Ships Ahoy! Blind Date overboard!

There is a saying, that one should never judge a book by its cover. I don’t know where it started or indeed who keeps passing it down from generation to generation giving it an air of authority and probability by association of age. But I’m a recent convert to the diametrically opposite adage of ‘go with your gut instincts’. If I had, I’d have buttoned back up my coat and flicked my scarf over my shoulder as a symbolic white flag to Mother Nature that I surrender to spinsterhood.

But curse my sense of convention and deference to politeness, two of the very few sacrosanct tenets bestowed from my parents, inherited no doubt from one of the Saturday night popular TV show they themselves paid particular homage to with unswerving worship.

Minutes waited as the clock hands dangled like fisherman’s line. I drew breath, as he looked at me and I blinked back. What a long day it’s been I thought even though it had only been 1.5 minutes. He clearly didn’t hear the prison doors being swung closed behind me with a stereotypical echoing slam, because he was still smiling. It gave me a notion that he must be deaf and with characteristic optimism I unrealistically hoped he’d be dumb too. A savage stick poked me from behind my own eyes, as a voice in my head chuckled ‘be careful what you wish for’. Sometimes I really don’t like my vivid imagination. The clouds were darkening. Oh yes there was a storm brewing and I had a sinking feeling that l was woefully ill-equipped to weather this particular storm.

“Hi I’m Tony. Anthony, but people call me Tony. You can call me Tony” he said ejecting his hand at me. Mustn’t say what I want to say. Must keep bad thoughts to myself - Must be nice - Must be NICE. I flashed a wide closed lipped smile back at him, keeping my tongue and teeth firmly in check and eventually the hysteria melted enough for me to blurt out ‘Ellie’ and bobbed in a very unnatural bow. In my head it was a suave move to avoid touching Tony, a silky feminine misdirection which would go unnoticed, but it looked more like reality had kicked me in the shins and I was socially crippled.

Having earned my socially inept title early on, my subconscious is on a mission to retain it. “So, it’s Tony, right?” I clarified after we were shown to our table. By the blank look on his face he didn’t even have a sense of humour for me to fall back on. The clock judged me cruelly by refusing to tick time, as bless him, Tony made allowances. Unlike me he’d come prepared with random conversation topics and sensing my apparent lack of preparation he took the helm and began steering me into the unchartered waters of trains and airshows. I glanced at the clock. Five minutes? What? That can’t be right. It must’ve stopped. “That can’t be right” I mumbled aloud.

As I was looking over in the general direction of the bar, Tony assumed that I was referring to the inattentive service and keen to maintain his claim to the honourable high ground, he started to windmill his arms around in a distressed manner. He reminded me of a kid I went to school with called Andrew Buchanan. Smartest person at our school including many of the teachers, but given the location and social status of our school that wasn’t really as impressive an accolade as it sounds. Highest gesticulator? Yikes that’s even worse. My mind was off again and I wondered if Andrew now introduced himself as ‘Hi, I’m Andy. Andrew, but people call me Andy. You can call me Andy’. I couldn’t help but smile and count my blessings that I wasn’t called Mandy. If I had been so ill fortuned, I doubt introductions would’ve been the same after meeting Tony. Hey at least I was smiling now. Hooray for arm shaped lifebuoys. Actually, to hell with keeping afloat, I needed rescuing.

Reacting to Tony’s subtle plea, a straw approached… I mean the waiter. And I clutched desperately. ‘Wine. Wine please’ I whined and hoped he could read my mind like I had the menu. I stared wide eyed up at him as he dutifully scribbled my order being placed by Tony, who had apparently decided what I’d like to eat.

I mornfully watched my chance of escape dwindle with ever step the waiter took back to his station before turning to look back at Tony. “Is it me or is it getting hot in here”, he quipped leaning forward. Misreading sexual arousal in my fear dilated pupils which were accentuated by my flush of indignation at being left behind by our waiter.

“I can tell you’re independent and passionate. I like a woman who respects herself. Something sexy about someone who’s not afraid to admit what she likes and then goes and gets it” he smears in an oily tone.

Oh my God, he was on a roll he and went on until I was feeling crushed from wearing his attention like a snowsuit whilst ploughing my own, through his gritted vapidity. If only I had some smooth words to skim over the mounds for a guaranteed homerun, but my whole vocabulary had gotten early release and were off on parole. My ears were incarcerated with me and this served to clear the way for his relentless advances. And advance he did. On and on to the same march as…. What was that? Sounds like a choir raining somewhere ‘Onwards Christian soldiers’ and I swear I could hear a tambourine. I couldn’t be sure because the low lighting was reflecting off his wind chaffed brow and distorted my view. But no amount of temporary blindness was saving me from his leering eyes which crept over my skin. Jabbing like a hundred million hailstones. The song was building to a crescendo.

