THE MYTH ABOUT GOLDFISH

Eggs, Sperm & Facebook

2009-08-18T10:43:00.001Z

The other night, I got woken up at the three o’clock in the morning by my frantic wife! I knew something was wrong from the way she was shaking me and whispering ‘wake up! Wake up’.

‘There is someone downstairs’ she said.

‘Who? What time is it?’ I sleepily asked.

‘It’s three in the morning and there is someone downstairs. I think it’s a burglar’ she whispered.

‘A burglar? Naah! I think you’re just being paranoid’

‘No. I am not. He is making too much noise. Actually, I can hear voices too. There must be more than one. Wake up and go check’.

‘More than one and you want ME to check?’

‘Are you scared?’

‘No. But..err..maybe it’s your dad’

‘No. My dad is asleep. I can hear him snoring’.

‘Ok. Ok. I’ll go and check’

‘Wait! Do you think I should call the police?’

‘No. We don’t even know if it is a burglar yet. Let me check first’.

So, I quietly tiptoed downstairs with a toilet brush in one hand and a can of lynx deodorant in the other. I could hear people’s voices. They were female voices! All the lights were on as I slowly walked towards the kitchen.

Around the dining table, sat my three children. They were drinking milk and having the weirdest conversation anyone could have at that time of night!

‘Men have something called sperm inside them and women have eggs’ the eight year old was saying.

‘How many eggs?’ asked the five-year-old boy.

‘Two’ replied our resident oracle.

‘Do I have eggs?’ Asked the six-year-old girl.

‘Yes. All girls have eggs inside them’ replied the oracle.

‘What is a sperm?’ asked the boy.

‘It’s like a tadpole’ said the oracle.

‘What’s a tadpole’ asked the six year old.

‘Urgh! You don’t know anything! A tadpole is a baby frog’ replied the impatient oracle.

‘Where is my sperm?’ asked the boy.

‘In your tummy’ said the condescending oracle.

‘Are my eggs in my tummy too?’ asked the six year old.

‘Yes’ said the oracle.

‘Do you have eggs too?’ asked the six year old.

‘Yes. ALL girls have eggs’ replied the irritated oracle.

‘Can my eggs break?’ asked the six year old.

‘Yeah! If you run too much or fall down you will break your eggs and then yellow stuff will come out of your bottom’ said my logical boy.

‘No. I don’t think you can break your eggs. They are protected by your body’ said the oracle.

‘Not even if I jump real hard?’ said the six year old.

‘No.’ said the older girl.

‘How about if I punch her real hard in the tummy?’ asked the boy.

‘Urgh. I said NO!’ replied the exasperated oracle.

At this point, I decided to sneak slowly back to the bedroom and try to sleep. My anxious wife was standing by the bedroom door as I passed her to get to the bed and looked shocked to see me glide past her.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

‘I am going to bed’ I whispered back.

‘What’s going on downstairs?’ she asked.

‘Go and have a look’ I said.

‘Oh grow up and tell me what’s going on’ she said.

‘It’s the kids. They’re all awake, having milk downstairs and talking about how babies are made’ I yawningly replied.

‘NO!’ said she.

‘Yes’ I replied ‘of course, I think this whole thing is a dream and I’m dying to wakeup so I can tell you all about it’ I added.

‘The kids are downstairs and you just left them there without doing anything? What if they drink bleach or something?’ she incredulously asked.

‘The egg and sperm massive are a tad too advanced for bleach and other childish accidents’ I replied as I covered my head and tried to adjust my pillow.

I woke up the next morning to find out that it was not a dream. Seems the middle one was thirsty and woke the others up to accompany her downstairs.

---------------------------

I got home yesterday to be confronted by my six-year-old daughter. She held my hand and dragged me to the PC without allowing me to change or even take my shoes off.

'Look!' she said. 'I've got a facebook account'.
'You're not old enough for a facebook account' I told her.

'I know' she knowingly replied 'I lied about my age'.

'Lying is not nice' I told her.

'Will I get in trouble?' she asked.

'No. But you have to delete the account' I said.

The eight year old jumps in and says 'I have a facebook account too, am I old enough?'

'I don't know what the age limit is' I said 'but I think you're too young too'.

'She is the one that created my account for me' said the six year old.

'This is fraud' I told them. 'You can't pretend to be an age you're not'.

'Mum always lies about her age' said the eight year old.

‘That reminds me, where was your mother when you were creating these accounts?' I asked.

'She was here. We asked her if it was ok and she said yes' replied the older girl.

'Do you have a facebook?' asked the younger girl.

'Yes. But I am old enough to have one. It's boring anyway' I replied.

'Can you add me as your friend?' she asked 'I don't have any friends' she added.

'That's because most children your age can't write properly' I said.

'I can write!' she protested.

'I know you can. But not well enough to have your own facebook account'.

'I can WRITE' she insisted.

'Yes. Yes. You can. Can I go and change now?'

'Does this mean I can keep my facebook?' she asked.

'We'll talk about it when I come back'

I went to change and when I returned the older daughter said ‘Dad, give me the name of a college.’

‘I don’t know the names of any local colleges. We’re new to this area, remember’ I said.

‘Give me the name of any college’ she replied.

‘The college of Outer London’ I said.

She started typing. ‘What are you doing?’ I curiously asked.

‘Oh. I am updating my profile. You said I am not old enough, so I am trying to make myself sound older’

‘More lying?’

‘Everybody does it’

‘But you are not everybody. You know it is lying and you’re teaching your little sister to lie too. Do you realise this is actually illegal?’

‘Illegal? You mean I’ll get arrested for lying?’

‘Maybe!’

‘Oooh! I didn’t mean to lie. I swear I didn’t know it was illegal. I don’t want to get arrested, daddy’.

‘Hopefully you wont. We’ll just have to find a way to make your use of facebook legal’

‘How?’

‘I’ll create two accounts for you under my name’

‘Yay!’ Said the younger one.

‘That’s embarrassing’ said the older one.

‘That’s the only way you’re going to use facebook. Take it or leave it’ said I.

‘I don’t need a facebook account’ said the boy calmly ‘I always use mummy’s one’......

My Boss Is MAD!

2008-11-21T21:47:00.002Z

Everyone complains about their bosses and how crazy, unreasonable, rude or fussy they are. But nobody has a boss like my boss.

He was not always my boss. In the beginning he was merely a senior colleague of mine. But fate, fortune and, probably, a secret CIA experiment all conspired to eventually make him my boss.

I always knew he was a buffoon. A harmless buffoon, I thought. But you only get to know the depths of someone’s buffoonery when they get some power and are let loose on the world. George Bush? Bah! He’s nothing to MY boss.

Here are a few conversations I had with him recently:

Boss: I just received a letter from some charity for the homeless. In it, there is a blank Christmas card that I am urged to fill in and send back so that it can be passed to a homeless person and cheer him up during Christmas. I am planning to enclose some money with the card. It is nice to help the underprivileged, is it not?

Me: Giving to charity is always nice.

Boss: These homeless people are probably all hopeless drunks that have wasted their lives and chose to stay on the margins of society. But to help them from time to time, even though I do not agree with their lifestyles, makes me feel good about myself. Like Tony Blair always said, we need to give back to society.

Me: Hmm

Boss: I am going to write something along the lines of: hope this card reaches you in good health and that you spend next Christmas under your own roof. I have enclosed (with this card) a gift that Santa gave me (you know he’s busy at this time of year).

Me: What if the card is given to a Brazilian homeless man who does not speak English? He might not get your humour.

Boss: What humour? I was not joking. Beside, there are no Brazilian homeless men. They are all illegal immigrants.

Me: Hmmm

Boss: I am going to enclose five pounds with the card and a post-it note with the words ‘lucky, lucky you’. Five pounds is nothing to me but everything to a homeless man.

Me: This time you are joking, right?

Boss: What is it with you and jokes? Are you saying I am being offensive?

Me: No. I just think whoever receives your card might misinterpret your words and think you are patronising them.

Boss: We are talking about homeless people here. I don’t think they have the intelligence to read into things the way you do. You worry too much.

Me: I suppose I do.

Boss: Ok. Ok. I am going to add the words ‘I am not being offensive’ after ‘lucky, lucky you’.

Yesterday, I received an e-mail from our Head Office asking me about some issue that needed clarifying. My boss was dealing with that issue and had all the paperwork for it. I passed him the e-mail and enquired as to what I should do next.

Boss: I have never dealt with this issue. You did.

Me: No. I have never come across this information before. In fact, I remember you telling me about it a few months ago. Are you sure you don’t have the paperwork for it?

Boss: No. Maybe the secretary was dealing with it all.

Me: But it is not part of her job.

Boss: No. No. She dealt with it. I now remember asking her to do so. She has the all the paperwork. I will go and get it from her.

He went to the secretary and she told him she knows nothing about the matter. He returned and spent ten minutes telling me how incompetent she is then went back to her to make sure she does not have the paper work. He spent the rest of the day running between her office, his office, the offices of other colleagues and then returning to me to tell me how incompetent they all were. He then went back to his own office and started searching. An hour later, he came back to me and said the following:

Boss: I found the paperwork. You know, it is lucky that I am so organised and file things methodically. That is the problem with this company, nobody files things methodically. I really don’t know how this office could function without me.

Me: Where did you find the paperwork? Was it the secretary?

Boss: No. I had it. If I was like you or the others I don’t think I would ever find it. Thank god that I file things methodically.

On the same afternoon, someone came to him to inform him that they will be going on Paternity Leave. They wanted to take the whole two weeks off and did not know what the exact rules were. After talking to them, he came to gossip about the whole thing.

Boss: You know Ian is going on Paternity Leave?

Me: Is he? No, I didn’t know that.

Boss: Yes he is. I tried to advise him not to go. He doesn’t earn that much already and cuddling a baby for two weeks is really not something that is worth starving yourself for.

Me: You told him that?

Boss: I like to look after the welfare of my staff. But what is it with the poor and sentimentality? He can see his baby when he returns home from work. You see your kids when you return home from work, don’t you?

Me: Err, yes. But I don’t think it is the same thing.

Boss: Rubbish. What does a new born baby need with a father? It is the mother that breastfeeds them and has a bond with them at that early stage.

Me: Yes, but the mother will be tired from the ordeal of giving birth and would need help.

Boss: What help? Babies sleep for 23 hours of the day when they are that young. The mother can sleep when they sleep then wake up and feed them when they wake up. It is this politically correct society that we live in that spoiled these people.

Me: I don’t think it will be a good idea to share these views of yours with Ian. He might misinterpret them.

Boss: There you go worrying too much again. I am sure Ian knows I am a caring boss and that I only have his interests at heart. I might even push for a pay rise for him when the time comes. He does not earn much you know. I really don’t know how he is going to raise a baby on his income. Do these people ever think before doing things?

Me: I am sure he thought about it and planned things before deciding to have the baby. You do realise that the average salary in this country is £25,000 don’t you?

Boss: Is it? How are these people managing?

Me: Hmmmm

Boss: I still think it is my duty to advise him on savings and other monetary issues. He will be a father soon and I’d hate to see him have money problems when he has such responsibilities and obligations.

Me: I know you mean well but to imply that he might not be able to look after his baby may offend him.

Boss: Why do you always assume that people will get offended? People are not as soft as you. Do you really think if Ian was that soft he would have been able to survive on his meagre salary?

Me: Hmmmmm

Boss: Exactly. Don’t worry yourself about these things. I know how to deal with him and even if he was offended at the start, I am sure he will forget all about it once he hears about the pay rise.

Me: What pay rise?

Boss: I told you, I am going to try to push for him to get a pay rise. When I tell him that I know he will realise that I am on his side and wont worry about this nonsense talk of being offended and what not.

Me: Sure.

Boss: I’ll talk to him on Monday.

Just to add here that Ian (that’s not his real name of course) hates my boss. This is because one day when this boss of mine was talking about the cleaning company we employ and how bad they were he said the following to Ian:

Boss: These cleaning companies are a joke. We pay them so much to wipe desks, clean and take rubbish out. Honestly, it is a job you or I can do. Actually, if you wanted to, you can supplement your salary by setting up one of these companies and get your wife to do all the cleaning.

Ps

Just to complete the picture, my boss is in his mid 60s, single and still lives with his mother. I always tell myself the only reason I did not strangle him yet, is that I am so cool I can have the globe twirling on a finger of one hand whilst picking my nose with the finger of the other. But oooh I’d love to kick the brown stuff out of this buffoon.

SMOKING

2008-11-18T21:43:00.001Z

When you’re a child you worry about being told off by your parents, elder siblings or teachers. You look forward to growing up and becoming independent. I never really understood the meaning of independence before but now I know it means not being told off by anyone. Well, other than your bosses at work but that is only when you mess things up or are constantly late. Even then, you are not really being told off, not like how your parents used to tell you off. You are an independent adult and you do what you like.

The other day, I had to walk my eldest daughter to school before heading for work. We strolled along talking about her literacy class and the Victorian era. This is how the conversation went:

Daughter: Queen Victoria was a horrible lady.

Me: Is that what your teacher told you?

Daughter: No. I saw it on Dr Who.

Me: But Dr Who is not real. It’s just TV.

Daughter: I know THAT. But the woman on Dr Who looked and dressed exactly like the painting of Queen Victoria that our teacher showed us.

Me: That does not mean she was horrible.

Daughter: Was she nice then?

Me: Err. I am not sure it is that simple. She ruled for a very long time and must have done horrible things. Anyway, is it not too early in the morning for all of this? What are you going to do at school today?

Daughter: There is a literacy competition in school today. Our class is going to talk about Queen Victoria. What shall I say when it’s my turn?

Me: Just tell them she was horrible. They’ll probably agree with your Dr Who logic.

Daughter (squinting her eyes at me): Stop making fun of me.

We were by the school entrance by then and I had no time to explain. She walked away without saying goodbye.

I had a very bad cold and was coughing as I walked to the tube station. Someone smoking a cigarette walked past me and I managed to inhale some of the smoke. It has been three years since I last had a cigarette. But with my annoyance with Queen Victoria and this bad cold of mine, I suddenly had a very strong urge to smoke a cigarette. One cigarette could not do any lasting damage, could it?

I walked to the nearest shop and bought me a golden B&H and a lighter. My throat burned as I inhaled my first puff. Maybe I was just out of practice and needed to inhale a few more before getting that great feeling back. I did. I started coughing madly and had to lean on some wall to get my breath back. This smoking business was not for me. I threw the cigarette away and carried on walking to the station as I wiped the tears from my eyes and attempted, but failed to control my coughing.

When I returned home that night, my wife, my mother and my eldest daughter were all sat in the living room and having a heated conversation. Not Queen Victoria again, I thought to myself as I walked in.

Wife: Did you go to the shop near the school today?

Me: Yeah.

Wife: What did you buy?

Me: Err..Chewing gum.

Wife: Are you sure?

Me: Yes I am. Why do you ask anyway?

Wife: Because when I went to get our daughter from school I passed by the shop and the owner commented about not realising that YOU were a smoker.

Me: Maybe he’s talking about someone else. I don’t even think he knows we’re married.

Wife: Strange! Our neighbour’s young daughter also said she saw you this morning when she was on her way to school. She said she was on the bus when she saw you walking to the station with a cigarette in your hand.

Me: Oh yeah. THAT? My cough was getting worse and I thought a cigarette might help.

Wife: How long have you been secretly smoking?

Me: I have not. It was only the one cigarette. It is no big deal.

Wife: Why did you lie and say it was chewing gum then?

Me: I don’t know. I did buy chewing gum though.

Wife: Of course you did. Secret smokers need something to hide the stinky smell of their mouths.

Me: No it wasn’t that. I just did not want to put people off with the smell.

Wife: Same thing really.

Mother: Starting to smoke at your age? What were you thinking?

Me: It was one cigarette, mum.

Mother: That’s what you said last time.

Me: That was twenty years ago! You’re not being fair here.

Mother: Smoking is bad for you and you know that.

Me: Stop talking to me as if I am some child. If I want to smoke, I will smoke.

Wife: She’s right; it is bad for you and YOU ARE acting like a child now.

Me: I don’t need any of this. I have a really bad cold, a headache and I am tired after a long day at work. Lets just drop the subject.

Wife (muttering to herself): Not before you drop the habit.

Me: I am not a child and I will have nobody telling me what to do. In fact, I am going to go and have a cigarette right now. As of today, consider me a smoker.

I stormed to the back garden and lit a cigarette from the full packet that I still had.

I have been smoking ever since and I hate the smell, the constant coughing and the taste. But I am an independent man and will not have anyone telling me what to do.

At The Doctor's

2008-08-05T14:11:00.000Z

After leaving work last night, I went to register in a new doctor’s surgery. I was not happy with my old doctor and needed a change.

I walked in to the reception area of the surgery and they give me a form to fill before meeting the nurse who would register me. The clinic was full of waiting people and the seating arrangement was such that any new person walking into the surgery and speaking to reception would have an instant captive audience.

After filling the forms and giving them back to the receptionist I had to wait until she finished answering a phone call. She then looks up at me and passes me an empty bottle and a plastic bag. I looked at both and absent-mindedly asked her what was I supposed to do with them. She gave me a stern look and said ‘the toilet is the second door on your right’. She then went back to arranging some prescriptions and patients’ files. I nervously shuffled my feet and walked towards the first door on the right, but it was locked! I turned around to see if the receptionist was looking at me but she seemed to be lost in the overload of papers on her desk. Beyond her, on the far left, were my captive audience and they were ALL looking at me as I stood there with an empty urine bottle trying to open a locked door. An old Asian lady was giving me a motherly sort of smile and pointing at the door next to the one I was struggling with. I weakly smiled back at her as I felt my way for the right door and quickly slipped in.

