This morning
Police arrested a man
For the armed robbery of a North Hampshire Post Office.
The man threatened the cashier with a trifle.
I’m sorry, for some reason I have food on my mind.
Yesterday evening
The Prime Minister, Tony Éclair
Congratulated pensioner, Doris Smith
on reaching her 112th birthday cake.
I’m sorry, for some raisin I have food on my mind.
Custard officials
Have recently been criticised
For not chicken passports
And boarding parsnips incorrectly.
Spokesman for British Airways says
‘Pear mustard be taken‘.
I’m sausage, for some raisin I have food on my mind.
News breadlines tonight:
research has scone that baking sure
You leave lemon and lime
To eat breakfast in the morning
Is a better way to tart the day.
I’m sausage
For semolina raisin I have cruton orange rind
Suet would pea a good madeira
If I doughnut satay much longer.
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Sunday, 15 February 2009
Curb and Kerbs
There are days when I wish I was more like Larry David.
For those of you unaware of this great man, he is the creator and star of Curb Your Enthusiasm, one of the best things to come out of American TV. To cut to the chase, Larry is a living representation of what everyone thinks but is afraid to say - like a man whose conscience has been completely removed, and who has absolutely no inner monologue. In other words, my idea of the perfect human being. If someone upsets him, he tells them. If he doesn't agree with an unwritten rule of behaviour or etiquette, he questions it. He isn't a victim of social construct.
One thing in particular I'd like to be able to do is laugh when someone trips up the pavement. It's an amusing situation, and I should be entitled to react accordingly. It's not unsympathetic - I'm not laughing at a man who's just had his leg ripped off, and the most that could occur is a badly stubbed toe, which hardly amounts to a serious injury - it's simply a natural response generated by surprise. Sometimes I even laugh at myself when I do it, and would frankly feel a lot more comfortable if people joined me in my mirth, as opposed to politely looking the other way or feigning concern. When people trip up it's funny, so let's not pretend otherwise.
If you flip the coin for a second, when we seriously hurt ourselves we don't pretend not to be in pain, nor do we smile as blood pours from the wound. We allow ourselves to react to the pain regardless of what anyone else thinks or expects us to do. If we did a little jig and then went on our merry way, dragging a bloody leg behind us, people would question that. People would think, now why is that person ignoring the alarming state of their leg, which has just been torn off by a dog?
One of Larry's niggles with the world is tipping. In one episode the bill demands that he tips the captain as well as the waiter, leading him to question why the captain deserves extra when all he does is greet people at the entrance and sign them in. Now this I completely agree with. I've been in various situations in which, albeit subtly, a hotel attendant has expected a tip for simply doing their job. Since they're paid to do the job why should they expect something on top of that just because it's 'tradition'? Likewise, toilet attendants frequently demand money for sitting in club bathrooms and handing out toilet roll or paper towels. I'm perfectly capable of helping myself to these things, as I have done for about the last 20 years, so why should I suddenly need to pay someone to do it for me? Maybe I'm mean for throwing a helpful offering back in her face, but the point is she's only doing it for something in return, which completely devalues the gesture at the outset. It's all completely false behaviour, on the part of both the greedy attendant and the obliging tipper.
Either way you look at it, we frequently go against what our instincts tell us. Maybe it's good that we have a bit of restraint - I don't think anyone should go as far as spurting out every thought that passes their mind without any moderation at all, but a bit more natural instinct and inclination to resist the pressure of pointless unwritten rules would, in my opinion, make us all much more interesting people.
Friday, 17 October 2008
Messages in the Ether: Addendum
After much reflection and whining to my boyfriend, I've decided to contact Mary, and explain that she called the wrong number. Because I'm a nice person. And because it's the right thing to do.
Honestly, I'll be calling Jim next...
Honestly, I'll be calling Jim next...
Messages in the Ether
I don't like voicemail machines. I don't like leaving messages on them, and I don't like receiving messages through them either. For one you have to pay. And for another, the majority of people intersperse their recording with numerous 'ummmm's, 'errrr's, and 'soooo, anyway...'s that don't amount to the same as an actual conversation.
However the point I want to get to is that I've recently been the lucky receiver of the following rather curious and highly suspicious message:
"Hi Barbara, it's Jim 'ere. I'm just calling about the manure. It's ready for you to pick up when you're ready, I've got it 'ere, so lemme know when you're ready and I'll cost it up for ya. Gi'ss a call. Fanks."
This is enunciated, naturally, in a farmer-like twang, and I even get the impression he's chewing on a piece of straw while speaking. I've had this message at least three or four times now, and I find it rather amusing, particularly the completely oblivious nature of the caller, who clearly has no idea that he's got the wrong number. Each message is slightly more aggravated, which is understandable, given all the manure he must be piling up, if you pardon the expression.