I needed to distract my mouth so I pick up the salt seller and twiddle nervously. Its one eye gaped at me like it had all the answers but was keeping schtum. If I stared hard enough I felt sure that I’d find a way to make it squeal. I stared into the vent like it’s some sort of crucible, trying to spot something meaningful inside it. But it was too difficult this close up and the white noise dripping from Tony was making it hard to concentrate. Life is a story best told in the present. But this current present wasn’t a story I wanted to narrate nevermind live in. Left with no choice I surrender.

“So”, I interrupted with authority giving Tony the benefit of my full focus for the first time so far. “I’m the sort of woman who gets what she wants heh? “ Our gazes lock, I raised an enquirying eyebrow. Tony swallowed hard and his blackening eyes answer for his mouth. A wicked smile danced over my lips and I saw him now the one caught on the clock hands. “You, are a very perceptive man”, I purred. Leaning forward I rose to my feet, freed myself and my coat and holding my handbag like a get out of jail free card I walk with purpose out the restrauant door. Happy I love you day, I whisper to myself.

Jobsworth #1 – How the Post Office use adverse weather as a convenient opportunity to hold the Great British public to ransom.

On average I’m getting my mail delivered about once a week. Given the current wave of seasonal weather, obviously snow interruption is to be expected and the unpredictability of weather makes it very difficult to forecast windows of delivery opportunity. I get that. No really, I really do.

Being a helpful citizen and full of the Christmas spirit, I decided that it was probably easier for me to collect my mail from the local depot, so I phoned and got more than I bargained for.

I explained that I’d like to collect my post, but was informed that I couldn’t because it was in the van. Great! So you’re going to attempt to deliver today? But no, apparently the Health & Safety risks meant it was unlikely the van would make it up the farm track to my house and drivers had been informed not to put themselves at any unnecessary risk by attempting snow bound roads.

“So what you’re saying is that your rural posties are pointlessly driving up and down the main roads with fully loaded post vans, containing mail for people like myself who are willing to dig themselves a path to the Depot, for no other reason than to prevent self collection. And to make absolutely sure of the success of this letter retention scheme, they only return to the depot after closing hours?” She didn’t laugh.

She continued instead, to inform me that our farm track was found to be particularly snowy when the postman had allegedly tried the day before. The van just couldn’t get enough traction to make it all the way up the hill. I politely asked if the postman’s legs didn’t work when he left his vehicle thus making a traditional mode of delivery also impossible. She didn’t laugh and there then followed an awkward pause.

Undeterred and sensing my cabin fever induced black humour was falling on deaf ears; I asked if I could collect my mail tomorrow instead. Again, the reply was a flat negative. It would be loaded onto the van as a matter of procedure and if I wanted my letters to be retained at the Depot for collection, I would have to phone and inform them. I pointed out that I was on the phone right now and ergo phoning to inform them. “I’m afraid you’ll have to phone at 7am on the day”, she said, swatted my pointing out the obvious with a flat tone. Can’t you just take a note of this call and my request and then not put my mail into the van tomorrow? “NO”, she replied without missing a heartbeat.

“I just want my mail”, I persisted. “What about I do the walking and meet the postman at the bottom of the farm track and ‘I’ collect my mail from the van?” “Oh, no, you can’t do that. It’s the law that we have to deliver mail to the address of the recipient” “But”, I object. “That’s my point. You aren’t delivering my mail! Does your boss know that your depot is purposely breaking the law?” She didn’t laugh.

I summarised. “So let me get this straight, a postman is driving around with my post in his van; he won’t walk up the farm track and he won’t let me meet him at the bottom. You simply won’t let me have my own post unless I meet your demands of phoning at 7am and come to the pick up point at a designated time? Your ransom note must be stuck in the post too!

She dryly replied “All our customers are having to make allowances under the circumstances and I can assure you that the staff at this depot are bending over backwards to get your mail to you as quickly as possible”. And then she hung up.

Update

Two days have passed since that phone call and I’ve just returned from a visit to the same Post Office depot. I couldn’t have arrived there any earlier as a van had been stuck on the track and the farmer had to tow the van out before ploughing the track. To be honest, I was triumphant at having got to the depot at all, particularly in light of the fact the Postman hasn’t managed in over 10 days! Trouble is that I’d arrived after the depot closing time.

Hearing voices around the back, I wander around to ask if one of those bending over backwards staff members might help. “Hello, can you help me? I know you’re closed, but I’ve been 10 days without post, any chance of me picking it up now?”