Once inside, I remembered that I always empty my bladder just before I leave work and wondered if I had enough urine left to fill that bottle. I knew everyone at reception would be checking it out as soon as I came out of the toilet and I did not want to seem like some sort of sub-human that cannot squeeze out a few trickles to fill such a tiny bottle. To cut a long story short, I failed on the first two attempts. But, on the third attempt, like an OPEC nation that was being shunned by the others because of its dwindling oil supplies, I found new reserves of energy I never knew I had. I could have filled a full box of those tiny bottles.

I didn’t want to come out of that toilet. I knew I was going to be judged by my waiting audience as soon as I stepped out. It suddenly hit me! What if everyone waiting out there had had to go through the same process? What if they did it in less time than me? What if I was being timed by that old Asian lady? I did spend five full minutes in the toilet after all. Would that mean I’d come last?

I knew I couldn’t spend the rest of the night hiding in that toilet. I had to come out and face the music. So, I told myself I needed to be bigger than this petty surgery and judgmental audience. I am going to go out with a sure foot and puffed up chest. If they want to judge me, let them judge me. I am looking down on all of them anyway.

I opened the door and stepped out whilst holding the urine bottle slightly away from my body. I stole a quick glance at my audience and noticed they were all looking at me. All apart from the old Asian lady who was busy looking out of the window. But she soon noticed me and gave me a reassuring smile. I walked over to the receptionist and asked her what I needed to do next. ‘Take a seat, the nurse will call you when she’s ready’ she said. I didn’t wan to take a seat. I preferred having my back to the audience. I didn’t want to turn around and walk towards them with a urine bottle in my hand. But I did.

I took the furthest seat from everyone else and tried to hide my bottle behind my chair. An African man walked in and came to sit beside me. He looked at me, nodded and then looked away. He picked up a newspaper and tried to read it but gave up within two minutes and started using it as some sort of fan. He took his jacket off and undid a couple of buttons on his shirt then sat back breathing heavily. He picked up the newspaper one more time and fanned himself. I knew what he was up to but still ignored him completely. I was in no fit state to have a conversation with anyone. I was carrying a bottle of urine.

‘My sister is diabetic’ I heard him say.
‘Huh’ Said I.
‘My sister. She is diabetic’ he repeated with a smile.
‘hmmm’ Said I.
‘She is younger than me and always had problems with her condition’ He added.
‘Ah’ I said, as if that last comment made lots of sense.
‘She once fainted on a bus and they had to take her to hospital. She almost died’ He said.
‘Sorry to hear that’ I said.
‘She’s not dead’ He said
‘Glad to hear it’ I quickly replied.
‘They say it is hereditary’ he said.
‘What is?’ I asked.
‘Diabetes’ He said.
‘Yes. It probably is’ I said.
‘Does anyone in your family have it?’ He asked.
‘No’ I replied.
‘So you are the first? Sorry about that’ He said as he patted me on the shoulder (luckily not on the side that was carrying the urine bottle).

‘First what?’ I asked. ‘I am not diabetic if that is what you’re asking’.
‘Ha-ha. I am sorry, I don’t know why I thought you were’ He laughed embarrassedly.
I smiled at him and started looking out of the window. He fidgeted about for a bit then slowly started moving his chair away from me. When I turned round to look at him next he avoided making any eye contact. He only kept looking at my bottle!

The nurse called me and I quickly skipped into her room. She had a student nurse with her and both women were fussing over my form.

‘Why did you not answer the part that asks if any member of your family ever had a stroke’ the nurse grimly asked.

‘I did. I circled the word NO’ I said.
‘We don’t circle here we cross. Remember this for next time’ she quietly said then told the student to cross the YES.

‘You didn’t answer the question about the drugs you were on in the past’ she said with one eyebrow raised.

‘Well, err, I never had any serious complaints in the recent past’ I meekly replied
‘But you had some previously?’ she asked.
I was not expecting this sort of interrogation and was not really prepared for it.
‘I had a Peptic Ulcer eight years ago but it is gone now’ I said.
‘Do you remember what sort of drugs you were on then?’ she relentlessly asked.
‘Not really. It was eight years ago after all’ I replied.
She was not happy with a reply and told the student nurse to write in that section the words ‘patient can’t remember’.
She asked me to stand on the scales to be weighed. She told me to stand straight and look ahead. ‘ I always ask them to look ahead when weighing themselves’ she told the student nurse.
Next, this four feet tall nurse had to determine my height. She asked me to stand straight again, moved the loose bit about and measured my height.

‘Five nine and three quarters’ she said to the student nurse. ‘Lets say five ten’ she added.

‘I am six feet tall’ I said.

‘No you are not’ she warmly said.

‘But I am. I have recently checked my height and was six feet all. How could I lose two inches just like that?’ I said.

‘Maybe you did it wrong. You are five nine and three quarters if you want to be exact. Five ten at a push. Lets even say five eleven. But you are not six feet tall. Trust me, I know what I am talking about here’. She argued.

‘Ok’ I said.

She moved across the room and picked up the bottle of urine I gave her earlier. ‘Is this your urine’ she loudly asked.

‘Yes’ I mumbled.

She stuck something in it and called the student nurse to come and look. They both had their back to me as the nurse quietly explained something to her student. They were taking about my P? The thought brought a smile to my face.

The nurse told me that the registration process was over and that I could book an appointment with a doctor within 48 hours. As she was telling me this, she caught the cheeky smile on my face and visibly tensed up!

‘The surgery’s policy is to severely deal with any people that abuse or mistreat our staff. I hope you UNDERSTAND’ she, severely, said.

‘If you’re ill, make an appointment. If it’s urgent, go to A&E. A simple cold or flu is NOT an emergency, do you Understand?’ she madly added.

‘Yes. Yes. I understand’ I mumbled quickly and was ready to shuffle out of the room.
‘It was nice talking to you’ she said with a warm smile on her face ‘Have a good evening’ she added before turning her back on me and starting to explain a few more points to her poor student nurse.

I walked out the room and noticed that most of my old audience were gone. There was only the African man and the old Asian lady left. She smiled at me and gave me the thumbs up. He pretended he didn’t see me.

I am going to book an appointment to see if my new doctor is as mad as everyone else in that place.

Cats and Children

2008-01-26T00:08:00.000Z

Recently, my cat has started going out and disappearing for hours. On Wednesday, it disappeared again and did not return.
My train journey home yesterday was horrid. There were delays, crowded carriages and rude people all over the place. When I finally managed to get home I was angry, fed up and totally exhausted.

As I walked into the bedroom and started changing my clothes I noticed my three children standing by the door and staring at me with expectant looks! From the look on my face, they knew not to start talking until I’ve finished what I was doing. As soon as I did, they all burst into the room and started talking at once. ‘He’s lost’ they said. ‘He probably got hit by a car’ they shouted. ‘He has not been home all week’ they pleaded!
I waved my hand and they all stopped talking. I asked them what the matter was and who was this person that was dead. They were talking about the cat of course! I told them it was ok and that cats often disappear for days then come back. They did not believe me and begged me to go to the back garden and call the cat. ‘He listens to you’ they said. ‘If you call him he will come’ they reasoned. ‘Please do it, dad’ they begged.

I was standing in the back garden shouting the cat’s name and hoping the neighbours would not hear. My eldest daughter pulled a face and said ‘you’ve got to shout louder. I’m standing next to you and I can’t hear you, how do you expect the cat to hear you?’
My three-year-old son volunteered a suggestion about cupping my hand and shouting as loud as I can. He started to demonstrate before his sister stopped him and repeated that the cat only responds to me. I did as my boy suggested and screamed the cat’s name at the top of my voice. Nothing happened. My eldest said ‘you probably got his attention now. Do it again’. I hated being ordered around by these children but knew they will not leave me alone until I did what they said. I screamed again and again.

My wife came out looking all worried and annoyed. She asked me what was I shouting about (even though she heard me already and knew it was the cat’s name). I told her I was calling the cat. She ordered the children into the house and asked me to try to keep my voice down as she walked back in and shut the door behind her!
I stood there looking at the closed door and seeing visions of a burning house, fleeing children and strangled wife. I suddenly felt something rub against my leg. It was the cat. He heard me after all!

Later, as we sat down to have our dinner, my five-year-old daughter asked me if I wanted to hear a poem about cats. I was hungry and tired. I was in no mood to hear any poems. I looked up at her and was about to tell her to leave me alone. She looked so innocent and so eager that I could not bring myself to do or say anything other than nod my head in approval. ‘Maybe it is a new poem she was taught at school’ I told myself. Maybe it’ll be good.
She stood up facing me and with her hands behind her back. She looked all serious and grave. She cleared her throat and spat out this gem of a poem:

Miaw, miaw, miaw, miawwMiaw, miaw, miaw, miawwMiaw, miaw, miaw, miawwMiaw, miaw, miaw, miaww

She took another breath and I hoped the words to this poem would start now. She was gesticulating and pulling sad faces as she continued:

Miaw, miaw, miaw, miawwMiaw, miaw, miaw, miawwMiaw, miaw, miaw, miawwMiaw, miaw, miaw, miaww

I stormed out of the room and went to bed. When I woke up this morning after having more than twelve hours restful sleep and feeling very new and refreshed, I met my wife in the kitchen and happily greeted her. She was in a very sarcastic mood and hinted about her unhappiness with my leaving her to deal with the kids on her own last night. All the weariness of the previous night came flooding back as I half heard her making a sour joke about her going to the back garden and shouting out my name to see where I disappeared to!
I changed my mind about breakfast and left the kitchen. It took me less than five minutes to get dressed. As I walked back to the kitchen to retrieve my mobile phone, two of my children came running after me and told me that the cat was missing again. They wanted me to call him back. I refused and started walking towards the front door. Barring my way stood our resident bard! She looked upset. ‘You didn’t tell me if you liked my poem’ she wailed. I lied and told her that I did. I gave her a kiss and walked out humming her poem to the tune of the national anthem. When I stood outside, alone, with no cat to find, children to worry about and wife to please I wished I were single again....

Shocks and surprises

2007-07-08T02:14:00.000Z

What is life but a serious of surprises and shocks! You’d be minding your own business and happily strolling down the street when you decide to stick your hands in your pockets and are surprised to find a collection of coins or notes that you didn’t know you had. Or you’d lazily lay on your sofa and press the buttons on your remote control when you suddenly come across a classic movie that you didn’t know would be broadcast today! Some surprises are pleasant and some are shockingly painful.

My family never stop surprising me. There I was the other day, returning from work, with my shoulders hunched, my tie loose and my spirits (as often are after my tube journey) down. I did what I normally do when I reach my house, I lightly tapped on the outside of my living room window so that someone would open the front door. I have my own keys but I refuse to use them. I’ve been working all day and the least I expect my family to do for me is open the front door.

My four year old daughter came running to the door and started talking to me through the letter box. She was very excited and kept on saying ‘dad, dad, I have something to tell you’! I patiently asked her to let me in first then tell me whatever it is she wanted to share with me. She said (with a touch of irritation I felt), ‘but it’s very important’. I, again, and with fatherly love oozing from every part of my being, asked her to open the door.
‘Don’t you want to hear what I have to tell you?’ she asked.
‘Of course I do, daddy’ I tenderly replied.
‘ It’s very important’ she said.
‘I know, daddy. But first you have to let me in’
‘How do you know?’ she asked.
‘Know what?’ I absent-mindedly replied.
‘I really have to tell you’ she said.
‘Open the door’ I said.
‘Don’t shout at me’ she said.
‘I’m not shouting, daddy. Come on darling, please let daddy in’ I said.
‘You never listen to me’ she said.
‘I’m sorry’ I said, ‘let me in’.
‘Last week you promised to buy me chewing gum but you never did’ she said.
‘Stop talking to me through this letterbox and open the door’ I said.

She moved away from the door and started crying. I knew she was not going to let me in unless I heard her story first. I apologised and asked her to tell me.

‘Granddad is dead’ she said!
‘Which Granddad?’ I quickly asked.
‘Mummy’s dad’ she said.
‘REALLY’ I said (half shocked at his supposed death and half relieved it was not my father she was talking about).

‘Yes’ she confidently replied.
‘Mummy must be really sad’ I said, ‘open the door and let me go speak to her’.
‘Mummy is on the phone’ she said.

I started thinking about the endless phone calls we’re going to get and the non-stop visitors, and I almost died myself.

‘Open the door’ I said.

She finally opened the door and ran in to announce me. I followed her to the bathroom where my wife was helping my three year old wash his face whilst holding the phone to her ear. She was having a sort of serious conversation. In fact, it looked so serious that she only acknowledged my arrival with an empty nod and carried on repeating the words ‘I know’ and ‘that’s life’. I panicked! I stood facing her with a solemn look on my face. I hoped that my already hunched shoulders and dejected spirits would convey my feelings. There was no need to fake sympathy.

She kept looking at me as if I was doing something wrong or was not supposed to be standing in front of her at such a difficult time! Could it be that I would have to fake my feelings after all?

I put a hand on my waist and looked at the floor as I despondently shook my head from side to side. My four year old aped my moves and my three year old laughed at us. The wife hastily ended her phone call and asked me what the matter was.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your dad’ I said.
‘My dad?’ she asked.
‘I’m sorry’ I repeated.
‘Why?’ she philosophically asked!
‘We’re all going to die one day’ I comfortingly said.
‘My dad is dead?’ she excitedly shouted.
‘Sorry sorry’ I whispered as I attempted to give her a caring hug. She pushed me away and repeated the words ‘my dad is dead!’.

Her eyes were open wide and they were looking straight at me. She didn’t know that her dad was dead. This was genuine shock. I felt sorry for her and tried to hug her again. She pushed me away and repeated those four words ‘my dad is dead!’. I so wanted to make things better and tell her that he was not dead and that this was just a joke I made up. But it was not a joke. It was true, my four year old told me. MY FOUR YEAR OLD!

I looked at my four year old, I looked at my wife, I looked at my four year old again. It suddenly dawned on me that I’ve been had! My wife looked at both of us and seemed to understand. She looked a bit hesitant as she asked ‘did SHE tell you that my dad was dead?’

‘Is he not?’ I said.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think he is’ she dismissively replied.
‘Well who told her that your dad was dead then?’ I defensively asked.
‘Why don’t you ask her’ she accusingly replied.

I looked at my four year old. She started crying and blamed her six year old sister. We all ran to the living room and clustered round the six year old who was busy watching a cartoon on TV.

‘Did you tell your young sister that her granddad was dead’ I shouted.
‘Which one?’ she innocently asked.
‘How many sisters do you have’ I said, ‘this sister’ I pointed at the four year old.
‘Which granddad is dead’ the six year old coolly asked.
‘Your mother’s dad’ I said.
‘Oh! I never liked him’ she said ‘I like your dad better. He always buys us sweets’.
I softened up and had an idiotic smile on my face as my wife barged in and shouted ‘You don’t like my dad?’

‘I don’t like him as much as daddy’s dad’ answered my favourite six year old.

‘Even if you don’t like him, that doesn’t mean you can spread rumours about him being dead’ shouted my wife.

‘What’s a rumour, dad?’ asked my wily six year old.

I was about to explain the meaning of the word rumour but my wife overrode me and shouted ‘Why did you say your granddad is dead?’

‘I didn’t, you did’ said my six year old.

‘You didn’t tell your sister that her granddad was dead?’ I gently asked her.

‘NO’ she replied.

We all looked at the four year old. She started crying. As we both tried to tell her off for telling lies we heard the three year old scream. He flooded the bathroom.

D E A T H !

2007-05-18T23:27:00.000Z

I think I’m dying. It’s not a joke. I really think I’m dying.

I’m not sure what it is I’m dying of but I suspect it may be food poisoning! Three days ago, I had a takeaway. It was the only meal I had all day. It was a delicious meal and as I was eating it I was telling myself that I should have takeaways more often. But, three hours later, I was sat in the toilet (and on it) groaning away like a man holding his middle finger and trying to extricate a stuck ring! My stomach feels very tender, my back hurts, my thighs ache, I keep trying to stop myself from vomiting and I feel dizzy.

The food poisoning may kill me but it’s really not the reason why I think I’m dying. One of the real reasons for my imminent death is the shortness of breath I keep having every time I go to sleep at night. This has been happening for years but, lately, it got even more uncomfortable. You see, I’m the type of person that can not go to sleep with any lights on in the room. I have to sleep in total darkness or I don’t sleep at all. Therefore, every night, when I go to bed, I have to completely bury myself under the covers. But when I do, I feel claustrophobic and struggle for breath. On nights when I’m very tired I only need to hide under the covers for five minutes before I completely fall asleep and then, naturally and unconsciously remove the covers away from my face. However, I’m now getting old and my reflexes are not as good as they used to be! Where in the past when someone threw a punch at me I’d arrogantly (and quickly) crouch, touch the floor and then uppercut them all the way to Guatemala, I now merely touch my knee before breathlessly poking them on the chin. Before you start shaking your head and wondering what has that got to do with my sleep let me tell you that the answer is EVERYTHING. Just think about it for a minute, if my reactions have become that slow when I’m conscious and fully awake can you imagine how bad I am when I’m sleeping? What if one day, after I’ve covered my face and finally fell asleep, I forgot to take the covers of?

This is what happens to all those people that die peacefully in their sleep you know. I don’t want to die peacefully in my sleep. I don’t want to make the grim reaper’s job easier! In fact, I suspect that Mr Reaper despises this type of death. He probably considers such people a second-rate sort of corpse. I’m a man of principle, I want to amount to something in life and would also want my death to count. Accidental suffocation is not something I’d want to go to my grave with. Besides, I don’t think it’s a peaceful death at all.