However following this amusing succession of messages, I recently checked our home phone to find a message left by a woman whose motivation moved me a lot more than the manure-wielding man. The message was as follows:
"Mary*, it's Beatrice*. I don't know if this is welcome... but I'm calling because I think it's your birthday today. So I just wanted to say... happy birthday, and... I hope, some time in the future, maybe we can talk again. So... happy birthday."
Unlike the manure episode, this sadly spoken message, told with the quivering voice of a clearly upset woman who is seeking some sort of reconciliation, made me feel really sad, particularly because I knew the intended recipient would never receive it. As usual my brain goes into overdrive, thinking of Mary's sorrow and how Beatrice will never know she wanted to make amends, and how Mary will assume she is being shunned, when unbeknown to her the message never reached her estranged friend, or relative, or whatever. While it's not my problem I can't help but feel I'm now involved, that I am the omniscient observer of the situation, and therefore the only one who has the power to enlighten them.
I dial 1471 and get a number, hoping I can send a quick, impersonal text letting Mary know she's got the wrong number without getting too involved, but am disappointed to find it's a home number. I consider for a moment calling it, but decide it's a bit of an odd thing to do, and that it might cause her considerable embarrassment.
I know for sure when my boyfriend will say I shouldn't worry so much about it, and that I'm under no obligation to get involved, but Mary's message just rings in my ears. Her cracking voice makes me feel so sorry for her. But maybe that's stupid? For all I know she could've done a really bad thing to make her so repentive. She might've broken up a marriage, blackmailed her, caused some irrepairable rift amongst a family. Moreover, can I take responsibility for someone else's misdialing of a number, or failure to check if it still connects to the same person? Maybe it's not my business to interfere, and perhaps Mary would be angry that I'd stuck my nose in. Because that's what British people are like.
Either way, I'll never know the facts of the situation, and maybe it's best left like that. Fate has a funny way of sorting things out, and for all I know Mary's already realised her mistake and has dialed the right number.
As for Jim, he can keep his manure.
*names changed to protect callers
However the point I want to get to is that I've recently been the lucky receiver of the following rather curious and highly suspicious message:
"Hi Barbara, it's Jim 'ere. I'm just calling about the manure. It's ready for you to pick up when you're ready, I've got it 'ere, so lemme know when you're ready and I'll cost it up for ya. Gi'ss a call. Fanks."
This is enunciated, naturally, in a farmer-like twang, and I even get the impression he's chewing on a piece of straw while speaking. I've had this message at least three or four times now, and I find it rather amusing, particularly the completely oblivious nature of the caller, who clearly has no idea that he's got the wrong number. Each message is slightly more aggravated, which is understandable, given all the manure he must be piling up, if you pardon the expression.
However following this amusing succession of messages, I recently checked our home phone to find a message left by a woman whose motivation moved me a lot more than the manure-wielding man. The message was as follows:
"Mary*, it's Beatrice*. I don't know if this is welcome... but I'm calling because I think it's your birthday today. So I just wanted to say... happy birthday, and... I hope, some time in the future, maybe we can talk again. So... happy birthday."
Unlike the manure episode, this sadly spoken message, told with the quivering voice of a clearly upset woman who is seeking some sort of reconciliation, made me feel really sad, particularly because I knew the intended recipient would never receive it. As usual my brain goes into overdrive, thinking of Mary's sorrow and how Beatrice will never know she wanted to make amends, and how Mary will assume she is being shunned, when unbeknown to her the message never reached her estranged friend, or relative, or whatever. While it's not my problem I can't help but feel I'm now involved, that I am the omniscient observer of the situation, and therefore the only one who has the power to enlighten them.
I dial 1471 and get a number, hoping I can send a quick, impersonal text letting Mary know she's got the wrong number without getting too involved, but am disappointed to find it's a home number. I consider for a moment calling it, but decide it's a bit of an odd thing to do, and that it might cause her considerable embarrassment.
I know for sure when my boyfriend will say I shouldn't worry so much about it, and that I'm under no obligation to get involved, but Mary's message just rings in my ears. Her cracking voice makes me feel so sorry for her. But maybe that's stupid? For all I know she could've done a really bad thing to make her so repentive. She might've broken up a marriage, blackmailed her, caused some irrepairable rift amongst a family. Moreover, can I take responsibility for someone else's misdialing of a number, or failure to check if it still connects to the same person? Maybe it's not my business to interfere, and perhaps Mary would be angry that I'd stuck my nose in. Because that's what British people are like.
Either way, I'll never know the facts of the situation, and maybe it's best left like that. Fate has a funny way of sorting things out, and for all I know Mary's already realised her mistake and has dialed the right number.
As for Jim, he can keep his manure.
*names changed to protect callers
Sunday, 28 September 2008
How Are You?
The British are notorious for being polite and reserved. However, lately I find myself wondering if this is necessarily a good thing. The subject I wish to take issue with is that of the seemingly compulsive need to say 'how are you?' to every person one has not seen in about five minutes. Naturally this custom takes place more often that not in the workplace, where people insist on putting the question to a person they saw only the day before, and therefore couldn’t possibly have changed very much since then. If they had, the likeliness is they wouldn't have arrived for work this morning. The fact that they are clearly okay is surely obvious from one look at the person, noting no change in demeanour or appearance, no bruises or missing limbs.
