Today a man gave me a tiny wooden box. Inside was a red button. He said 'Press this button, and I will appear'. True. As he said this, I was fully aware that this was a once-off. A combination of words that I am unlikely to ever hear said to me again. (Along with 'Infiltrate the meeting and challenge them to Highland Games' and 'I've always thought I had eighteenth century ankles'). Anyway, back to the box. For four hours today I had my own personal genie. I didn't press the button. But I liked knowing that I could.
The box came courtesy of the Woodlands Hotel conference facilities. The genie was a nice man in a suit called Janek, capable of granting an admittedly limited spectrum of wishes involving tea, coffee, pastries or flipchart paper. That's not the point. The point is the concept of the box and the button. That if you need help, all you need to do is call. Perhaps that's what it's like for people who have a faith. Pressing the button is a prayer.
One of my favourite programmes as a child was 'Mr Benn'. Mainly because of the shopkeeper, who appears 'as if by magic' in every episode, to suggest exactly the right costume for Mr Benn's adventure. He is a catalyst, an enigmatic wizard offering transformation on a hanger. (Is it any surprise that as an adult I find wearing a suit unbearably claustrophobic? Blame the shopkeeper.) For me, the most important thing is that Mr Benn chooses to go into the shop. He could walk past, and go about his besuited work. But he chooses the shop. That's a bolder move than pressing a button.
Button or shop? Shop. Every time.
No comments:
Post a Comment