Still, I know I’m dying. I’m not talking in a hundred years time when I’m a toothless old man. I’m talking today, next week or if I’m lucky next month at the latest. I’m not paranoid or a hypochondriac. I’m a reasonable, practical man. And when a reasonable, practical man finds a boil on his head a reasonable, practical man has good reason to fear death!
I found it whilst having a shower. Just as I put the shampoo on and started to happily shove it about the greying hair, I felt a sting! You see, on average, I frequently feel a sting in one part of my body or another as I’m having a shower. But that’s usually because I’m a clumsy person that walks into things and accidentally scratches his hands or legs. I only find out about these scratches when I’m having a shower and applying the shampoo, soap or shower gel. To feel a sting in one’s head is something totally different though. How in the world did I manage to accidentally scratch my head? I don’t even have long finger nails; I eat them all away with worry about being suffocated in my sleep.

This was a big boil. It was like a tiny volcano right in the middle of my head. It was gently spitting out hot lava and I felt its sizzling stings. I am going to die, I know I am. When this boil finally bursts and all my intelligence turns into yellow puss I’m going to fall asleep and forget to take the covers off my head!

I’m not sure if all of this is related, and I’m afraid to ask a doctor lest he confirm my looming death. But I get these headaches! I’m talking real, painful and blinding headaches. Sometimes I blackout for split seconds; usually when I’m trying to touch my knees and poke someone’s chin. I see lightening in my eyes and hear thunder in my ears. Whenever that happens I try to hold my breath and wait for the MOMENT. It would be great to say that at that time I lament the whimper and wish for the bang, or sit and do a hamlet-like soliloquy. But, truly, and I have to tell the truth now because I may die at any minute, all I say to myself is that: I’m going to die. Oh. My. God! I’m going to die. I’m GOING to DIE!

The wise people I spoke to all told me that everyone dies one day. But if I’m going to die I want it to be a special thing. I want people to talk about it in years to come and see how heroic I was. But no, I don’t want to die in a war or anything like that. Because what guarantees do I have that my side would win the war if I stormed the enemy’s front lines and died fighting? What if my death becomes nothing but the desperate actions of a glory-hunter? I don’t want to die in that way. In fact, I don’t want to plan my death. I want it to just happen. I want it to be peaceful. I want to die with an upset stomach, a blinding headache, scratches all over my body and a big dripping boil in the middle of my head. Nevertheless, I suspect that this is not going to happen. I already have all these problems and I’m not dead yet! Maybe my in growing fingernail is what will tip the scale!

Plastic Ducks!

2007-01-21T01:10:00.000Z

The other day, on my way home from work, I got on the train and luckily found myself a seat. I settled down for a quite journey home and started to read my newspaper. After five minutes of reading, my eyes started to hurt so I put the paper down and started to daydream.
I was thinking of work, home, friends and the latest actions of the Tamil Tigers (which I read about in my newspaper). I wondered how those fighters live their life and if they too take the train home after a long day at the office. I smiled at my silly thought. I shook my head and started thinking about the monsoons they get in that part of the world. Was it the season for monsoons? Do people really have to walk waist deep in water when there is a monsoon? I started thinking about having a nice hot bath. This lead me to think of plastic ducks! I always wanted a plastic duck but could never tell where one purchases one from. I imagined myself in the bath with two plastic ducks. I smiled at my stupidity again. I shook my head and continued to look ahead while I continued smiling. I noticed the lady sitting opposite me piercing me with evil looks!
Did she think I was smiling at her? I panicked. Looked away. Looked at her again. She was still giving me evil looks! I tried to smile at her, she rolled her eyes and exhaled in irritation! I was offended by her wishful presumption. Did she really think it’s my habit to get on trains and look at ugly women? I shot her a quick glance to confirm that she was ugly. She wasn’t. She was beautiful. Extremely beautiful. I wanted to have another look. Why in the world was I thinking of Tamil Tigers when I could have been staring at all this beauty?
I started thinking of a way in which I could look at her without offending her or seeming like a fool. All the tricks and plans I thought of were not good enough. Well, apart from the one involving the train overturning and her fainting in my arms giving me all the time in the world to sit there staring at her unconscious pretty face.
The train stopped and many people got on. There were no more seats to be had so they all had to stand. I tried to steal a glance at the pretty face but the standing people had partly covered her. I could only see one eye and it was still giving me evil looks. I was offended again. Does she think I’m some kind of pervert? Does looking at the beauty of a clear blue sky or a child’s smiling face or even a rose make me a pervert? We all love looking at pretty things and I shouldn’t be given evil looks when I do so too! I decided to punish her by not looking at her again. I lifted my head up and started looking at the ceiling of the train and daydreaming again about my plastic ducks.
I noticed that the person standing in front of me was another woman and that she was smiling back at me! I blinked at her a couple of times and she started to flirtingly play with he hair! I decided to look away from her. I did. I saw that evil eye narrow! The pretty girl was smiling at me. I blinked. She looked at the girl standing up, looked back at me and then smiled. I looked at the standing girl and saw that she was still smiling at me and playing with her hair. I was confused. What do all these smiles mean?
I decided to avoid all this confusion and close my eyes. For fifteen minutes, I was peaceful and even managed to have a quick nap. Somebody in the other end of the carriage was talking loudly on their mobile phone. I opened my eyes and instinctively looked at both girls. They were both smiling at me now!
I started to panic. Why were they smiling at me? I looked at the zip in my trousers but there was nothing wrong there. I wiped my face then looked back at them. They were still smiling! Oh God. What if I farted loudly in my sleep and didn’t know about it? What if the whole carriage heard it and I was the only person unaware of my shameful lapse? I started to panic. I screened the whole carriage and tried to make eye contact with everyone. Nobody was paid any attention to me other than the two girls! Could it have been a quiet fart unheard by anyone else but those two girls? My stomach started rumbling and I coughed loudly to hide the further evidence of my crime.
There was nothing I could do but pretend ignorance and pass the rest of the journey without looking at those girls. I took my mobile phone out and pretended to write a text message. It shook my hands so I let it fall to the floor as it started ringing. I jumped down to pick it up and banged my head against the pretty girl’s knee. She laughed. I apologised. She smiled at me and covered her face giggling! I tried to pay her back with an evil look but only managed a desperate apologetic half wink. She straightened in her seat and carried on smiling back at me. I looked at the standing girl and she was also still smiling at me.
I closed my eyes and tried to think of my plastic ducks. Even they were smiling at me! Ever the optimist, I tried to convince myself that people smile when they see a clear blue sky, smiling child or even a rose! The train stopped.
An old lady got in and smiled at me as she stood to the side. I smiled back at her and settled back in my seat. I felt her still looking at me so I had another glance. Now she was giving me evil looks too! What is it with all these women? Why are they giving me smiling and evil looks? Ah! Maybe the old lady was trying to tell me she wanted to sit down? I almost got up and offered her my seat. I thought about the standing girl and wondered if she too was smiling at me because she wanted my seat! If I offer my seat to the old lady the standing girl is sure to be upset. I don’t want to upset her. I don’t want her to hate me. I’m a nice guy really. All I wanted was to get on the train, find a seat and go home. Why is life so depressingly complicated?
The train stopped and all three women got off! I was relieved and contently sat back and exhaled. As the doors of the train shut and it started moving I noticed that this was my stop too!

Kissing on TV!

2006-10-25T19:53:00.000Z

Yesterday, after I got back home from work and got ready to put my feet up for the evening, my three-year-old daughter caught me out with an unanswerable question! She said “dad, why do men kiss women?”
I lazily replied, “Because they love each other”
She said “but why do they have to take their clothes off when they kiss?”
I was alarmed by the directness of the question and the advanced state that three-year-old brain was in, and had to sit up on the sofa and blink at her for a few seconds!

I knew that, one-day, I would have to deal with such queries but in my mind, that ‘one day’ was years away. I was not prepared for such a question and, frankly, did not have a ready-made answer that was not blunt and to the point. It was obvious that honesty will not do here. I may be pensive, slapdash and laid-back but even I know that you can’t be frank about sexual matters when talking to a three-year-old! I did what every father the world over has always done. Told her to go ask her mother.

She cleverly massaged my ego with the words “Mother doesn’t know anything. You know everything” and I almost blurted out everything I knew about sex, which really, now that I think about it, isn’t a great deal and mostly consists of the words bang, bang, bang and much sniggering. With hindsight, I think that would have been a great reply. Wish I let my natural instincts rule my head now.

What I really did however is tell her that she’s too young and that she would not understand even if I tried to explain. She asked WHY! I repeated the ‘too young’ excuse. She shouted “but I’m not a baby you know. I can count to ten”! I got a great idea! I asked her to count to ten in the hope that this would distract her. She did. After much laughing, clapping of hands and praise, we were silent for a few minutes. “You’re a good girl,” I said. She smiled at me and said, “See, I’m not a baby”. I knew where that comment was leading and started asking her about her day and what exciting things she got up to.

Women. They’re the same everywhere and at every age. Once they got the bit between their teeth they never let go! She told me that she spent the day playing with the neighbours’ girls and that they told her about seeing a naked man kissing a naked woman on TV. She said that they told her this was a naughty thing to do or talk about. I nodded my head with relived agreement. “But why is it naughty?” she innocently asked. “You sometimes kiss me when you give me a bath” she added. I started feeling dizzy and wanted to fly (vertically) out the room. She stood there, staring at me with a look that said ‘you better not fob me off with some weak explanation, I’ve got you where I want you’! I blinked. I then put my serious face on, the one that tells her that she did something wrong and that if she does not stop she’ll be in a lot of trouble. She didn’t even notice!

My children being so young and innocent are still at that stage where they think I’m the greatest man on earth. I know everything. I can do everything and I have an answer for everything. Of course, one is never vain enough to believe all of that. However, on this occasion my daughter was right. Even I was amazed at the quickness of my mind and how I plucked out a knockout reply from thin air, that I started wondering if my children were not right about my great abilities after all! I triumphantly told her that “me giving you a shower and kissing you on the cheek is not at all like a naked man kissing a naked woman. I’m always fully clothed, silly”. I gave her a mocking laugh to help drive my point home (with the addition of a couple of na na nana naas). It was the worst thing I could have ever done!

“Why is it different?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
“Because it is,” I replied.
“But why?” she asked again.
“Because the big fat spider said so,” I replied with a smile.
She laughed and said, “You’re silly”.
“You too” I chuckled.
She ran to the other end of the room and shouted as she laughed, “Try and catch me”. I told her that I was tired and didn’t have the energy to run. “If you drink lots of milk you’re going to have lots and lots of energy” she wisely said.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah” she said.
“Ok. Go to your mother now” I replied.
She crept slowly to the door and lingered there quietly. I tried not to notice but she started singing to herself. “What are you still doing here?” I said.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Hmmm” I mumbled.
She slowly walked over to me and sat watching the TV.
There was a kissing scene on Hollyoaks! A stupid kissing scene!
I changed the channel and did my best to ignore her gaze.
When I finally couldn’t resist and did look at her I saw that she was not even with me. She was lost in thought. A three-year-old lost in thought! What in the world would induce a three-year-old to be lost in thought? Was she in so much debt that she had to pawn her teddy? Was she contemplating self-employment to free herself from the control of tyrannical and megalomaniacal bosses? Did she oversleep this morning and miss the latest episode of Bratz?

Suddenly it came to me. Of course, I’m making it sound so easy and simple but that’s not how it did happen. To try to guess what a three-year-old is thinking about is like searching for a needle in a haystack. It’s hard but not impossible. Plus those that manage to find the needle in the haystack are probably very happy with their discovery and would boast to all and sundry about their great search skills. I was not happy to find my needle. This needle though not difficult to find was still painful to pick up.

She was thinking of the kissing scene on TV! I knew she was. The minute the idea crossed my mind I knew this was what she was thinking about. I decided to bring her thoughts out to the open and sort this problem once and for all. It’s not a healthy start in life for a three-year-old to be thinking about men and women kissing, naked, on TV.

I was prepared for a long and tedious argument as I asked her “What are you thinking about?”
She turned her head calmly towards me and said “I’m thinking about the man that was kissing the woman in the TV. He is naughty”.

I frowned and said to her “look here girl it’s time you stopped talking about men kissing women on TV or out of it. It’s not nice and it’s very naughty”.
“I know” she said, “It’s very naughty”.
“Good girl” I said.

Her mother walked into the room. She ran to her and shouted “mommy, mommy, if a naked man kisses a naked woman it is very very naughty”.
“Who told you this?” asked the love my life
“Dad” replied the light of my eyes
“Why are you teaching the poor child all this nonsense?” enquired my wife angrily “she’s far too young for this sort of stuff”.
“I didn’t. I was only trying to reply to her question,” said I.
“Stop blaming it on the child. What would a three-year-old know about such things?” said she with the look of someone that was assaulted by the runny faeces of a passing pigeon.

I flailed my arms about, opened my eyes wide and innocently shouted “You think I brought up this topic?”
“I don’t know who did and I don’t care. It’s not an appropriate topic for a three-year-old” she resolutely replied.

“What do you mean you don’t care? You just accused me of corrupting our three-year-old child,” I angrily shouted as I pointed a reproachful finger at her.
She flinched, took a step back and changed the subject with the words “you don’t have to be aggressive. It’s quite hurtful and scary you know”.
“What? And accusing me of corrupting our child is not?” I shouted as I carried taking a few more steps towards.

She started crying. Her daughter starting crying with her and asking me to leave her alone! I panicked. I knew I was right to get angry about her insinuations and knew I was right to tell her so, but I also knew that now she started crying whatever I was right about is wrong. I started apologising to her and, like a cobra tamer, walking slowly towards her with outstretched arms and alert eyes. She recoiled back and sobbed some more; I started murmuring some soothing words and gently walking towards whilst waving my outstretched arms in a clockwise manner until I was close enough to put one hand on her head! I gave her a hug and started apologising for upsetting her and make all sorts of excuses to explain my behaviour (even though I knew I was right). She kept telling me, in between her sobs, that it was ok and I had nothing to apologise for. I was so relived that this episode didn’t last as long as previous arguments that I couldn’t stop myself from showering her with lots of apologetic kisses.
“Eeew, daddy is being naughty,” giggled my three-year-old snitch.

DIY

2006-08-25T13:35:00.000Z

Last Saturday, after weeks of nagging, I finally agreed to make my wife happy and sort out all my old junk. As I was going through some old books, gadgets and clothes, I came across an old Walkman that I haven’t used for years. With the world of Ipods, portable CD players and even MP3s in mobile phones I knew that I would never dare walkabout with an old Walkman in my hands. So, like any old boy with a toy, I decided to dismantle it.

I looked all over the house for a suitable screwdriver but couldn’t find any. What house in this day and age does not contain screwdrivers? I even looked in my wife’s bag but apart from some scissors, nail clippers, panadols, old bills, photos, twenty-year-old ID cards, out of date chewing gum and a tiny torch! I couldn’t find any screwdrivers.

I stopped what I was doing, got dressed and went out to the High Street. It was important to have screwdrivers in the house. I knew that I could clear the junk some other time, it can wait, but the screwdrivers could not. What if one of the kids locked themselves in the toilet at three o’clock in the morning and I needed some screwdrivers to unscrew the door from its hinges? What if one of them put my beloved remote control in the video and I needed to get it out? Buying those screwdrivers was of the utmost importance.

As I was walking down the High Street, I spotted a friend of my wife’s coming out of the local supermarket. She was carrying loads of shopping and was trying to drag it all home. I’ve only met this woman once before, when shopping with my wife. I wasn’t sure how close they were but they did say hi and seemed happy to see each other. I couldn’t just walk away and watch her drag all that shopping on her own. So, I went over, introduced myself and asked her if she needed any help. She recognised me straight away and was grateful for my help. Once we got to her house, she insisted that I come in and have a cup of tea. I tried to make my excuses and leave but she wouldn’t have it and even offered to lend me her set of screwdrivers! I went in.

I stayed in her house for fifteen minutes and she told me all about herself and how hard it was for her to live in a three-bedroom house in her own. She offered me the screwdrivers again and said that she has no use for them because she was not that good with DIY jobs and had nobody to do them for her. I almost got chivalrous again and was about to offer to help her out but got distracted by her dog that started sniffing my feet. I quickly had to remark that though dogs are cute they have a very bad habit of sniffing people’s feet, even when these people are wearing CLEAN socks.

At the first chance of a pause in the conversation, I decided that this was a good time to leave. I thanked her for the tea, accepted her thanks for the help and politely asked her to come and visit us then left. I forgot to go back to the High Street.

When I got home, my wife was seething and asked me about the mess I made in the house. I tried to placate her by telling her about the screwdrivers and explaining the logic of their importance but she just was not listening. I told her that I was about to clear it all up but she dismissed me with a wave of her hand and said “leave it alone, you’ll only go and make more mess”.

She was upset. She was going to punish me, like she always does, by going silent and giving me accusing looks for eternity. It was only Saturday afternoon! I tried to sweet talk her, tried to make her laugh and even contemplated apologising but nothing worked. Those accusing looks still followed me around the house. I resigned to my fate and slumped my self on the sofa. She started unnecessarily tidying up and mumbling to herself loudly. She went on about some strange kings that make a mess and expect their unpaid servants to clean after them. The woman was losing her mind!

After an hour of this distressing treatment, I couldn’t take it anymore and had to try to convince her that I’m not really all bad. She wouldn’t have any eye contact and kept turning away every time I tried to stand in her line of vision.

“Going to the High Street wasn’t such a bad thing you know. I even got to help your friend carry her shopping”, I said.

“What friend?” she asked.

“Gina! You know, the one you introduced me to when we were in that electrical shop”, I said.

“Why did you have to help her?” She asked, suddenly looking all interested and surprised.

“Erm, because she’s your friend and I thought it would be a nice thing to do” I replied.

“She’s not my friend, she’s only a girl I went to school with,” she answered petulantly.