I for one am getting tired of being asked the same question every morning and feeling like I have to ask it back just to be polite, when both parties know that the answer is never going to be particularly enlightening or reveal anything we didn’t already know. I’m starting to feel like I have to extend my answer further than the usual 'oh I’m fine', as more seems to be expected of me each time I am asked. Which gets difficult after a while. I don’t want to bore people with the mundane details of my journey to work any more than I want them to bore me with theirs. Maybe next time I'll spice it up a bit, throw something interesting in their like, 'I’m feeling a bit psychotic today, if I'm under-stimulated I think I might kill someone.' But that’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to say, 'I'm fine thanks, how are you?' and then the cycle is complete. Until the next morning.
So why do we feel the need to ask this question every single day, to the same people? It's become a compulsion, a meaningless habit, one that I myself am guilty of, albeit in an automatic, robotic fashion. Perhaps it is a way to fill the gap after the initial 'hello'; perhaps it is a reason to maintain eye contact for longer than a few seconds, to acknowledge presence.
Or perhaps it is something deeper than that. Our need for routine dates back to when we were running around in skimpy furs and painting on walls. Perhaps this is a modern equivalent of chanting, or dancing round the fire. Maybe this procedure of asking people how they are is an innate ritual that welds us all together as a society, that makes us feel united and strong. It may seem nothing more than an extended acknowledgement but what's to say it's any different from a hug, or a kiss? Most people wouldn't greet their boss with a big smooch on the lips, so this is the professional equivalent. I can only conclude that the reason the dreaded 'how are you' fills me with so much dejection is because it is spoken, and therefore requires more effort to maintain. However it’s phrased - what’s up?' 'how's it going?' 'what’s new?' - the sentiment is always the same; meaningless and hollow. It's also the frequency of which the question is asked that bothers me. Once in a while would probably be more bearable, but is it really necessary to ask it every 24 hours, to the same person, in the same place, knowing perfectly well that the chances of anything significant having occurred are… well, about the same chance of this person not asking how you are again the next day?
By now you’re probably starting to think what an arrogant, miserable creature I am for feeling this way, but I'm not alone. I could name at least a few people who share my revulsion towards this pointless etiquette. And to those people I propose the following: next time someone asks you how you are, respond, 'I am fine today. And I will be fine tomorrow, and the next day, and probably for the rest of my life, unless you hear otherwise... And you?'
I for one am getting tired of being asked the same question every morning and feeling like I have to ask it back just to be polite, when both parties know that the answer is never going to be particularly enlightening or reveal anything we didn’t already know. I’m starting to feel like I have to extend my answer further than the usual 'oh I’m fine', as more seems to be expected of me each time I am asked. Which gets difficult after a while. I don’t want to bore people with the mundane details of my journey to work any more than I want them to bore me with theirs. Maybe next time I'll spice it up a bit, throw something interesting in their like, 'I’m feeling a bit psychotic today, if I'm under-stimulated I think I might kill someone.' But that’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to say, 'I'm fine thanks, how are you?' and then the cycle is complete. Until the next morning.
So why do we feel the need to ask this question every single day, to the same people? It's become a compulsion, a meaningless habit, one that I myself am guilty of, albeit in an automatic, robotic fashion. Perhaps it is a way to fill the gap after the initial 'hello'; perhaps it is a reason to maintain eye contact for longer than a few seconds, to acknowledge presence.
Or perhaps it is something deeper than that. Our need for routine dates back to when we were running around in skimpy furs and painting on walls. Perhaps this is a modern equivalent of chanting, or dancing round the fire. Maybe this procedure of asking people how they are is an innate ritual that welds us all together as a society, that makes us feel united and strong. It may seem nothing more than an extended acknowledgement but what's to say it's any different from a hug, or a kiss? Most people wouldn't greet their boss with a big smooch on the lips, so this is the professional equivalent. I can only conclude that the reason the dreaded 'how are you' fills me with so much dejection is because it is spoken, and therefore requires more effort to maintain. However it’s phrased - what’s up?' 'how's it going?' 'what’s new?' - the sentiment is always the same; meaningless and hollow. It's also the frequency of which the question is asked that bothers me. Once in a while would probably be more bearable, but is it really necessary to ask it every 24 hours, to the same person, in the same place, knowing perfectly well that the chances of anything significant having occurred are… well, about the same chance of this person not asking how you are again the next day?
By now you’re probably starting to think what an arrogant, miserable creature I am for feeling this way, but I'm not alone. I could name at least a few people who share my revulsion towards this pointless etiquette. And to those people I propose the following: next time someone asks you how you are, respond, 'I am fine today. And I will be fine tomorrow, and the next day, and probably for the rest of my life, unless you hear otherwise... And you?'
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
