Day 181: Magic Carpet

Another busy day, caught up in the detail of other people's very specific needs.  It's not until mid-afternoon that I actually remember what the date is.  Fifteen years ago today, my father died.

When something big like this happens, everything else is thrown into a different order.  Priorities change.  Day-to-day stresses are as insignificant as dandelion clocks, and as easily dispersible.  You sail above the quotidian on a magic carpet of higher cosmic significance.

This lasts for about two weeks.  Tops. 


My first experience with the carpet came after an accident that almost cost me my life.  On the day I was discharged from hospital, I drifted home, captivated by everything I saw.  Christmas lights, shopping crowds, the solidity and fumes of a London bus. 


I had been spared and everything was beautiful. 

As I say.  Two weeks.  Tops.  And then the normal order is restored. 

There's something to be said for magic carpet perspective, flying high above the trivial.  But the downside is that it's not truly connected to reality.  It is a detached overview.  A brilliant buffer - a comedown shock cushion.  But the real carpet of life isn't magic and floating and impermanent.  It's the dirty, knotty weft and warp of what's beneath our feet on a daily basis. 

Mine's a pub carpet.  One of those ones with a pattern that is 50% design; 50% accidental stains.  A few bald patches. 

And I think there might be something unspeakable in the corner.

Day 180: Ka Mate

Day two of job-from-hell.  Feeling stronger thanks to a proper night's sleep.  Controlling alpha boss has started to trust me, and is relaxed enough to crack some Germanic jokes. 

There is some light relief at the end of the day (and a break for me) in the form of a visit from two Maoris (Bruce and Lawrence) in tribal dress, who have been booked to teach everyone a Haka.  The classic one that the All Blacks do before matches. 

Ka mate, ka mate (Will I die?  Will I die?)
Ka ora, ka ora (Will I live?  Will I live?)

Yup.  That just about sums up the last couple of days for me...

The booker rings me as I get home.  He has spoken to the client, who says I 'pulled a blinder'.  Would I be prepared to do a repeat of the same job for them? 

There is a moment's pause.  I tell him to ask me in a couple of weeks.  When the wounds have healed and the scars are starting to fade. 

Ā, upane! Ka upane! (Onwards and upwards!)

Day 179: Grassbusting

A sleepless night.  Courtesy of an email received at ten o'clock last night, requesting that in addition to today's full programme, can I also 'do some sort of half-hour warm-up' for SEVENTY cynical participants.  HALF-HOUR.  SEVENTY.  CYNICAL.  As I've been out for a birthday dinner, I am stupid with wine and chocolate sauce.  Go to bed and fidget sleeplessly, hot with stress, brain activity and sugar sweats.  Truly horrible.

I ain't 'fraid of no grass

The day happens.  I more than get away with it.  But it comes at a price.  By mid-afternoon there's almost nothing left in my tank.  During a coffee break I notice a groundsman blowing grass-cuttings around, looking just like a Ghostbuster.  (Grassbuster).  His task looks very Zen in its simplicity.  Grass on; grass off.  I envy him. 

By the time I get home I am catatonic and weeping with exhaustion.  Fighting sleep at nine o'clock in front of 'Crimewatch' - but it's a good reminder that however stressful my day has been, it doesn't come close to being tied up by a psychopath in a balaclava brandishing a machete.    

Time to sleep.  And dream of Grassbusting. 

Day 178: Birthday Present

Not this...

The birthday gods are generous – the rain has stopped and the sky is blue and cloudless.  It calls to be enjoyed, so a potential rainy day plan of a visit to the Tower of London is shelved in favour of a three-hour walk in deepest Oxfordshire countryside, with Ordnance Survey map and compass. 

A hazardous undertaking, fraught with vague signposting, indistinct paths and poor compass management.  

This

But a lot less macabre than the Tower.  Instead of iron maidens and racks, it's sheep and ducks.  Bluebells and cowslips.  Yellow butterflies.  Less Traitor's Gate; more five bar gate.  A red kite buzzes overhead.  Repeatedly.  Hovering so low that you can see the markings on the underside of its wings. 

Nearing home, the clouds are beginning to gather.  By the evening it is raining again. 

Lucky.  Happy Birthday to me. 

Day 177: Roastmaster

And still it rains relentlessly.  On and on.  It makes me think of 'Withnail and I' and the accidental holiday.  Maybe that's why I feel moved to stick a chicken in the oven.  Reliable pleasures.

Roast potatoes AND Yorkshires. 

Amen. 

Day 176: Size Of A Bus

A London wedding.  Unseasonable rain and wind scatters the blossom from the Japanese flowering cherry trees outside the church.  Eco-nfetti.  Inside, the vicar is enthusiastic and shiny, pumped to have a capacity congregation.  But I think the organist is intimidated.  None of us really knows the tune to 'Glad that I live am I' - including him.  All a bit embarrassing.  He makes up for it by hurling himself breathlessly at 'Jerusalem'.  We hurry to keep up.  No chance for any swords to sleep in any hands.  Not at that pace.  

Old Routemaster buses take us to the reception in Westminster.  The seats are TINY.  Either the bus has shrunk with age, like a dwindling nan, or we have grown bigger as a species over the last few decades.

Supersize me.  

Day 175: Eggspenses

Today I go to the shops in search of ten Creme Eggs.  I need them for a job next week. 

Yes.  They are a genuine business expense.  Essential props.  (I look forward to including this particular receipt when I do my books, and very much hope that my accountant (the strangely emotionless Olga) will question its inclusion.)

I source the eggs from WHSmith (two for a pound - bargain).  Can't see them at first, so I have to ask.  Find myself saying 'Do you sell Creme Eggs?  Great - I need ten.'  NEED!  Shop assistant eyes me suspiciously (while probably pressing the bulimia panic button under the counter).

'Sure.  You NEED ten.  Probably for a job, yeah?  Do you want them wrapped?  Or open?'