“Well, I thought she was your friend and I even helped her carry her shopping all the way to her house. She offered me a cup of tea”, I said.

“Did you accept?” she asked, her eyes widening!

“She insisted” I replied.

“Did. You. Accept?” she asked again.

I panicked and whimpered the word ‘Yes’.

If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then my wife’s eyes at that moment were so wide open I could see the bunk bed in her heart compartment, if I stood on tiptoes. And no, it didn’t have my name on it.

“You shouldn’t help such women out you know”, she said calmly and in a motherly voice!

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because Gina is a man-eater and you’re no good around women. She’ll take advantage of you” she replied lovingly.

“No woman could take advantage of me. I’m an African lion and it’s I who is the woman-eater” I replied angrily.

“If you ever see her again, just avoid talking to her” she replied rolling her eyes.

“ But she can’t take advantage of me. I’m not a silly child,” I protested.

“You don’t know what she’s like” she pleaded.

“I don’t care what she’s like. She’s lucky I didn’t jump her right there and then in her living room,” I proudly declared.

“You wanted to ‘jump her’?” She screeched.

“No, No. I’m just saying that if I wanted to and if I were the advantage taking type, I could have”, I quickly explained.

“Stop talking nonsense. You’re no match for her. Just stay out of her way” She replied dismissively and walked out of the room.
I slumped back on the sofa and started planning my scheme of taking advantage of Gina. “I’ll show her DIY” I said to myself with a satisfied chuckle. Just as I was about to get up and go to Gina’s house to offer my services, I heard one of the children shout from the toilet!

Bruce Lee Growl

2006-07-04T16:05:00.000Z

I have an extra seat in my office. It’s a nice comfortable leather seat that I pinched when some guy that worked in the room next door resigned and wasn’t replaced. This chair is very popular with all my colleagues. Everyone wants to come and sit on it.

Every morning, anytime between ten and eleven, this seat of mine is usually occupied by one of two female colleagues. They come to tell me about their day and ask about mine. They usually talk about everything and no topic is off-limits. I usually sit and listen.

Today, one of them came and sat on THE chair and told me that she’s planning to join a martial arts class! I asked her if she was planning to break concrete with her bare hands. She seemed offended by my innocent question and sat straight on the chair before commencing to lecture me on the beauty and nobility of martial arts! I noted the seriousness in her voice and attempted to lighten the mood a little by making a Bruce Lee sound. ‘Why are you growling at me?’ She asked.
‘I’m making a Bruce Lee sound’ I said.
‘Bruce Lee was not about sounds and movements alone’ she said ‘he was a master of his art, fast, controlled and strong’ she continued.

I growled some more and pretended to break some invisible concrete with my powerful wrists.

‘You have gay wrists’ she said.
‘What?’ I asked. ‘Gay wrists’ she repeated.
‘You mean girly?’ I asked. ‘No. Gay’ she replied.
‘What do gay wrists look like?’ I asked.
‘Yours are the only gay wrists I’ve seen’ she said ‘so I can’t really give you any other examples’ she added.
‘You are lucky we don’t have any gay people in this office or they would be offended’ I said.
‘How do you know that we don’t?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, but I doubt if we did’ I said.
‘Do you have a problem with gay people’ she asked whilst giving me an accusing look.
‘No I don’t’ I replied. ‘Besides, you’re the one that brought up the gay story’ I added.
‘They have signals you know’ she said.
‘Who does?’ I asked.
‘Gay people’ she said.
‘What sort of signals?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. Signals to know each other by’ she said.
‘Aha’ I said.
‘Exactly’ she said.
‘Has this got anything to do with my gay wrists?’ I asked
‘No, that’s a different type of gay’ she said.
‘Are there different kinds of gay?’ I asked.
‘Never mind. Want a cup of tea?’ she enquired.
‘No thanks I had one already’ I said.
She left the room and five minutes later the other lady came and sat on THE chair. We talked about recycling and how it became her new hobby. That topic led us to the topic of rubbish collection and from there we went on to compare our local councils then we moved on to the politics of the London Mayor. Just as we reached South American politics my phone started ringing and she quietly crept out of the room.

Later on, on my way back from lunch I got on a bus and went to sit at the back. There were two people sat there, a half naked woman and a guy with very dark sunglasses. They both ignored me as I took a seat next to them. I started daydreaming.

While I was lost in my thoughts, a young man in a suit came and sat opposite me (it was a double-decker bus). I noticed him and thought it strange that he would choose to sit opposite me when half of the rest of the bus was empty. But he was a man in a suit and I had no reason to be suspicious (unless he was a salesman of course).

I went back to my daydreaming when I suddenly felt a gentle kick on my right foot! I assumed it was accidental and paid him no attention. He kicked me again! I looked up at him to gratefully receive his likely apology but none was forthcoming, he wasn’t even looking at me! He was looking at my foot and carrying on with his gentle kicks. I looked around to see if my fellow passengers had noticed anything. They did. Both gave me a look that said ‘what the hell is he kicking your foot for and why are you letting him?’

I wasn’t sure how to react. I knew that, naturally, this kicking should stop. If I was there on my own with no onlookers I probably would have let him carry on until he got bored, his weak kicks didn’t hurt. But now that I had spectators and they were judging me. My image had to take precedence over his fun.

I sat and watched him swinging his foot about and ending the swing with a kick. I looked at his face and saw that he was concentrating very hard on what he was doing. It was as if he was expecting petrol to gush out from my shiny designer shoes. I allowed him to swing and kick me twice and then, just as he was about to make the third kick, I pulled my foot out of the way. That seemed to get him out of his trance and he looked up at me! This man had BIG eyes and he pointed these floodlights of his squarely at my face. He gave me a look as if to say ‘why did you take your foot out of the way?’ I tried to look away but he was still staring.

It’s true that right there and then I was in a real petulant mood and was likely to start an argument with this guy. It was MY foot that he was kicking after all! But, just when I decided to narrow my eyes at him and growl like Bruce Lee, I remembered the conversation I had that morning! Could it be that this guy is gay and this was the signal that my colleague was talking about? Narrowing my eyes and growling at a man that’s giving me signals suddenly seemed like a very bad idea!

Those searching floodlights were still looking at me. I decided to pretend that he was not there. Give him the silent treatment thought I. Then I remembered that silence is a sign of consent. I almost growled in horror.

‘Are you ok?’ he asked.‘Ok! You’ve been kicking me for the past five minutes’ I thought. I didn’t reply. Instead I just nodded and smiled back at him while inwardly making a Bruce Lee growl. He nodded and smiled back at me. Was that another signal? I couldn’t really tell because the bus had reached my stop and I had to get off, man.

HOT HOT HOT

2006-06-11T17:27:00.000Z

It’s too hot outside. It’s even hotter inside. It’s hot all over. London was not designed for heat. If a bit of Nan bread had a life of its own and could speak I bet it would feel exactly the way I feel now. Then again, maybe I’m wrong. Nan breads have to go through this process to reach their aim in life, or the dinner table. We humans are born, cry and eat for three to four years then finally go to school. Just like a Nan bread goes from being flour and water on some kitchen table to spending a couple of minutes in an oven, we spend eighteen years or so in school! Are we worse off than a worthless Nan bread? But hang on! Nan breads are not that worthless. Every single Nan bread has a destiny and goal in life. Most Nan breads achieve that goal and die like heroes in the mouths of fat men and women. Sometimes, the men are not even fat. Sometimes the women are very pretty and busty. What would I give to die in the mouth of a pretty and busty woman!

Back to the heat. This misery has not just arrived; it’s been here all weekend. I had two very powerful fans on all through Friday night and still couldn’t sleep. I went and sat in a park on Saturday morning, and still couldn’t escape the heat. I spent four hours in a cold bath on Saturday evening but, eventually, the water got warm. It was like wading in one’s own sweat, disgustingly sticky.

Everyone else seemed to be enjoying the heat. Even those that hated it didn’t seem to hate it as much as I did. How do these people cope? Was I a refrigerator in a previous life? There I was, sweating like a hot iceberg while everyone around me looked as dry as a smoker’s throat after he’s had his first morning cigarette! Something had to be done. Something had to be done.

On Saturday evening, after I had a quick shower (after getting out of that sticky bath), I got dressed up and decided to visit a cold place, any cold place. I left the house at six and went walking about the streets. I was determined to spend a couple of hours somewhere nice and cold. I walked into our local supermarket and went to stand by the refrigerators. They were cool but not very cold!

I stood there looking at all the items in them and wondering why nobody bothered to decrease the temperature. Surely at such a temperature the milk will soon go off, I thought. I don’t own the shop and know that if the milk, meats and cheeses were to go off I wasn’t the one facing the loss or having to pay for them. However, the milk, meats and cheeses were the only objects in this whole world that shared my feelings about this ghastly heat and this thought made me feel sorry for them. One can feel sorry for objects you know; have you never looked at a square dinning table with three chairs and felt sorry for it? You know, like a dog with three legs or a blind cat or something?

Anyway, I was standing there mumbling to myself and saying ‘the milk and meat are going to go off if somebody does not hurry up and do something about the temperature’ when I suddenly heard a voice behind me! I turned around and saw a middle aged female shop assistant standing behind me and eyeing the fridge. She repeated her question:

‘where are they going to go off to?’
‘What?’ said I again.
‘Who were you talking about?’ she asked smiling.
‘The milk and meat’ I replied with a tentative smile.
She took a step back and started to eye me up with a humourless look. I carried on smiling timidly.
She gave me a rude sort of smile and asked ‘are they going to run off together then? Maybe get married and give birth to a calf?’
‘That’s not what I meant’ said I looking down on her.
‘What did you mean then?’ she asked, still with that evil smile on her face.
‘Don’t you have work to do?’ I impatiently asked.
‘I do’ she replied.
‘Well go and do it then’ I ordered.
‘Are you planning to buy some milk?’ she asked
‘No’ I said. ‘I think it’s gone off’
‘No it has not’ she said ‘it’s right here’.
‘What’s right here?’ I asked angrily.
‘The milk’ she replied, ‘there can’t you see it?’ she asked as she pointed to the milk.
‘I see it, I see it’ I replied, ‘but why are you telling me this?’ I edgily asked.
‘I thought you wanted to buy some milk’ She said with a puzzled look.
‘No I don’t want to buy anything’ I intolerantly replied.

She didn’t speak. Instead, she took another step back and started eyeing me up again. An hour ago, I was complaining about the heat and how unbearable it was. An hour ago I thought there was no worse heat in the world than that. Apart from the oven heat of course but we already agreed that a Nan bread lives a great life. Now, that heat was nothing, nothing at all when compared to the volcano that was brewing inside me. This woman was staring at me as if I was some tramp’s smelly lost sock or something! What right has she to look at me in such a way? What have I ever done to her? Why?

‘So you don’t want to buy any milk?’ she carelessly said.
‘No’ I rudely replied.
‘Cool’ she said.

Cool? Cool? Of all the words in the world, could she not think of any other than the word cool?
I almost lost my cool at her but, since I had none left and could feel myself bubbling like an overfilled kettle, I decided that the best insult was to just storm out!
As I proudly stomped away, I could hear her laughingly shout after me ‘ are you going already?’ ‘if you hurry, you might just catch up with the milk and meat’. She let out a sarcastic laugh. I turned my head as I walked away and shouted ‘leave me alone’. She shrugged, smiled and said ‘COOL’. I walked straight into some shelf full of sanitary towels. Cool!

Just another Sunny Day!

2006-05-06T15:10:00.000Z

For no particular reason, I decided to go out and sit on a park bench. Alone. It was nice to watch people walk past and observe how many of them looked happy and smiley. I even found myself envying some of the lovely women for the beauty and size of breasts they have (I know it’s wrong and that envy is not nice and that I’m male and would probably look ugly if I had a nice pair but these things are unexplainable, man).

Anyway, two young and very beautiful ladies walked slowly past me. I was lost in my thoughts as I stared at one of them. She had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Like a bottled calm and clear ocean they were. She held my gaze for a few seconds then a cloud of worry appeared in her eyes! She quickly looked away. I looked away. I looked back to be surprised by a most winning smile! She said, “cheer up, mate”. I beamed. She walked away smiling. It’s either this girl does not know what effect her eyes and smile have on people or she knows and is being very charitable (in which case, please, sir, I want some more).

As I walked out of the park, a little old lady singled me out from the passing crowd and asked me for directions. She’s not a Londoner but her daughter is and works for Virgin Rail. She said that I looked happy, man. I almost told her about the girl with the ocean in her eyes but thought it would be a bit awkward trying to explain it all. I’ll tell you instead.

Keep on smiling....

Refresher Course!

2006-04-06T09:43:00.000Z

The company I work for had a change of management recently. The new people in charge are not like the old ones. These ones are young, full of ideas and totally lack any kind of world experience and people management. They’re a dream come true.

A few months ago, the top man called me in to his office and started asking me questions about my work and what improvements I have to suggest. I played it cool and was all diplomacy and timidity. I put no clear ideas forward. I shared no great wisdom. I didn’t let him in into my great reserves of common sense and astuteness. In short, I played dumb. He fell for it. He suggested that I should go on a training course! He was heading the way I wanted him to go. But not fully, not fully! I had to employ a tiny bit of my renowned powers of suggestion and skill to convince him to change it from a training course to a ‘refresher’ course. He easily agreed and thought it his own idea!

The next day, he called me again and asked me to come and see him. I went over acting all meek and ready to feign surprise as I convinced him to give me a huge pay rise. It wasn’t to be. As I walked into his office, I noticed that he was holding some kind of prospectus in his hand. He was leafing through and marking various courses. I went over, sat down and waited for him to speak. He passed me the prospectus and asked me to look at the different courses. I had a quick glance and was appalled to find out that the prospectus was not a University one. It was not even one issued by a private College! It was an Adult Education Centre one! I told him that such places are not likely to offer me the kind of knowledge (refreshing) that I was after. He told me that as long as I got a certificate at the end of the course (any course) he would be happy! This man is a quick learner. A bit rough and clumsy in the way he presents his ideas but a quick learner nonetheless. He was using my own techniques against me! We were like two calm looking teenagers, each holding a joystick and hardly moving a muscle, yet still playing Street Fighter and letting out lots of blood. No words were exchanged but I got the impression that in order to get a pay rise I’d have to do this damn course! Sonic boom!

I let him choose the course for me. I phoned the Adult Education Centre and made an appointment to meet the course manager. The course was to start on the following Monday and was going to last for the next twelve Mondays. The helpful course manager asked me to make sure that I bring in my own stationery.

On the Monday, it was my first day back at school. It didn’t feel right at all. Mother was not there to wave me off. I forgot to pack myself some lunch. I had to get in a tube with lots of big people. I had no mates to walk with me. It all was very frightening really.

I got to the college on time and after enquiring at reception was led to the correct class. Once there, I discovered that the class consisted of four housewives and a retired old man! I gave them all a sympathetic smile and pulled a seat in the far corner, away from them. The old man was talking to the Russian housewife about the courses he did when he was younger. He was pathetically regretting not having done more when he had the chance. I’m sure I heard him ask her if they had any schools in Russia! The other three women were talking about the course manager and all agreed that he was a charming, man! Mr bring-your-own-stationery was a charming man!

He walked in. Stood in the middle of the room. Looked at us all. Turned around and cleared the blackboard. Looked at us all again. Pulled a seat and sat down. It must have been a full minute before he uttered any word. The retired old man said hello to him but got nothing back other than a simple condescending smile! This was going to be great fun. I stooped down to the world of Adult Education only to find that my ‘teacher’ was a self-important clown. I pushed my chair back a bit and sat as comfortably as was humanly possible in those types of chairs. It seems the clown had chosen his moment to speak and was just about to do so when I pushed my chair back! The noise of my chair took away from his intended big moment. He didn’t look at all happy as he stared at me and tried to break me with his gaze. I gave him a benevolent smile and almost, gently, patted him on the head with my eyelashes. He scored a small victory by ignoring my smile and pretending I didn’t exist. I was beaming now. This simpleton really thought he got the better of me!

He started talking and explaining the setup of the course and all the other boring details. One of the women was confused as to his role. She asked him if he was a teacher or merely the course Administrator. Hadouken! The poor women didn’t know what hit her. He let rip with a long lecture about the difference between an Administrator and Manager. HE was the course Manager. He hired people to teach on that course. He had his own administrator working under him. He worked hard all his life to reach that position and would like some acknowledgment from his pupils (I was quietly pleased to be referred to as a pupil). The woman apologised but he refused her apology and cleverly indicated that making mistakes was part and parcel of the learning process. YOU all, he said as he pointed us all out with some invisible magic wand, are here to learn. I am going to teach you everything about this course and a few more things that have nothing to do with this course, he added. SONIC BOOM!

The course, as I suspected, turned out to be a pointless one. I could have taught it with my eyes closed. Yet, I was a student in it and had to pass! To start with, I assumed that passing was not even in question. How could I not pass this silly course? How?
However, as the weeks went by and I got to know this course manager better, I knew that passing was not as easy as I assumed!

One day, half way through one of his dull lectures, he finally had the courage to direct one of his questions at me. This question had nothing to do with the course. He was trying to give us a hypothetical example of something or other but then digressed into how people undervalue processes and the importance of following them correctly. This is when he asked me to explain the processes involved in making a cup of tea!

Tea? I asked. Tea, he said. With Sugar and Milk? I asked. Please, he said. In a cup or pot? I asked. Your choice, he said.

I told him that I usually make my tea in a cup not a pot. Told him that I would put a teabag in the empty cup first. I’d then add hot water and follow that with milk, then finally add the sugar.

