the doctor. Far from being dismissive, she said that I should go to the hospital Accident and Emergency unit.
 
I approached the front desk at the hospital and rather sheepishly announced that a mouse had bitten my finger.
 
“What kind of mouse was it?” asked the receptionist.
 
“Erm, I don’t know.” I admitted “It was sort of fawn coloured with a white tummy.”
 
“Did your finger bleed?” she asked.
 
“No, fortunately it didn’t.” I replied.
 
“Oh. That’s not fortunate. It would have been better if it had. Take a seat and someone will be right with you.”
 
I took a seat and a nurse came and sat next to me with a form on a clipboard.
 
“So, you’ve been bitten by a mouse and it didn’t draw blood is that right?” she asked.
 
I nodded nervously.
 
“We’ll need to give you an injection of hmnnhunheesssin which contains human products. We need you to sign this form to indicate your acceptance of this.” She explained.
 
I had never heard of anything like this before. It sounded revolting. They were obviously taking this matter very seriously. I signed the form and she led me to a booth, drew the curtains across and said “Right, this needs to be injected into your thigh. Could you lower your trousers for me?”
 
I did as she asked and stood there with my trousers down feeling vulnerable, cold and more than a little bit scared while she prepared the injection.
 
I heard a loud voice from the other side of the curtains saying “It fell out last night and I couldn’t get an appointment until next week!”
 
Then suddenly a nurse thrust her head between the curtains of my booth and shouted “Look! I’m Nanny McPheeeeeee!!!” and displayed a wide gap at the front of her teeth.
 
I remember very little after that.
 
Just like in Enid Blyton’s the “Magic Faraway Tree”; sometimes you start in one place and unexpectedly end up somewhere completely different.

Thursday, 3 October 2013

National Poetry Day

National Poetry Day

As today is National Poetry Day, it seems only fitting to share a poem… 
 
I haven’t been in a poetic mood for some time, so here is a poem that I wrote around five years ago about an ordinary and yet most wonderfully extraordinary event which left a lasting impression:
 
The Journey

Cycling to work on this late summer’s day
Bright dew shimmers in Apollo’s ray
Strong beating heart and burning thighs
Dry lips pursed against unwary flies

This part of my journey is steep and slow
Body with Spirit and then I know
I’ve reached level ground and start to soar
The air in my ears begins to roar

I keep pressing harder with all of my might
From the hedge on my left a small bird takes flight
She seems surprised, and so am I
And side by side we both do fly

Time stood still in this whirlwind of speed
Even from space I had been freed
I saw every speckle of her muscled breast
Power filled wings almost stopping to rest

A small brown eye looked into mine
A beak of gold so sleek and fine
Opened so slowly to voice a cry
Then time returned and so did I 

Those parallel lines apart did fly
One to earth, the other sky
Gone, apart, to be seen no more
My beating heart was filled with awe 

I had witnessed Blake’s eternity
In my palm I held infinity
“To see a world in a grain of sand”
Now at last I understand
 
 
 
 

Wednesday, 2 October 2013

Crossed Words

Crossed Words

Normally, each Monday morning there is a stamped addressed envelope on the post table addressed to “The Prize Crossword”...
 
If the crossword submission is not ready for the post then it will certainly be in the process of being completed on my boss’s desk. For it still to be work-in-progress today, on Wednesday is most unusual.
 
“I never win, but it keeps my brain active.” he says as he types the clues into Google.
 
He will only ever ask for my input when he’s totally convinced that he’s got something right and equally convinced that I will not know the answer.
 
He is also rather unappreciative of unsolicited assistance with the crossword, here is a recent example:
 
Me <looking over his shoulder>: “I don’t think that’s right.”
 
Him: “What?”
 
Me: “13 down, a type of headwear.”
 
Him: “What?”
 
Me: “Fishcake, I don’t think fishcake is a type of headwear”
 
Him: “Have you finished that report I asked for?”
 
No, he never wins the prize crossword.

Tuesday, 1 October 2013

The Garden Centre

The Garden Centre

It’s always a pleasure to visit the Garden Centre; to see all of the beautiful flowers and plants of course, but also to witness how a love of nature can act as a common bond between the generations...
 
The stocks of plants at this time of year are rather depleted, with barely a few trays of cheerful winter pansies to brighten the gloom that lies ahead. I felt a little saddened at the changing of the seasons but realised that this is the natural course of things both in nature and life itself.
 
I cast my mind back to an earlier season at the Garden Centre, the raised tables overflowing with an abundance of exquisite blooms and a host of people of all generations filling their trolleys hoping to capture and nurture this beauty within their own garden havens.
 
My attention was drawn to a woman and her wheelchair-bound mother. The mother was complaining bitterly that she had been abandoned in the cactus area for too long.
 
The daughter apologised and explained that she needed plants for her garden and found it difficult to manage the trolley and the wheelchair at the same time. She then devoted her full attention to her mother and wheeled her carefully around the plant displays.
 
“Oooh! Look mother. Foxgloves, aren’t they beautiful? Would you like a foxglove for your garden?” asked the daughter.
 
“I don’t like foxgloves.” replied mother.
 
“Ah look at these mother, they’re lovely aren’t they? They would look lovely in your border. Would you like a tray of these?” asked the daughter.
 
“No, I don’t want any of those.” replied mother.
 
“Oh! Now! Look at these delphiniums! They are gorgeous aren’t they? Would you like a delphinium mother?” asked the daughter.
 
Her mother replied: “No. I don’t want a delphinium. I want you to take me home now. Can you stop off at Bargain Booze on the way and get me some gin?”
 
“Yes of course mother, if that’s what you want.” replied the daughter.
 
As summer gives way to autumn, rather than longing for the colourful blooms now fading; I look forward to the treasures to come: cosy jumpers, pomegranates, autumn leaves, bright red berries, romantic candles, toasted crumpets and... gin.