I felt my eye brows and hairline frizzle under the glares of the two depot workers. “We’re closed”. The reply was as clipped at the looks it accompanied. “Yes I know, but I’ve just managed to get here for the first time and I just want my post. Couldn’t one of you pop into the depot for me?”

“Look mate, we’ve got stuff to do when we close the office. You’ll have to come back when we’re open”. My frustration bubbled over like porridge out of the magic porridge pot. “Just a suggestion, but making allowances work both ways. Could you just not waste time loading and unloading the same bundles of undelivered mail and stop pointlessly driving around the main roads all day confirming that the side roads are indeed impassable? You could then open for longer and have enough time to do your admin in between bending over backwards to provide a revised adverse weather service to the same customers you expect to just accept their lack of a service!

2011 Challenge Ellie

The gauntlet has been thrown down ... a blog post every day for a year huh?

Count me in!

p.s... you were a little hazy on the publishing every day part (so multiple back logging must surely be allowed!)

BEHIND THE HEADLINES

I heard on the news this morning that some cress obsessed scientists have isolated a gene that appears to help plants grow in the cold. Handy for Scotland without a doubt, now all we need is one for excessive rain and drizzle and our farmers might start to smile again.

The next news item was similar about another breakthrough. It seems that another set of clever scientist have made a significant link between brain degeneration and vitamin B. I always marvel at these types of stories. I imagine individuals who are persistent, determined and slightly geeky in their passion.

As admiral as I find all this research there’s a little cynical part of me that can’t help but think that logical has left the building. You see what I didn’t mention is the news item before the cress growth outcome. The headline on the local news was the announcement that we (the taxpaying public) should brace ourselves for a big fat budget cut in the healthcare we currently enjoy. Even if you haven’t enjoyed it yet! All I can say is it’s your own fault for eating healthily, living sober and taking regular sensible exercise.

Bit of a digression, but is it just me or does the slow feed media circus annoy anyone else? It’s all patterned like a piss poor 80’s power point presentation:

• Tell them what you’re going to tell them.
• Tell them
• Tell them what you’ve told them and pretend it’s necessary
(and if it’s political – say it’s not our fault)

I have a deep dislike of the way that bad news is delivered to me and the public at large. Dressing it up with ‘it’s coming’ … ‘get ready’… ‘you’re not going to like it’ … ‘it’s a necessary measure’ doesn’t make it easier. All it does is imply that as a collective we’re too stupid to be treated like grown ups. But what do I know!

Back to the news, what occurs to me taking the news as a whole is that those higher echelons of society don’t know how to spend our money wisely.

Let me explain.
The 1st news story says in plain speak
Politicians – ‘we do got no money’
The 2nd & 3rd news story says in plain speak
Scientist – ‘we do got a way of helping, but it’s gonna cost ya’
= we got a problem

But once upon a time, even before that problem there was another. Let me explain.

Scientist – ‘we do got a good idea, give us money to do it good’
Politicians – ‘we do got no money. Oh ok. Here you go’

You’re seeing my point now right? I’m not saying that research should stop and that the help that some research findings aren’t invaluable to mankind and therefore Nobel Prize worthy. What I am saying is think about it from an individual human perspective.

Hello, this is the news. You have been suffering. Scientists have been worried. So we found something to help. That’s good huh?

You’re imagining the joy, relief and the gratitude to those who cared enough to help.

Then comes the crushing – I’m sorry we know lots of Vitamin B will slow does your brain degeneration by 50% but we can’t give it to because if we give it to you, everyone will want it and we simply can’t afford it.

It’s as cruel as offering a child a sweetie only to hold it just out of reach whilst laughing in their face. Someone surely needs to question the validity of funding research projects with public funds without factoring ethical questions regarding the managing the repercussions of findings. In business its called project sustainability. Unlike the science behind these projects being responsible surely is NOT rocket science.

Mind the Gap!

Most people have heard of 'writers block' but there is a lesser form of this that I read about. Instead of their minds being a total blank, there's just a moment's pause - a soupçon of hesitation right before they release the technicolor scenes, characters and plots that have been brewed in their imagination pot. It's referred to as 'the gap'.

I think I have this... as I my brain seems to stop frequently.

Today I proudly announced the cancellation of a non-cancelled course. I telephoned the delegate and this is what happened:

[porridge for brains] - ah good morning, soon to be distressed listener. You know that course you booked onto? Well I'm cancelling it.

[distressed listener] - oh, oh right. That's a shame.

[porridge for brains] - yes we're all terribly disappointed too, but there simply wasn't enough interest. We did try out bests, but sadly we've taken the decision to cancel.

[distressed listener] - ... and so soon!

*** brain processing pause*** - result = nothing

[porridge for brains] - we did try to hold off as long as possible before cancelling. I'm sorry about the short notice. In hindsight, I should've called you sooner.