He screeched the sound “ Aah! Aah! Aah!” and shook his head in disagreement. He said my process of making tea was wrong. I told him that he gave me the choice in choosing my process! He shouted “STOP RIGHT THERE” and stuck out his hand like some irate traffic policeman. Don’t misquote me; I didn’t give you the choice, he protested. I thought you did, I said. No I didn’t, he said. I shrugged. SONIC BOOM!

This is why, ladies and gentlemen, he calmly said as he addressed the rest of the class, PRocesses are important!
WHY? I asked whilst trying to suppress a chuckle.
Why? He retorted.
Because without good processes, without knowing the value of processes and without respecting processes, people like you will shrug and be lost for words when asked about a simple process, he lectured.
I am indeed lost for words, I said smiling.

The whole room were staring at me and looking confused. The poor lambs had no idea what was going on and couldn’t follow the simple PRocess of our argument. I flashed them all their usual portion of my generous smile. He took this opportunity to change the subject to something that felt more comfortable. He started talking about himself and how, even now, he still learns new things about life. He spat out some sort of technical word at us and asked us if we knew what it meant. I had no idea what it meant. The women were impressed (as they’ve always been) with his vast knowledge. The old retired man slowly shook his head, though it wasn’t clear if he was doing it out of resignation or ignorance of the question! The course manager explained to us that the word had something to do with toilets. Apparently, (and this is the most useless and amusing piece of information I ever had the pleasure to learn) joined up toilet seats and non-joined up toilet seats have different names! The word he used described one of those! The reason he mentioned these, he said, was because he was redecorating his flat! Once we safely passed over the bottleneck of technical words, we all had a great time hearing about his flat and what improvements he made to it.

I daydreamt for a bit but when I returned, I noticed that the women in the class were badmouthing someone called Sandra and that the course manager was agreeing with them. I was just about to ask whom this Sandra person was when the old retired man finally woke up and said something I’ve been dying to say from the first day. He said, ‘with all due respect, Mr Razaq, I don’t think most of us joined this course to talk about your private life’. SONIC B.OOOOM!

The clown had a hurt look on his face. He didn’t utter a word in reply. Instead, he stood there staring at the old man. Like one of those nature programs when they speed up the photography and show the clouds gathering in the sky and then suddenly dispersing, we all could clearly see all sorts of ideas and thoughts appear on his face and quickly disappear. He smiled. He frowned. He took a step back. He took a step forward. He looked offended. He looked tickled. He was lost for words. He was bursting with words. The only thing missing was a classic Attenborough commentary!

A few centuries later, an O sound came out of him. It was loud and lasted for a few seconds. It was quickly followed by the sound ‘K’! But this was not an everyday ‘K’. It was not a short and sharp ‘K’. This was more of a raw Pizza ‘K’. He stretched it as far as it would go then stretched it some more. He darted his eyes around the room and tried to find some supporters. He suddenly changed tack and shouted the words “STOP. RIGHT. THERE!”

The worst thing for a good teacher, he said, is when his pupils don’t pay attention to him or follow his lesson, he added. One of your colleagues, ladies and gentlemen, accuses me of wasting lesson times by talking about myself, he shouted. “One of your colleagues, ladies and gentlemen, thinks I have nothing better to do than talk about my next-door neighbour”, he scoffed! “This lesson was about ORganised PRocesses!” He said. “The mention of my flat, toilet and next door neighbour was an illustration of random PRocesses and how misleading they can be”, he added knowingly. One of the women succumbed and started nodding her head as she listened to him. “Sarah, you understand what I’m talking about, don’t you?” He asked. She carried on nodding. This was the sort of backup he needed and it gave him the confidence to look the old man in the eye as he rebuked him. “I would appreciate it, sir, if you paid attention in my lessons. I don’t like to be accused of talking about trivial things and wasting my and your valuable time”, he protested. The old man shrugged. SONIC BOOM! The clown was mortified. He shouted, “ I already told your colleague that shrugging was the enemy of good PRocesses. Don’t shrug again please”. Hadouken!

The old man started packing his books and materials. The clown was affronted! “It’s rude to walkout in the middle of a class,” he said.
“It’s time to go home,” said the old man.
“No it’s not”, argued the clown. The old man shrugged. The clown turned to the rest of the class and said, “ It’s one minute to five. The lesson finishes at five. Leaving at one minute to five is a sign that someone does not understand the meaning of a good PRocess”. He looked at his female supporter as he bellowed these words. She was nodding as usual. But then, suddenly, she somehow remembered something! She quickly looked at her watch and then started packing her belongings too. The clown looked disappointed. He looked at the rest of us and noticed that we were all ready to leave.

He stormed out without saying a word.

Weddings

2006-02-20T15:06:00.000Z

Last Friday, I received a phone call from an old friend. This was a very good old friend. In fact, once upon a time, he was almost my best friend, beaten only by my authoritative father who always insisted that he’s my best friend. My own view and preference is not to have any ‘best’ friends. In my mind, I always reserved that position for the dog that I was going to buy when I grew up.

My friend’s name is Chris and he phoned to inform me that he was getting married the following day! He gave me a long sob story about what a good friend I have been and how he always liked me better than anyone else. I panicked. As he ranted on, I wondered if the idea of marriage made him confront his real feelings and gave him thoughts of eloping, with me! I was just about to shout ‘no, sorry, I can’t lead you on anymore. I am married, man’, when I heard him conclude his speech with the words ‘..and that’s why I want you to be my best man’.

This was more gratifying than finding out that he fancied me. He wanted me to be his BEST MAN! After years of telling myself that I was, I now had confirmation that I am. This was not going to merely be established by our idle chat. This was going to be witnessed by a crowed of wedding guests and approved by the state. I had no choice but to accept my destiny and feign modesty and surprise as I did so.

Chris told me that his wedding was going to be a simple and quite affair. The plan was to go to the registry office, get married, come back to his house and have a small party for about thirty carefully selected guests. He suggested that I spend the night in his place and then join him as we go to meet his new wife in the local town hall. The best man assented.

That evening, we were sat in his house, watching TV and talking about old times. It’s never my habit to hurry things up or ask nosey questions. This is why I didn’t ask him anything about his wife-to-be. I didn’t at all find it strange that he didn’t mention her or talk about how much he loved her. I reasoned that real men never descend to such pathetic levels of conversation. Besides, I was already busy arguing with him about the little surprise he had prepared for me as I arrived. I discovered that he bought me a new suit, shirt, tie and shoes! I was amazed that he knew my size but then I remembered that, earlier, when we were talking on the phone, he did ask if I put on weight and if I still had a 28” waist (my theory that he fancied me did not develop out of thin air, you see). Chris was never this organised, methodical or efficient. I asked him if he was up to no good but he silenced me with the very strong and convincing argument about the uniqueness and importance of marriage and good weddings.

I slept in the guest room and he slept on his empty matrimonial bed. Neither bed was, felt or looked that comfortable. The guest room bed is, by custom, meant to feel that way. Guests that sleep on comfortable beds tend to stay longer than intended. However, the bed that was going to help consummate Chris’s marriage should have at least been of a better quality and looked better than the shabby thing that I saw. I told him so and he informed me that he bought new bedcovers that he will put on after coming back from the registry office. He promised that the bedroom would look completely different when he’s finished with it.

Morning came and we were both up and ready for the day’s events. We got dressed up and went out to get us some breakfast. Chris’s brother joined us later in the local café. It was 9.00 am. We had another two hours to go before the real business of marriage was about to start. Chris suggested that we go for a walk round the local Shopping Centre! I told him that this would be a very bad idea but he didn’t listen. There we were, three ‘well dressed’ men, walking from shop to shop. Only when we have been approached by more than five people asking us for help with buying, choosing, explaining or wrapping some items, did Chris agree that this was a bad idea. We hurriedly left the Shopping Centre and decided to drive around town for a while. Chris laughingly suggested that we park the car at a safe distance from the Town Hall and observe people (including his wife-to-be) as they come and go. The guy was getting married today yet he was still childish enough to suggest that we play cops and robbers! We did.

We sat there watching the place and people for a good hour. Every once in a while, Chris would make a silly comment and look at his brother then they would both laugh. I didn’t get the jokes and told them to stop being childish. But that got them to laugh even harder. I already was used to Chris’s laugh so it didn’t irritate me that much. However, his brother had a strange sounding laugh. Though I didn’t get the jokes, I was still confident that his laugh was inconsistent with the quality of the joke. In fact, I don’t think there has been, had been, or will ever be a joke worthy of such a laugh. This was a laugh that took a long time to come out. Chris’s brother would open his mouth wide and pull an amazing succession of different faces without any sound coming out. He then would violently tremble and emit what sounds like a dozen prostitutes faking an orgasm. There was nothing real about that laugh, nothing at all.

It was twenty to eleven and time for us to make our way to the Town Hall. We had a wedding to go to! Chris started to panic and have second thoughts. His brother carried on laughing hysterically and looked like he was enjoying Chris’s doubts! I lost my temper and told them both to grow up. It’s a well-known fact that when I’m angry and in lecture mode, hearts melt, egos deflate and people listen. I told them that marriage was not a joke and that real men don’t change their minds at the last minute. I told them to be responsible and stand up to be counted. I added a few things about queen, country and other trivialities. In short, I got them nicely roused up and ready to marry the first women to say hello.

We made our way by foot to the Town Hall. As we did, I tried to develop a hunch, a limp and toyed with the idea of pretending to be one-eyed. Chris was the groom and we had to find a way that would make him look better than us. I finally decided the best way would be for us to walk a few steps behind him and let him be the first thing that catches the gaze of any potential observer. It worked like magic. As soon as we entered the building, a Brazilian-looking beauty, in lovely white wedding dress, let go of the arm of her male companion and came running at us. She presented us with a wonderful smile then gave Chris a great big hug! This woman was way out of Chris’s league. Surely he was not going to get married to this delectable Brazilian! On impulse, I decided to save his marriage and drag him, gently, away from her clutches. I quickly whispered in his ear that he has a wedding to go to and that it’s not fair on his wife-to-be is he’s caught with this Brazilian. He chuckled and told me that she was the woman he’s going to get married to. He introduced her as Helen, the love of his life. His brother had another of those orgasms.

The Wedding ceremony didn’t take long. I didn’t lose the ring. Chris didn’t do anything silly and his brother, fortunately for all present, was given no reason to laugh. Everyone got in their cars and we drove back to Chris’s house. Once there, we all had our photos taken with the bride and groom, and their friends and family. I particularly enjoyed the part where I hugged the bride, kissed the bride and was photographed standing behind the bride whilst holding her waist and smiling winningly at the camera.

After an hour of chatting, photograph taking and drinking, Chris called me to one side and asked me to accompany him outside. I thought he wanted to check if my ‘best man speech’ didn’t contain anything embarrassing. Just as I was getting myself ready to reject all his pleas and tell him that I was not going to change my speech, he asked me to get in the car! I asked him where was he going. He smiled and told me that he’ll tell me on the way! We drove off. As he drove, he was chuckling quietly to himself. I asked him what was the matter and where was he taking us but he kept on laughing. I swore at him. He stopped laughing and said, “Ok, ok, we’re going to Manchester”! MANCHESTER!
I asked, “ What about your wife?”
He replied, “She’s staying in London”
I said, “But you just married her!”
He said, “Yeah I know”
I said, “But you can’t leave the woman on her wedding day and go to Manchester”
He said, “ It’s ok, she doesn’t mind”

I asked him to stop the car and let me out. I’m not sure if I was angry because of my perception of what a good marriage should be or because I was missing a good party. A party usually awakens my inner child. Though I’ll admit that my inner child is a light sleeper anyway. Still parties are fun and when I’m deprived of such fun, my inner child throws a tantrum.

Chris reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. He tossed it over to me as he tried to park the car in a quite place. The envelope was full of money! I was stunned and confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. He laughed and told me that the marriage was not real and that he was paid to marry Helen and help get her permission to work and live in the country. He said that now she’s officially his wife, she might have better luck in gaining an indefinite leave to remain in the country. This opportunity cost her six thousand pounds. He offered me a thousand pounds for my part. I dramatically threw it back in his face and launched into a long and laborious rant about trust, marriage, friendship and many many other things. He patiently listened to every word I said and didn’t retaliate with any words of his own. I felt sorry for him and decided to stop. I then realised why he and his brother were laughing all day, I started another rant! He laughed and started driving us to Manchester.

An Accidental Legend

2006-01-27T18:38:00.000Z

As her son lay in bed and coughed his heart out, Mariam looked down at him and was wondering if this is, yet another, harmless cold like all the ones he used to suffer from in his childhood. Her mind strayed a little and she was, suddenly and irrationally, worried that this might be something graver than a mere cough. As the awful thought crossed her mind, she instinctively, like all mothers the world over, smiled and started stroking her son’s head.

A week passed and Elmi (the son) was still coughing! He was always tired, always coughing, always sweating at night and seemed to be suffering from chills and fevers! Elmi had tuberculosis (TB).

By now, his family had recognised the symptoms and knew how contagious this disease was. They discreetly took him to a doctor in the neighbouring town and were given medicines and told to isolate him from people until his condition improved (or didn’t!).

The family were presented with a great quandary. No other disease loses you friends, isolates you from loved ones and shuts down your business like TB does. At the mere hint of a sneeze or a clearing of throat, everyone within the vicinity panics and hurries to gargle with all sorts of oils and bleaches in the vain hope of arresting the disease!

Elmi’s family were business people and had a respectable standing in the community. His parents’ advice and counsel was sought out by everyone and his siblings were the cream of the town. Even Elmi himself was looked upon as one of the best young men of his generation, most able and articulate. But all of that would have meant nothing against the destructive menace of TB.

The family knew they would have to concoct a story as to why Elmi is always locked up in his room and the type of illness he suffers from. Miriam and her husband gathered all their children round and presented them with the situation. They told them about the impact such news would have (if it ever leaked out) on their status in the community. Everyone was certain that Elmi was going to make a full recovery and they only wanted to dream up a temporary story to distract people.

Elmi had a younger brother called Abdi. This Abdi was the cleverest, finest and most articulate young person in that town. He was also a hopeless romantic and was forever making up little ditties about unrequited love and heartbreak. This Abdi, as expected from someone of his ability and disposition, suggested that the family pretend that Elmi is madly in love and that this love is what’s making him ill!

The family, of course, rejected this silly idea and told him to come up with something more sensible. But, as they spoke to him and rebuked him for his silly suggestion, this idea was growing on Abdi. He thought of all the famous love stories and sighed as he tried to invent one for his brother. The story, he knew, had to be one of an unreciprocated love. The girl had to be a local girl but not one that personally knew Elmi!

The next day, while hard at work, Abdi saw a girl that radiated a peculiar sort of beauty. She was not attractive and, in fact, many people would argue that she was ugly. However, Abdi, with his bard eye, saw something in her that made his poetic juices overflow and helped him create his first ever full love poem! The girl, like a modern Dona del Toboso, blissfully went about her business unaware of the poet, the impact her presence had on him or how she inspired him.

That day, Abdi went home and read his poem to his family. They were all very impressed and proud to be related to such a wordsmith. Abdi took that opportunity to repeat his suggestion about the love deception. He promised them that if they agreed to his idea, he would write a poem each day talking about his (brother’s) unrequited love and how he (Elmi) has locked himself in a room until his beloved would agree to momentarily let the rays of her gaze fly in his general direction. The family were again; impressed with their son and the eloquent way he presented his argument. They all agreed that his was an ingenious idea and that most people would be so appalled with this grown man’s love troubles to worry about the holes in his misleading story.

In the weeks that followed, Elmi coughed, Abdi created poems, and the family spread the news about Elmi’s love-induced suffering. Elmi’s cough aside, everything else worked out beautifully. The entire town was fascinated with this debilitating love story and wanted to know the name of the girl. They soon found out her name and all flocked to her house to have a peek at the glorious beauty that made poor Elmi ill.

The girl’s name, of course, was Hothan. Although she had heard Abdi’s poems she did not know that she was Elmi’s supposed object of affection. On that day when the crowds were gathering in her street to view her, she was coming out of the house to hang up some washing. As she hung up and stretched out the washing, she started humming and singing a couple of Abdi’s words! The crowd, who were still trying to have a good look at Hothan, were outraged by her impertinence and cold heartedness. Some started shouting over to her and tell her to stop torturing the poor man. Others started begging her to have mercy on him; ‘his only crime is that he loved you’, they cried.

Hothan was shocked to hear all these people shout and point fingers at her! She dropped whatever washing she was carrying and quickly darted back into her house. The crowd hung around and stared at the windows. They kept on shouting and making accusations at the twitching window curtains. But, apart from the odd latecomer, they all soon dispersed and left Hothan, inside her house, and wondering when her mother would come back to extricate her from this infuriating fix!

Another two weeks passed and there was no improvement in Elmi’s condition, no shortage or decrease in Abdi’s fine poetry and no let up for Hothan and her family from the usual crowds milling outside her house. Poor Hothan, like her supposed lover, was under house arrest! She begged, she cried, she denied it all and even pretended to be mad. But the mob was on Elmi’s side and thought her evil incarnate.

One day, a heavily disguised Hothan managed to leave her house and sneak unnoticed past the rabble. Once she made sure she wasn’t being followed, she made her way to Elmi’s house. She was determined to confront this Elmi and ask him why he decided to drag her name through the mud in such a way!

When Hothan reached the house, she saw Abdi walking out with his hands in his pockets and whistling quietly to himself. She stopped him and asked him to take her to Elmi. Abdi, not recognising Hothan under all that disguise, shook his head and told her that Elmi is only interested in Hothan. He tried to soothe her by saying that this is not a personal slur on her beauty or marriage-worthiness but that Elmi’s infatuation does not allow him to see the beauty of any woman other than his beloved Hothan.

Hothan thought it unfair that this liar is getting all kinds of beautiful women throwing themselves at him as a result of his big lie, while she has to run the gauntlet of an angry mob when she did nothing wrong. She sighed to herself as she listened to Abdi telling her about all the girls that come daily to offer themselves to his ill brother. Abdi tried to console her some more but she cut him off and theatrically removed her disguise to reveal the face that, whilst no Helen of Troy, still launched a thousand poems.

Abdi was flabbergasted! She demanded to see Elmi. Abdi panicked. She insisted that she see Elmi. Abdi almost gave in to the power of her plea. As he turned around to conduct her to Elmi’s room, he remembered the TB and the reason for this whole lie! He could not tell her about the illness. He couldn’t explain the reason for the lie either, so he decided to convince her that Elmi is really in love with her and that seeing her might kill him. He told her that the family don’t agree with Elmi’s madness and that they would do everything they can to restore her good name and reputation. He begged her not to see Elmi and promised her that, soon, Elmi will recover his health and leave her alone.

It was the turn of Hothan to wilt under the strength of Abdi’s argument. She agreed to walk away and, like the good-hearted girl she always was, wished Elmi a speedy recovery. The dignified way in which Hothan dealt with the situation, her kindness and the sparkle in her eyes throughout this encounter, moved Abdi and inspired him into writing another classic love poem. It was a poem so great that before the sun had set on that day, the entire population of the town were either already reciting it or listening to it.

By the following morning, Hothan’s family had heard the poem and found out about their daughter’s visit to the stricken man’s house! Her brothers wanted to kill him and her. Her father was on the verge of disowning her and her sisters, secretly, hated her for driving such a sensitive man to such a sorry state. Meanwhile, her mother was quietly plotting and trying to find a way to secure a respectable future for this wretched child of hers. A decision was finally made. Hothan is to be married as soon as possible. The husband shall be anyone but Elmi.

On the following Friday, Hothan was wed to her new husband. To her utter joy and total delight, this new and hastily unearthed husband, turned out to be everything she ever wished for in a man. On that night, as the new husband unwrapped the subject of all those great poems, Mariam was weeping as she covered the body of her dead son!

Hothan went on to have a great married life. Elmi’s name lived on as testament, symbol and icon of unrequited love (and uncured TB). While Abdi, like all real and unassuming heroes, went back to obscurity and the only occasional praise he got was usually the result of his more illustrious brother’s reflected glory. He wrote poems of better quality and greater wisdom than the ones he wrote in the name of Elmi, but when the people compared them to the sacrifice of giving one’s life in the name of love, all his poems were found wanting.

Eggshells Eggshells

2006-01-13T23:01:00.000Z

Last night I was bored and decided to make some pancakes at 12.00 AM. I had BBC 24 on the TV and my eggs and flour ready to use. I really don’t know how to make pancakes but I thought it would be a great idea anyway. The bad news on the TV inspired me to make up this poem that I was going to read to the children in the morning (but, of course, you’ll do for now). Then my wife walked in and asked me what was I doing...

Eggshells, eggshells, eggshells everywhere
Here, there, here, there, here there and everywhere

Watch your step; watch your step, eggshells everywhere
Don’t you trip, don’t you trip, eggshells here and there

Eggshells, eggshells, eggshells, be awareEggshells, eggshells, eggshells are everywhere
Here there, here there, there and everywhereEggshells, eggshells, rotten eggshells everywhere

Brrrrrmsh, brrrrrrmsh, brimash, squashOoh man, oh man, oh man it’s not fair Eggshells eggshells, rotten eggshells everywhere!

Kppprrrsh, kppppppoomsh, kerrringsh, crunch

Hop, skip, watch your step, don’t you even dare
To put your feet. YES your feet, put them anywhere
Because those eggshells eggshells, eggshells are everywhere..

Krrrraang braaang, bang dang what a silly mareShe went and ran with flailing hands and trampled everywhere

Brooosh, broooosh, shweeeep shweeep eggshells everywhereDid she tiptoe? Did she creep? No, she didn’t care!Because eggshells eggshells are bloody everywhere...

Elephants!

2006-01-12T17:07:00.000Z

In the days of the dinosaurs, the elephants were tiny. They had big noses and small ears. They were bullied by all the vegetarian dinosaurs and could never find anything to eat. They were small and thin. One day, an orange elephant was born into the elephant race and he told them that if they all chose a certain day of the year and all, collectively, closed their eyes and hummed, strange things would happen and the long nosed elephants will no longer be weak or oppressed.

The day came. They all hummed in one large and whiny elephant voice. The dinosaurs panicked and started running here and there. The humming got louder. The dinosaurs ran faster. The humming got louder still. The dinosaurs got really upset and felt utterly helpless so they started shouting and stamping their feet. The more the elephants hummed, the more the dinosaurs screamed and jumped. This scene carried on for hours. Until, a bit of luck and a slight coincidence meant that the dinosaurs, in their anger and desire to stop the humming, all jumped of the floor at once and were suspended in the air for a split second before all falling into the ground and causing the biggest bang the earth has ever known. The vibrations killed every last one of the big dinosaurs. It also caused big tsunamis, hurricanes and storms. The humming elephants were fortunate enough and small enough not to be effected by the killer vibrations and killed like the dinosaurs. But the vibrations caused their long noses to soften up and shake like a piece of wet flour being tossed up in the air by an Italian.

In the aftermath of the bang, the elephants emerged to find the greedy dinosaurs dead and that they, the slim, skinny and dangly nosed elephants have inherited and become the biggest animals on earth! They ran and danced and merrily hummed. They eat and drank and never went without food for less than a minute. They played and slept and bullied all the other tiny animals too.

A week later, the smell was starting to become unbearable. The big and dead dinosaurs were decomposing and there was nobody big enough to burry them. A group of tiny little birds started eating the dead flesh. A few rabid dogs joined them and even a cat or two. The stench, toxic fumes and type of dead dinosaur determined the final appearance of each of these contaminated animals.

For thousands of years now, the elephants have been the biggest animals out there. They sauntered around and stuck their trunks in the air and even hummed sometimes to remind everyone of how they killed the dinosaurs. In their careless posturing, they stepped on millions of birds, squashed billions of rabbits and stamped on hundreds of billions of ants.

Last night, deep in the plains of the Serengeti, an orange ant was born...

Young hearts, run free...

2005-11-08T13:07:00.000Z

Lubna had a secret. It was the kind of secret that one tried their utmost to keep from their parents. Lubna hated keeping secrets. In fact, Lubna was a frightening gossip. However, this morning, when she borrowed her younger sister’s mobile phone to make an urgent call, she stumbled upon this juicy revelation.

Lubna is twenty-eight years old. She’s pretty and, still, single. Her sister (the mobile phone owner - Nora) is twelve years younger. She too is pretty and, as of this morning, because of Lubna’s discovery, is not single!

The boy on the phone was very forward and was not awfully rattled when he realised it was not his girl that answered the phone. He even, unwittingly, insulted Lubna by asking her if she was his beloved’s mother!

Now Lubna was sat in her room with her sister’s mobile phone in hand and she was, as befits the duty of a big sister, rummaging through the younger sister’s (Nora) text messages. The ill-mannered boy’s nickname was Max! He seems to send Nora at least ten text messages per day. This, Lubna quickly concluded, means that the love is at its early stages. She quickly tried to think of ways that will help her put an end to this affair.

As she sat there thinking, an image flashed through her mind. She immediately softened up and wistfully sighed to herself. Once upon a time, Lubna too was sixteen and had her own admirers. Though she’s single now, she was not short of experience and (mostly) heartache when it came to relationships.

Lubna remembered her first ever crush. Unlike other girls, it was not with the Indian guy in the corner store. It was not with one of her brother’s handsome friends. It was not with some famous actor on TV either. Lubna’s first crush was with the silent caller.

The first time she ‘met’ him, she was fourteen years old and home alone. Her family lived in a flat in Dubai throughout the eighties and early nineties. Lubna was not supposed to talk to, mix with or have anything to do with boys. She went to an all girl school and only ever mixed with her brothers and male cousins. But, on that magical day Nasser phoned her! When the phone rang and she casually answered it, she did not expect the call to be anything special. However, after the first casual ‘hello’ didn’t elicit any response and the second cautious ‘hello’ didn’t draw out any reply, Lubna realised this was a special phone call and something mischievous within her told her this is going to be an exciting phone call.

She carefully held the receiver close to her ear and asked ‘is anyone there?’ She got no reply! She again whispered the word ‘hello’. She got no reply. She quickly hung up and stood staring at the phone for a few seconds. The phone rang again! Lubna skipped a beat. She quickly picked it up and spat out a hurried hello. There was no reply! She asked if anyone was there but there was no reply. She went silent and waited for whoever was on the other side to speak. He finally spoke. It was a boy’s voice!

Lubna asked him who he was and what he wanted. He didn’t reply. She hung up. He phoned again and blurted the magic words ‘I love you’. Lubna’s heart skipped several beats. This was the first time a boy told her he loved her!

Her girlfriends told her that when a man confesses his love a girl has to play hard to get and feign indifference. Lubna, in her attempt to act aloof and uninterested blew a half raspberry and sweetly asked him what makes him love her! He told her that her voice made him love her. She failed to suppress a giggle as she asked him what else made him fall in love with her. He told her it was the way she spoke and giggled. She tittered some more and asked him if he liked her looks. He seemed to struggle for an answer but quickly recovered and told her that though he has not seen her yet, in his mind’s eye, he was sure she was the prettiest girl alive. Lubna was disappointed and was silent for almost ten full seconds. Nasser panicked and begged her to speak to him and say anything. In a very sombre and serious voice, Lubna asked him what he wanted from her. Nasser told her that he fell in love with her voice and personality. He told her that he was not into the superficial love of faces and looks. He told her he loved the inner her and that he can’t imagine life without hearing her sweet voice. Though he could not see it, Lubna was softening up and even had a smile on her face as she listened to him.

He stopped talking and asked her if she was there. She said ‘yes’. He asked her if she hated him. She said ‘no’. He asked if she loved him. She said ‘not sure’. He asked her if she could ever love him. She sniggered and said ‘don’t know’.

Lubna heard the front door open and quickly told Nasser that her parents are home and that she had to go. He asked her when should he phone her again. She said ‘tomorrow, same time’. As she hung up the phone, she heard him whisper ‘I love you’!

Nasser did not phone the next day. He did not phone the day after that or the one after. He did not phone her for a full four weeks! Lubna was disappointed and heartbroken, for with every passing day, she grew convinced that she too was in love with Nasser!

Lubna got up and went to look through her old dairies. She found the diary she wanted. It was dated February 1991. In it, in cryptic language, she had written about the four weeks that Nasser was absent and the pain she felt back then. The page was full of bleeding hearts with broken arrows. It had bits of poems on the side and famous sayings about absence, love and the meaning of life. Twenty-eight-year-old Lubna smiled to herself as she read her own innocent scribbling and youthful thoughts.

As she flicked through the pages, she remembered the day Nasser returned. On that second occasion, their conversation was more serious and they both pledged their undying love. Nasser confessed that the reason he did not call was because he forgot her phone number and was waiting for the monthly-itemised phone bill to arrive. He told her how ill, livid and sad he felt when he could not hear her voice for those long four weeks. He however agreed with her when she told him that those four weeks apart were necessary and that without them she wouldn’t have realised that she loved him!

Nasser and Lubna spoke on the phone daily for a whole year. She found out he was a year older than her. He told her all about his family and friends and hobbies. Within months, there was nothing that Lubna did not know about Nasser or Nasser about Lubna. He sent his photos to her local corner shop for her to pick up. She sent her photo to his local corner shop for him to pick up. The planned to get married in ten years time when Lubna was 24!

Lubna remembered how all her school friends were in awe of her and Nasser. She recalled how a dozen of her friends would turn up each evening and try to listen on to her phone conversations with Nasser. She remembered how some of them were themselves secretly in love with Nasser!

Lubna couldn’t remember why or how her relationship with Nasser ended. She nervously flicked through the pages of the dairy to see if she can find any clues that would remind her what went wrong. The date it took place was the 14th of March 1992. The entry in her diary in that day had the usual bleeding hearts and arrows but the poetry was darker. The words were about treachery, hatred and respect! There was even a pathetic attempt at writing her own poetry there. She spoke about when lovers and friends float away in deceitful boats, and the love story ends while a best friend gloats!

Lubna quickly turned the page to see if there were any more clues to explain the end of that distant affair. She came across a happy page with smiley faces, kisses and happy hearts filling the page! Was the Nasser story back on, she wondered! As she read through the page and deciphered the usual poetry, she remembered that this was not at all about Nasser. This was about her second love!

His name was Kamal and she first met him while she was out shopping with her mother. Kamal was a bald and daring man. He had the cheek to slip her his phone number while her mother was haggling with the shop owner over some garments. All her friends told her that her relationship with Kamal was the expected rebound from the Nasser affair, but she wouldn’t listen. Her love affair with Kamal didn’t last long of course.

As she thought about Nasser, Kamal and the three or four love affairs that followed them, she remembered Nora and Max! Should she spill the beans and tell mother about this affair? Should she, like in her case with Nasser, let young love run its true course?

Nora came into the room and asked for her mobile phone back. Lubna had no time to hide the text message she was reading. She quickly apologised and told Nora that ‘her secret’ is safe. Nora giggled and said ‘you think I’m in love with Max? Max is an idiot, my dear, an idiot that’s been pestering me for months’.

Lubna sighed wistfully and started writing something into her dairy...

Audio Cassette From Home

2005-10-31T13:11:00.000Z

Is this thing working? Are you sure it’s working? He said the last cassette we sent him was not clear enough and he did not hear much of what we were saying. Please make sure it’s working ok.

Is it working now? Shall I talk? What, now?

Hallo, hallo, hallo! Son, I’m sending you this tape with the hope that you’re in the best of health and spirits. We are all well here and we send you greetings that we wring from the deepest void of our hearts. A void we developed the day you left us. Son, we send you our good wishes with the flying clouds, the migrating birds and the blowing wind.

Everyone here is doing fine. The people of the town are all as you left them. We have no complaints whatsoever and we daily thank almighty god for making our lives an easy one and reducing our burden. Life is all about being content, my son, and we are content and happy with god’s will.

Son, we received the money you sent us last month and it helped us greatly in sorting out the sanitary problems we had. The rest of the money we used to purchase more animals.

You see, our donkey, that faithful companion of your youth, has died, son. Don’t shed a tear for him though. The brute lived a good and long life and fulfilled all the ambitions or target any average donkey would have wanted to fulfil.

Eight of our goats have developed diarrhoea and we had to slaughter them all and give their meat to the needy. The needy also developed diarrhoea (which I believe is unrelated to our goats) and the authorities are talking about persecuting me. Don’t worry though, son. Remember your cousin Ali? Well, he’s here on holiday. He works in London as an interpreter in a law firm and has, in his eight years of working there, learnt a great deal about law. He assures me that I’ve done nothing wrong and has promised to prolong his holiday until my court case (if ever it reaches such a drastic end) is over. He even volunteered to act as my legal representative, solicitor and QC. He keeps repeating the words Habeas corpus and says that all this stuff is really not cricket. I have no idea what any of it means but your aunt Nadia, his mother, assures me that he knows what he’s talking about.

Your brother ran off with the maid. He resented being the youngest one in the family and having to do all the petty jobs, because he’s the youngest. He, along with the scheming maid, who in turn resented being a maid, came upon a genius idea. They decided to get married! As a married man, he reasoned, that nobody would look down on him as a youngster or expect him to fetch the hand-wash and towels after food (unless of course it’s a dinner in his house and there are no young people amongst the dinner party). His (future) wife, the wretched maid, also reasoned that as a married woman, none of the youngsters of the family would try to take advantage of her or the girls will look down on her as a mere maid. The last we knew of them, they were walking the seventy miles to the capital. I wouldn’t panic if I were you though; no sane judge, mullah or old man is going to marry off a fourteen-year-old girl to an eight-year-old boy.

Your mother wants a divorce, again! She still claims that I have not looked after her as I promised and that I lied to her as a fifteen-year-old girl when I told her that, in ten years’ time, we would be millionaires! As you are well aware, I always tried to explain to her that man makes the best plans but providence smashes right through them. As you’re also aware, I usually manage to eventually convince her of my love and devotion. However, this time, none of my remonstrances are working. This, if you may allow me to hazard a guess, is due to two reasons. First of all, your grandmother is back and is slithering about the place and hissing all sorts of nonsense in your mother’s ears. As a result, your mother has recently taken to reminding me of her lineage and her ancestors’ good name! Your grandmother promises to find your fifty-year-old mother a suitable match if she would only divorce me!

The second reason for your mother’s change of heart and coldness towards me is Omer. Settle down, son. I’m not accusing your mother of adultery. But I believe that she has the hots for young Omer. Oh! I beg your pardon, Son. Omer is the young man I employed to help me with work. He’s young, good looking and from the same tribe as your mother. He also has a way with the ladies. The girls in the neighbourhood all make all sorts of excuses to come and see Omer. Our shop is now always full of girls and our house too. Well, our house used to be full of girls but your mother drove them all away. With no maid in the house anymore, your mother has to make all the food and clean the house. She spares the best food for Omer and spends hours cleaning his room (yes, he moved in into your old room. Your mother insisted he move in!).

Your sister Fatema has tamed her husband. Yes, I was surprised too. Remember when she used to come home with black and blue eyes? Remember how every time we offered to go round and ‘fix him’ she would protest, cry and plead with us? She was in love with him back then and said that his karbaash (whip) was an expression of his love for her and that we should stay out of their business. Well, your sister grew up, son. Her beloved husband, in a fit of anger, destroyed all her China Cups. Remember the China Cups you sent her from America (she tells people you sent them from China)? Well, her silly husband broke them all because he was not happy about his breakfast being late. Your sister, as you well know, loves her husband dearly. But, she was also proud of the fact that she was the only woman who owned China Cups in the whole city (and three other neighbouring cities, I’m told). With one silly motion of his hands, her unthinking husband smashed her lofty position in town (and the three neighbouring towns) to the ground. With one motion of her hand (and a few of her feet, nails and teeth) she smashed his face in. I wouldn’t say that your brother-in-law is drinking out of a straw now, but he sure is not drinking from China Cups.