*** silence ***

[porridge for brains] - well I'll keep you posted if it gets rescheduled. Thank you for your interest.

*** call ends ***

[porridge for brains] to [belly bulge - a pregnant colleague] - She was a bit sarcastic... cheeky mare!

I shrugged it off and thought nothing more about it until I was processing the cancellations and discovered that I'd phoned and cancelled a booking for MAY! No wonder she was confused and couldn't understand why I was cancelling it so soon. Sheepishly I had to phone her back and explain - her response was a relief although it did smart a bit. She laughed very loudly and kept apologising for laughing. It seems that I made her day. Her closing comment - "you couldn't write stuff funnier than this, huh?"...

I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people, its a hazard my ego finds hard to cope with and leaves my 'gap' painfully on display.

It's a Family Affair

It's looming, dark and ominous. A shadow of a big while elephant following me around. Stalking me. The pressure is hard to resist and the part of me that wants to please others is on the verge of mutiney.

Things have never been that great between my family members and get-togethers take a terrific toll on me. I go into a funk that sometimes lasts for days. It's not that they're not good people, because they are - individually. But collectively they morph into a horror version of the Adams family. Hard to imagine huh? Try dinning with them! Unsurprisingly, in order to avoid this I avoid them. And this usually works well, as they appear to avoid me

The problem is that its my birthday soon and there in lies the source of the pressure. Family conventions are the stuff that bonds families and there is an expectation that we 'ought' to celebrate together. We are family after all... Added into the mix is the fact that this is my 40th birthday which adds another layer of pressure.

Without anyone saying a word I can hear their silent plans screaming 'party... party... PARTY!' And if I'm honest the idea scares the beejesus out of me. I've been explicit - NO PARTY. (least that they know about) After three months of phone calls, I think the message has permeated.

But it seems the pressure has mounted again... 'what about a family meal?' We could go ... say, suggestions suggestions suggestions.... Perfect... no?' - NO!

I know they all frown at me for not taking the part written for me in our family movie. And worse still - all I want for my birthday is a dishwasher. Not exactly the sorta gift one ought to be hoping for I guess... so i suppose I'll just have to pretend to be delighted with whatever sparkles and frills are provided for me and secretly dream of dishwashers!

Ah families

Doctor Doctor gimme the News!

I've had a sore throat - lingering, simmering and annoyingly persistent. So I went to see my doctor. When I say 'my' doctor.. it's more a case of 'a' doctor. I go so very infrequently that I don't think I've seen the same doctor more than once and this time was no different.

Walking to the waiting room I near bumped into a rather tall strapping and good looking GP. We apologised as polite people do and took our respective paths only to come to the same entrance at the other side of the waiting room. He - Doctor, Me - Patient.

Immediate rapport, common ground established as we chuckled our way into his consulting room. I smiled at the thought of having such an excellent view whilst my rebellious tonsils were being examined. As a good friend often says 'Who wouldn't be delighted by that?' Certainly not me.

And then it happened.... mid consultation Doc S started chatting to me in a very familiar tone, and so he continued until eventually I had no choice but to confess by saying "I'm so sorry but I think you're mistaking me for someone else... you see I don't know you at all". He looked at me and grinned (I experienced a leg wobble at that point and thoroughly pleasant it was too!) Then he said "But I get your emails" I must've looked blank 'cos he continued "From RCGP - your emails!"

Ah I see... apparently he recognised my name on his e-bulletins that are sent out from the Faculty. And because of the conversational story tone of my emails, he felt like he knew me. Not content with leaving it there, he then proceeded to tell me all about his interest in training and this mushroomed into telling me about his wife (who was becoming a GP after 10+years as a registrar in the hospital) and that she had to start from scratch and that this was frustrating and that he had joined using the iMAP route and that he lived in Aberdeen which they liked and that this suited his wee one (who's art work was very impressive for her age!) and and and ... oh yes - he only gets 2 study days a year and that makes it difficult to get away to attend the educational days the College provide. and and and there's more, he also noted that we were looking for an Education lead but he couldn't apply cos he's not a member.... and that he was from the Isle of Bute and he was the only person to have studied at Aberdeen University from the Island and and and...

I felt like the cat with a white stripe in the Pepe le Phew cartoon! Looking longingly at the door... I thought about my escape. Doc S seemed oblivious to my hopes as I edged my way over to the door as he chatted away happily.... all the while holding onto my prescription like a ransom note!

I don't think I've ever found out that much about another person in such a short space of time. Let alone when I was sort of expecting the focus to be on me. Clearly I'm sending out a secret message to other people, saying " free therapy sessions here".... the question is HOW?