Did you hear about our parliamentary elections, son? You must have. The newspapers here say that the eyes of the world were on us. Everyone who is everyone made sure that they voted in these elections. To start with, many of us wanted to vote because the politicians told us that it was good for the country and us. We all want what is good for the country. One politician told us that if we all voted, the Arabs might remove their ban on our livestocks. He said they only banned them because we did not vote in previous elections! That was before I slaughtered my eight sick goats. I really wanted to sell them to the Arabs but when the politician said the ban will not be lifted until after the elections, I had no choice but to slaughter them, son.

Many people voted for their cousins, relatives or those that promised the biggest windfalls. I waited for your instructions on who to vote for but received none, so, I had to gamble and vote for the tallest candidate. If we’re going to have a farsighted winner, it’s most likely that he’ll be the tallest in the party.

This election was a farce, son. Two days before the main day, a vicious rumour has spread about town that not many people can read or write! Of course, as you can imagine, in a proud town as ours such a rumour is not tolerated. People started going round and wanting to know who can and who can’t write. There were no volunteers willing to stand up and prove that they can indeed write or demonstrate their ignorance by showing that they can’t write. Every person that was approached got angry and remonstrated about being singled out or muttered darkly about tribal conspiracies.

We finally all agreed upon a cunning plan and amazing solution to prove that we all can read and write. Some bright spark has suggested that we all take part in the parliamentary elections and vote for our preferred candidate! Everybody was happy with this ingenious compromise and we all argued that nobody was obtuse enough to derail the wheels of democracy and disrespecting the will of the people by voting in an election when he/she could not read or write. Besides, we all knew how easy it was to read and write an election slip. All one has to do is read the instructions, look at the photos of the various candidates, stick a finger in the ink and stamp the finger next to the chosen candidate’s photograph. For one to prove that one can read, all one has to do is come out with one’s stained finger held aloft.

We heard in the radio that the level of literacy in our town is 88%! Everyone in town disputes that figure. We all voted in the election and everyone had those blue stains for weeks. We finally agreed that the 88% figure includes all our sons and daughters that have moved away (like you). I also, secretly, knew it includes your silly brother and the wretched maid.

Son, the tape is running out and I still have not said all I need to say. Besides, I have a treat for you this time. Remember our local singer? You used to love his songs and look up to him when you were a kid. Well, I invited him to lunch today (along with his band). They’re now sitting here having eaten and had their drinks and are ready to sing you a song. This is a 60 minutes cassette, so it might end any minute now and you might not be able to hear the entire song.

Before I let the band play, I have a favour to ask, son. Will it be at all possible to send us more money this month? The monthly allowance you send us is usually adequate enough for all our needs. But, what with the need to employ a new maid, sack Omer and hire an assassin to sort out your grandmother I had to spend all of the allowance earlier than is usual.

Your sister has been depressed and is begging you to send her new China Cups.

Take care my dear son. Until we speak again, enjoy the music.

Take it away boys.

# This could be Kabuul, Iraq or Somaliland...#

Cain and Able!

2005-10-27T13:53:00.000Z

Like a child counting from one to a hundred but skipping half the numbers in between, I was sat here a few minutes ago and thinking about Cain and Able!

I could not remember if it was Cain who killed Able or Able who killed Cain. Cain was the older son and probably the bigger. Cain must have killed Able.
So far, my counting was done correctly. But then, like a faulty CD, I skipped a few numbers and was on 97 already. 98, 99.....

Cain and Able must have fought a lot before one of them killed the other. And, because they were ones of the few first people to occupy earth and start all the norms and traditions that humans have (like killing), I think they’re the first people to invent the handshake.
I see no reason why Adam would have shook Eve’s hand. I don’t think he would have shook one of his son’s hands. But, if Able and Cain were fighting all the time, it’s possible that one of them invented the handshake as a trick!

Have you never shook another man’s hand and noticed that he was applying some unreasonable pressure as he shook yours? It’s as if he’s testing you. As if he’s saying to you, look at my strength. He’s showing you that he can crush you right there and then. It’s also possible that he might be trying to check out your power. You can find out a lot of things by shaking another person’s hand.

Maybe Cain shook Able’s hand to see how strong Able was before he killed him. Maybe Able did the same! I don’t know if anyone had written about the history of the handshake, but I think it would be a great oversight on their part if they did not, at least, consider the case of Able and Cain.

What do you think?

Girls grow up so fast these days

2005-10-14T22:02:00.000Z

Most people have someone they go to for a light conversation and a bit of chinwag every now and then. If you’re feeling down, have good news or just feel like talking, you would usually pickup the phone and phone someone. Some people phone friends, others phone family and few phone the Samaritans. In some cases, the phone is not enough. You feel that whatever you have to say has to be done face to face. That’s what my four-year-old daughter often does. Every night when I return back from work she corners me and starts telling me about her day! Every night, I try to brush her off and tell her that I’m tired; that I need to change and that I need the toilet. She ignores me and carries on telling me about her life. I’ve now learned to listen to her as I get on with the changing of my clothes and the visits to the toilet. Sometimes, she asks impertinent questions about the length of time I spend in the toilet and asks me to open the door so she can see what I’m doing!

She started school a year ago and would spend every night telling me how much painting she did. Sometimes she would show me splashes of paint on a paper and ask me if I think it’s great. I tried to tell her the truth once but she looked so disappointed and hurt it made me feel guilty and I decided never to comment on her paintings again. Her mother’s threats came after I’ve already made this decision.

In her first year in school, my daughter made lots of friends. She told me all their names and I got daily reports on all the things they did. Of all these friends, she liked a child called Ishan the most. Because she liked Ishan, I too liked Ishan and always asked her how Ishan was. Her and Ishan were the best of friends.

This year, she started full-time school. No half days for her anymore. Now, she has to be like all the big boys and girls and do a full day at school. On her first day at school, when I got back from work, I was informed of the sad news about Ishan. He was moved to another class! She was almost having a tantrum as she told me this. She also seemed to blame Ishan and me for this serious state of affairs. I reminded her that she could still see Ishan during break times and this calmed her down a little.

School went ok for the first couple of weeks and she even told me that she does not mind Ishan being in another class. She has new friends now and can still see Ishan during break times; I’ve fathered a philosophical four-year-old!

The other day, she told me that she had a fight with Ishan. She said that HE is not her friend anymore. Ishan is a boy? A whole year of daily talking about Ishan went by and not once did I suspect that Ishan was a boy! A boy?

Last night, I got back from work early. Got into the house and saw her already waiting for me in the hallway. I said hi and walked right past her. She pompously said ‘I need to talk to you now’! I went into the bedroom and shut the door. She was shouting from the other side and asking me to hurry up changing. I told her to talk from behind the door. She said she couldn’t. It’s important that she looks at my eyes when she talks! I changed and went to the toilet. She sat outside and kept on asking me to hurry up. I kept on telling her to shut up.

Finally, when I came out of the toilet and sat down, she came over and sat opposite me. I need to tell you something, she said. I sat there thinking of every father in the world who had his daughter gravely sit them down in such a way and ‘tell them something’! I panicked. She told me that she’s thinking of approaching Ishan and asking him why does he not want to be her friend anymore! And they called it puppy looove.

What a dog this Ishan is! How dare he ensnare my little girl in such a way? If it were not for his age, I’d have the little scamp in a headlock.

I tried to go easy on her and told her that she should not approach Ishan and that she should wait for him to make the first move. She asked me a question that the greatest politicians in the history of the world, the best philosophers and most knowledgeable priests, rabbi’s and mullahs could never adequately answer: WHY?

I tried to trick her with simple replies but she was still not convinced. I told her that he’s the one who said she’s not his friend and therefore it’s he who should make the first move. She said, WHY! I told her that this is the way things have always worked between two people that fought. She said WHY! I tried to reason with her by asking her who should say sorry first if her and me had a fight but she was the one who started it. She said I had to apologise because I was BIGGER! I told her that’s why Ishan needs to make the first move. He was bigger. She impatiently closed her eyes and slowly shook her head from side to side and then said, ‘but he’s my friend’!

Girls these days grow up so fast.

I had to give it to her straight and hurt her feelings. I told her that Ishan dumped her and that by trying to talk to him she will show him what a weak and needy cow she is. She asked that dreaded question again.

Girls these days grow up so fast.

I told her to do what she liked and never to mention Ishan in my presence again. The needy, clingy, weak (and already once dumped) cow, replied, ‘but he’s my friend’!

Her mother walked in and asked me who was I shouting at on the phone and which woman got dumped!

Girls grow up so fast these days.

The death of a soggy tissue!

2005-10-14T10:38:00.000Z

She opened her makeup bag and took out the lipstick. She slowly started applying it to her mouth. She looked in the tiny hand mirror, looked again. Applied some more lipstick and put both the mirror and lipstick back in the bag.In the bag, the lipstick was getting pummelled by the soggy tissue. The mascara and the mirror tried to intervene, the foundation and eye shadow tried to shelter the poor lipstick, but the soggy tissue was having none of it. It wrapped itself round the poor lipstick and spilled its guts all over the insides of the bag!The mascara and eye shadow were wailing and the colour was flooding the bottom of the bag. The mirror despondently sat back and reflected on the whole grim scene. This was a familiar scene. The soggy tissue was in love with the girl and always felt jealous when a new lipstick arrived and within minutes, was caressing his beloved’s lips!Every night, the poor soggy tissue would lie down in the bottom of the makeup bag and look up at the shiny zipper above. In that star-like metal, he would always hope to suddenly see her face. In the calm of the night, he would remember the days when he was a young and fresh tissue. He’d remember the way she used to pick him up and stroke him on her sensual and rosy cheeks. With such sweet memories, his endless tears will start seeping out and his sogginess will again, verge on the point of becoming a full-blown flood.The soggy tissue had no friends. He was all alone in this overpopulated makeup bag! The rest of the residents have all decided to ignore him because of his aggressive tendencies. He didn’t care for their companionship, nor wanted their sympathy. All he cared about was the girl. Will she ever favour him again? Does she even know he exists? Is there another tissue out there taking up all her time? Could there be another tissue that would love her as much as he does?Yesterday, early in the morning, the makeup bag was suddenly opened while everyone was fast asleep! At the sound of the zipper being undone, the soggy tissue was the first to rise. The piercing rays of the sun almost blinded him (or was that her lovely face?). She picked up the dying lipstick and tried to apply it to her mouth. The lipstick struggled to smoothly walk the hills and valleys of her lips. It smeared the corners of her lips and almost veered into her nose! The soggy tissue, down in the bag, was looking up and shaking a fist at the dying lipstick.He started asking himself “is it my fate to love one that’s unaware of my existence?”, “should I suffer watching her with all these guys in silence?”, “could a human being fall in love with a tissue?”. He hung his head down and thought for a bit. A second later, he slowly shuffled his crumbled feet towards the corner of the bag. He had decided to let her go and vowed never to look up at the entrance of the makeup bag again. While he was silently crying and murmuring the words “oh, it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”, he felt himself slowly floating in the air! He dismissed the feeling and attributed it to his confused condition. The dizzy feeling increased. He opened his soggy eyes and looked around him; there was no sign of the mirror, mascara or eye shadow! He looked down and saw them all waving to him! His soggy heart started beating very fast. He looked up and saw her pretty face looking down at him. She had smudged lipstick on her lips and a slight frown on her face.As the soggy tissue was swimming through the still waters of her face, he thought to himself “ Ah, this is the life; one can die content after experiencing such an exhilarating intimacy with such a pretty face”. He spoke too soon, for almost as soon as he uttered those words, he found himself flying in the air! The makeup bag was miles away; the only thing visible below was the rubbish bin. In it, he saw the remains of the poor lipstick!The fear engulfed the soggy tissue, but he composed himself, said a little prayer and then shouted “ oh, it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” ....

I have a dream.....

2005-10-11T17:09:00.000Z

No, I don’t want to end segregation and discrimination. I don’t care for an equal America or want to preach to the masses.
I have a dream that one day EVERYONE will be famous. I have a dream that they all will know one another. I have a dream that as I walk into my local supermarket, the checkout girl will be a famous singer, the security guard a popular sportsman and the manager a daytime television presenter. I dream of my fellow customers all being Hollywood stars and my neighbours all being former big brother contestants.

I dream that bus drivers will also be game show hosts. That street cleaners will be Wheel Of Fortune contestants and famous footballers will help out (part-time) in petrol stations. I always dream that everyone will be well known, but I will not be. I always imagine myself walking past the England cricket team as they point at me and whisper to each other ‘who is that?’ I worry that Kylie might not serve me at the checkout or that Carl Lewis might start following me around.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe my dream is really all about ending segregation and discrimination. Maybe, one day, everyone will be equal and everyone will be famous. But I wont be famous. The famous people might become wary of me and think I am a spy! Worse still, they might try to impress me and all fight for my attention. What if I don’t appear enthusiastic enough? What if I don’t pay them the right compliments? What if I say the wrong things? What if I got shunned and banished to the non-famous section of society? How will I survive there on my own? Will the famous people allow me to seduce Kylie and take her to my non-famous corner? Will they permit us to populate our corner with our non-famous babies? How will we survive? What will we eat? This is not fair on me and my non-famous babies (Kylie at least could claim to have forsaken fame for love). We should not be hounded by these famous people in this awful and inhumane way. What fault is it of my non-famous babies to be discriminated against in this way?

I have a dream that, one day, EVERYONE will be famous..

Treadmill

2005-09-06T08:16:00.000Z

Those familiar with these stories will recall my earlier adventures in sports clubs. A select few might even remember my treadmill discovery. It is this treadmill that I wish to talk about again tonight.

Sports clubs are full of amazing and great equipment to help people lose weight, tone their bodies or build up muscle. Some are traditional machines and some are state of the art devices with knobs and buttons and many flashing lights. In the past and before I’ve become a dedicated gym member, I used to be impressed with these gadgets, not anymore. I now know that the treadmill reigns supreme.

Last week, I became a gym member for the first time. I was to have an induction by a child ten years my junior who was also at least ten stone lighter. Though the child was nice and helpful I couldn’t help disliking him. He took my blood pressure, weight and height. He also gave me a small instrument to hold up in the air for a full minute then, with a grave face and a sad demeanour, informed me that I was slightly overweight. I pretended to be shocked and asked him if my condition was curable. He smiled and helpfully told me that with the correct plan, right attitude and a bit of effort the decline can be halted. He also told me that he thinks we’re very lucky that we caught things on time. I wondered if Dougie was a part-time sports instructor.

After a brief tour of the club we got back to the exercise room. It was full of big men and fat women. Nicely built bodies and gravity defying balloons. I hadn’t done any exercise yet I was already tired from the effort of sucking my big belly in every time a pretty woman or muscled man walked past.

Dougie walked me to the treadmill and asked me to ‘step on’. I had never stepped on a treadmill before in my life. I tried an escalator and one of those funny treadmills you see in airports but I have never tried one in a sports club. I’m a principled man and my principle was always not to imitate animals. Treadmills were for animals and if I were to ape one of those creatures I don’t think I would have chosen a rotten hamster. Besides, I don’t like gay rats.

Young Dougie was holding on the railings of the treadmill. He was wearing a red sports club uniform. The arms of the t-shirt he was wearing were very short. His arms were not. He was tightening and loosening his grip on the railing as he spoke. The short arms of his t-shirt were expanding and declining. I wanted to strangle him. He noticed the look on my face and told me not to worry about the treadmill, he’ll put it on slow to start with, he said.

I got on the treadmill and as I walked and walked I started to feel better about using such a machine. Dougie increased the speed a little and told to try to run this time. He asked me to run for twenty minutes while he went away to do some paperwork. I was happy to see the back of him.

For three full minutes, I majestically ran like a carefree lion on the planes of the Serengeti. My chin was up, the chest was puffed and my bottom was straight. My arms were to my side and I was looking straight ahead. Some techno music was playing in the background and I timed my steps with the beat. Things were going perfectly.

A big Russian muscle with eyes suddenly got on the treadmill next to me. I had a quick glance at him and then returned to my running. As I looked straight ahead and admired the way my head bobbed, shoulders dropped and knees bent, I noticed him looking at me as he slowly started to walk on his treadmill. I stuck to my own pace and got back to day dreaming about Arnold Schwarzenegger in a tight suit. As I peacefully ran and dreamt, I felt someone observing me. I looked around me to see who it is but didn’t see anyone looking at me. I focused on my running again.

The Russian was now running. His treadmill was making so much noise that I had to correct my steps several times. I told myself that he’ll calm down within a minute and that I really should not let him bother me. His machine was still making a loud racket.

Two minutes had passed and the Russian showed no signs of slowing down. This guy must be on some serious drugs, thought I. I looked at the mirror straight ahead and saw that he was looking at me as he ran! Surely this piece of raw steak is not about to challenge the lion!

I’m not sure how it transpired, but within seconds, I found myself running as fast as I can on that treadmill. At first, the machine squeaked with delight as I ran faster and faster. However, that was not enough. For four full minutes I gave it my best and still could not beat the Russian. I was getting tired and did not want to lose this race. Then, a cunning thought dawned on me! The Russian might be younger, fitter and faster than me but this is not a conventional race and there are no rules to it.

That was the second important thought I had about treadmills that week. The first of course, was that when one runs a real race, one has to come back at the end. But, when one runs on a treadmill, one only has to get off. This second thought on the other hand, concerned the treadmill race I was having with the Russian. Gadgets, lights and registers might determine a winner in a treadmill race, but the naked eye can only see style and action. I knew that many people in the gym had noticed our little race by now and wanted to be the people’s champion, if nothing else. In order to be that, I didn’t have to run faster, I only had to make more noise than the Russian. What good are a big belly and a bigger buttocks if not for making noise?

I quickly shadow boxed the air like Rocky and started to lengthen my steps as I lifted my knees as high as they could go before landing them on the treadmill one at a time. Within a matter of seconds, the Russian lost his rhythm and glared at me. He saw no eye of the tiger, just a satisfied victor. My elation at winning the race kept me running and running.

As my joy evaporated, doubt crept in. What if the music suddenly stops and everyone notices me running on this treadmill and making all this noise. I might have been excited by my victory but I bet every last one of them was thinking ‘this fat man is going to break that treadmill if somebody doesn’t stop him soon’. Dougie’s voice came out of nowhere and startled me out of my step. He asked if I was ok and advised me not to jump on the treadmill in such a way. You’re going to break it, he said. Damn snitches, I thought.

The Fly and the Lion

2005-08-16T11:14:00.000Z

There are occasions and events in one’s life that one always remembers. Most such events are extremely trivial or, with hindsight, are not as big as they seemed the first time.

The other day, while watching a game of football with a friend, he suddenly remembered a game he played when he was eight years of age. He told me that at one occasion in that game, he was one-on-one with the keeper and should have scored the winning goal but in his excitement, he stood on the ball and tripped. He’s been replaying that scene in his mind ever since. He knows it is pointless to weep for such a trivial thing but he cannot get over his annoyance and distress.

I laughed at my friend and accused him of being a lunatic. But, on my way home after the game, I started daydreaming about my childhood and lamenting the many failures and disappointments I had. As a three year old, I remember trying to insert a matchstick into my baby brother’s penis. I regretted not having the required hand-eye coordination back then. I still do, even though I realise how damaging such an act would have been and knowing that I would not attempt it as an adult. For a three year old though, not being able to complete such a task was very frustrating. The logic behind it has long been proven wrong but the frustration lingers on. In the name of painting a fuller picture and disproving my complete uselessness, I have to note here that my brother was a very twitchy baby.

My brother grew up to be a nice chap that I really, with time, also grew to like. This always made me regret the matchstick incident and the damage I could have caused. However, my guilt did not remove my frustration at failing to insert that matchstick there. It really seemed like a simple task and even today I still can’t understand why I could not manage it. Only people that tried to stick a thread into a tiny needle can understand the reason for my frustration. Then again, the thread and needle comparison is not really an accurate one. Some people suck the thread before attempting to stick it in the needle! Some people suck the needle.

I can at least rationalise the enduring irritation with the matchstick incident. I did not manage to complete the task I set myself and it was bound to annoy me. What I can’t rationalise or even explain is the event that took place on my first week at school.

The first few days at school went smoothly and I had no trouble with anyone. Well, apart from the female teacher that slapped me for winking at her. However, the rest of my first week at school was fine. I’d get the bus in the morning to school and take it back in the afternoon. The first four days were fine. I’d get on the bus and choose a seat at random. I had yet to make any friends at school and was still too young to realise the importance and prestige of the back seats.

On my fifth day at school, on the bus heading home, I decided to go and sit on the back seat. I was six years of age, very slim and exceptionally brave. As I took my seat in the back and proceeded to blow mist clouds at the windows, a couple of older boys came over and asked me to move. I thought it was unfair of them to ask me to move; after all, I got there first. This seat was mine. They threatened to beat me up and I threatened to fight back. They both laughed at me and started roughing me up. I was only six years old. These two boys must have been at least six and three quarters. They were taller and bigger than me. But I fought back and bit one of them so hard I made him cry. I also somehow managed to kick the other one between the legs. They left me alone. I was sat there looking very proud and exchanging glances with all the awed children on the front. They all had their heads turned back and were looking at me as though I was some sort of superhero.

The following week, on the way home from school, I got on the bus and took my hard earned seat in the back. The two boys returned. I was ready to fight them again. But, this time, they had a bigger boy with them. He said he was eight years of age but he really looked fourteen. That boy, and the two other boys, beat me up that day. I bravely tried to fight back but as the slaps and punches kept on landing on my face and body, I decided it’s safer to curl into a ball and hide as much of my face and body as possible. This did not stop them from hitting me. In fact, they seemed to enjoy the game of trying to find a chink in my armour and penetrate it with a kick, a punch and a slap. I had to give in to these thugs, so I started crying very loudly. They left me alone.

When I got off the bus and was walking home, I was still crying. My father, who happened to leave work early that day, was also coming home. He noticed that I was crying and asked me what the matter was. I told him about the boys. He asked me why did I not fight back. I told him that fighting back is what got me into this mess in the first place and that I was never ever going to fight back again. He lost his temper and gave me a long lecture about the benefits of fighting back.

As we walked into the house, my mother saw that I was still crying. She had a go at my father for making me cry. He told her that it was not his fault and explained my fight with the boys. My mother gave me a hug and told me to stay away from those bad boys. She told me that fighting was not nice and that I should avoid it as much as I can. I told her that my father told me to fight back but she said that I should ignore him.

My father was not happy with the advice I was getting from his wife. He told her that he did not want to raise a sissy and that he already had daughters. My mother asked him to leave me alone. Her words were calm and polite but the look on her eyes told him all he needed to know. He graciously allowed her to win that battle. However, he was not done yet.

Later that same day, my father told me that he was going shopping and asked if I wanted to go with him. He said that I could even sit on the front seat. I always loved to sit on the front seat. Sometimes he even let me sit on his lap and pretend to drive. He didn’t that day. Instead, he restarted his lecture about fighting back.

My father was an only child. His father passed away when he was four. My deaf grandmother brought him up. He told me that he experienced life the hard way and wanted to teach me some of the things he had learnt along the way. He said that his mother taught him to fight back and never let the bad people win. I told him that those boys were bigger than me and that there were many of them too. He said size did not matter and that I also could fight them one at a time. He told me the story of the fly and the lion.

One day, allegedly, a fly was sleeping under the shade of a big tree on a hot summer afternoon. A huge lion waddled along and came to sit under the shade of that same tree. The lion almost sat on the sleeping fly. Fortunately, the fly was a light sleeper and sensed that something was wrong. It opened its eyes to see the lion’s massive frame descending on her. With a speed that only flies, bees and wasps seem to have, she jumped out of the way and started flying about the air in frustration. This lion had no right to take her place. He might be the king of beasts and also bigger than her, but he had no right to take her place in such a way. He also almost crushed her in his selfish haste to occupy other creature’s spaces. The fly knew that she was no match for this great big lion but also knew she had no choice but to fight back. She started buzzing and buzzing around the lion’s face. She called him names as she did so and kept on kicking him on the face. Her tiny feet caused the lion no harm. Still, the fly carried on kicking him. The lion tried to lash out with its tongue but the wily fly managed to dodge it. The lion tried to scare her by moving its ears, but the fly still kept on kicking him. The lion yawned and bared its massive teeth to scare her but the fly was almost suicidal and carried on kicking the huge beast. The poor lion finally gave in and waddled off to look for another place to sleep. The fly won the fight.

That was the story my father told me about fighting back. I’ve never forgotten it and would always buzz whenever I fought back. In the days that followed, I caught every single one of those three boys and had several fights with each. They all finally succumbed to my fly technique, as did many others in the years that followed.
Still, even though I eventually got my revenge on all those guys, the fact that I cried loudly on that bus when they beat me still irks me and I cannot find a way to rationalise it. I would happily swap this with a missed goal after a one-on-one with some eight-year-old goalkeeper.

Window of Opportunity!

2005-07-29T05:30:00.000Z

There are times in life when a window of opportunity presents itself and forces you to go through the agony of thinking. Autopilot will not do here. This is not an everyday occurrence. This is like your mother-in-law asking you if you loved her, in the presence of the entire family. It forces you to THINK!

Today, I didn’t go to work. Instead, I stayed at home and helped my wife and children pack for their week away at my in-laws! My in-laws live 50 miles away from me. We visit them several times a year. They visit us almost everyday. My in-laws are nice people, or so my wife says. They never cause me any trouble. They never annoy me but they annoy my wife. This makes my wife cry and when my wife cries, she cries on my shoulder. I like my wife and never like to see her cry. I don’t mind lending her my shoulder to occasionally cry on. But, and I don’t think I’m being selfish here at all, I think my shoulder was made for greater things. Some people carry stars on their shoulders; some carry the weight of the world and some even have monkeys on their shoulders! I have my wife’s tears on my shoulders! I often agonise about meeting the guy with the weight of the world on his shoulder or the one with the stars or even the one with the monkey. I’ve thought of a million retorts to their predictable and soul destroying jibe of ‘your shoulder is wet’. I still could not find a good enough one. I once thought I had a good answer in saying “these are the tears of an angle”. But I dismissed that reply straightaway when I pictured the three guys (and the monkey) begin to do a Motown dance and sing ‘tears of a clown’. If this should happen in real life, I would have to avenge my honour by fighting back. I can’t fight three guys and a monkey on my own. This is why I had to reluctantly admit that my wife was no angel.

This week, I shall be home alone. No wife and no children. No bedtimes and no stories. No fight over the remote control or quality time. This week does not happen often. This is the window of opportunity that I need to take advantage of. But what should I do?

I’ve always thought about an opportunity like this. I thought about pretending to be single again. I thought about eating a take-away everyday and not doing any cleaning. I thought about leaving the toilet seat up. However, now that I got the opportunity to do all these things, I’m not as excited as I thought I would be. They are going away for a whole week! That is SEVEN days of 24 hours each. What will I do? How will I cope? What will I eat? I am, after all, a superstitious man of habit.

I was packing my daughter’s bag as I had these thoughts. I thought about asking my wife about leaving one of the kids behind. I thought about her reaction to such an absurd request and decided not to bother asking. I berated myself for showing my weakness and almost making a fool out of myself. In my anger at myself, I kicked my daughter’s ball that was lying on the floor next to me. Oh, no! Wilson might come handy in my hours of solitude.

I finished packing and put all their things in the car. I helped my wife feed the kids and then helped her take them to the car too and make sure that their seat belts are fastened. All those hours of crying on shoulder were of use after all! Or else, how could she know that I have a habit of dropping my shoulder like a Brazilian showing off with a ball when I’m upset? She asked me if I was ok. I told her that I was fine. She offered to postpone the trip if I wanted her to. I told her not to be silly. She asked me if I was ok again. I told her that I was great. She said that I was not and that when I used the word ‘great’ to describe my feelings she knew I was really upset. She decided that this was her fault and promptly lay her head on my shoulder and forced a cry. The Brazilian dropped the ball.

After convincing my wife that I’m ok and waving her off, I returned into the house, alone. It felt strange! The rooms looked bigger and the silence was eerie. I coughed loudly and heard the echo of my cough reverberate all over the house. I sat down to watch TV but the silence was driving me crazy. I put the volume up but the silence was driving me crazy. I did two press-ups, took some time to recover and tried again but the silence was still driving me crazy. I started talking to myself loudly. It worked! The silence was gone. I got bored of talking to myself and fetched Wilson. After an hour of talking to him about life and the universe I kicked him away. Only a mad man would talk to a ball really.

I was tired of talking, so I sat down and thought about the week ahead. I decided to think rationally about ways to cope with my loneliness. I’m going to be home alone for a full week. Lonely people seek other people. I’m going to live a single man’s life for a week. Single men seek women. After long deliberation, I reached the conclusion that I’ll have to cheat on my wife, I’m not gay.

Although I have not met her yet, I already know the women I’m going to cheat with. Her name is Rumiko Takeshita. She is Japanese and single. She is staying in the London Intercontinental Hotel, room 233. She has lovely long black hair, captivating brown eyes and a mouth-watering figure. Her hands are slender, nose tiny and lips like a walrus mud wrestling a baby seal. Rumiko is a Geisha that happens to be in London for only one week and is after a good time.

I had to sort out the practicalities of this affair. Do I bring Rumiko to my house or do I go and see her in the hotel? If I bring her to the house, I’ll have to be very careful and make sure that none of the neighbours see her. I’ll have to make sure that she never uses the phone and never buys any shopping with new exotic items that might stay in the fridge for more than a week. I’ll have to convince her that I’m allergic to perfume and make sure she never uses any.

Maybe it’s best if I met her in her hotel room. But, what if she asked me to stay the night? What if my wife kept on phoning me at home and never finding me? What if she phones on my mobile and hears Rumiko’s voice in the background? What if Rumiko sees my mobile phone and asks me for the number? I don’t want her to have the number. This was supposed to be a watertight affair that lasted one week. I’m not so unprofessional as to leave such loose ends. It’s clearly obvious that a one-week affair is not a sustainable idea. I’ll have to abandon the idea.

But, since I’m already here and Rumiko is already there, shouldn’t I at least try on the item, even if I’m not buying? I decided that it would be a shame to waste such a window of opportunity, so I got dressed and was on my way to the hotel. Poor Rumiko does not know of the typhoon that’s about to hit her. In years to come, she’ll be telling her grandchildren about the man that came from the West (of London) and swept her of her feet. I started having some impure thoughts about Rumiko and started feeling guilty. Where a minute ago I was walking proudly and was surefooted, now I was miserable, guilty and the Brazilian guy was back with his ball.

I have never met Rumiko. I don’t want to ever meet Rumiko. The temptation to cheat on my wife might have been there but I would never cheat with someone like Rumiko. Rumiko is an easy lay and I can’t stand easy women. I like a woman to chase, flirt with and sweet-talk. I want one that would reject me and play hard to get but my great charm and perseverance would bring her panting to my feet. Such women can not be found in a week, some even not in months and months. I only have one week, so women, it seems, are out of the question.

I got me a take-away and went back home to apologise to Wilson.

K.I.S.S.I.N.G!

2005-07-01T10:15:00.000Z

I come from a big family. Both my parents come from big families. My grandparents come from big families. My children, if I can help it, will come from a big family. Big families have their advantages. If you’re the eldest child, you have the luxury of bullying and ordering around an infinite number of siblings. If you’re the youngest, that same number of siblings fawn upon you and spoil you. If you’re a middle child, you can learn from the experience of those before you and pass on wisdom to those below you. Plus, you hardly ever get in trouble - either the young ones did it or the old ones!

I was a middle child. The life of a middle child is the best, greatest and most carefree of the lives of any creatures on earth! Parents seldom pay too much attention to middle children. Some parents believe that if you set the eldest child straight, the rest will follow without the need to spend the same time and energy on setting them (the other children) straight! I was not set straight (not often anyway). They also believe that the youngest children should never be neglected. I was not the youngest.

The major problem with being a middle child though is that amongst your siblings, you have no room for expressing yourself and developing your own personality (free from their interference). When I was four, I had a friend called Leila. Leila was a sweet young girl. She was pretty and fun to play with. Leila lived next door. I spent most of my time next door. Nobody paid too much attention to my friendship with Leila (she too was a middle child). One day, my eldest sister (who was a child herself at the time) made a passing comment about Leila and me! She was trying to tease me! The rest of my big family, including my own treacherous parents, joined in. For weeks afterwards, all I heard were songs and jokes about me, Leila, and a tree! A couple of months later, I cut off all diplomatic relations with Leila and her tree. I also, never knowingly, ever spoke to any girl in the presence of any member of my large family.

One day, when I was eighteen years old, I was sitting in the living room with my parents and the rest of my big family, when the phone started to ring! One of my sisters answered it. She looked shocked as she nodded her head and told the person on the other end that I was in! I innocently took the phone of her hand thinking that the call was from one of my friends. It wasn’t. I heard a girl’s voice on the other end. She was hesitant and nervous! It was Leila!

In the years after my fifth birthday, and after dumping Leila, she had become good friends with one of my sisters. She always visited the house and I always avoided her. It’s not that I didn’t like Leila, on the contrary, with each passing year, I liked Leila more and more. What I didn’t like was her damn tree. My parents always had a knowing smile on their faces whenever Leila came to visit and I happened to be in the room! My siblings were more daring and more embarrassing. They would always remind us of the days when we were friends and that annoying mythical tree.

On the day when Leila phoned me (and not my sister), I noticed the same smiles from my parents and received the same snide remarks from my siblings. Leila told me that she had heard that I was accepted in a far away university and that I was going to move away from home! My mind was racing as I listened to her! Could it be that she silently loved me all this time and now that I was moving away, she decided to declare her undying love and ask me to stay? I panicked! Leila was nice and if Leila asked me to stay, I probably would have stayed. But, my large family were all there, listening to my phone conversation and smiling. I knew it was a matter of minutes before they all broke into a chorus of K.I.S.S.I.N.G!

In my panic, I didn’t hear what Leila was saying to me and only heard the words “I’m coming with you”. I instinctively told her that she does not have to do that. She sounded confused and asked me why not. I told her that I wasn’t worth leaving home and family to be with! At this point, even my never humours grandmother started to titter. It seems that all my family knew that Leila was accepted into the same university as me. Leila could have been a total cow when she answered my presumptuous assumptions. But, luckily she was not. She just told me that we were going to the same place and that though she thought I was nice, she didn’t plan her future around where I would or would not be. She said it in such a nice way that even though this was a plain rejection it only made me fall in love with Leila (all over again).

The conversation was nearing its end, we agreed to speak again and arrange all the details, exchange addresses in the new town and meet up on our first day at university. Now it was time to put the receiver down and face the music. From the corner of my eye, I could see my father shift in his seat and face me, I could see my mother put her book down and badly attempt to avoid my gaze and I could see how bright the teeth of all my brothers and sisters were. As I put the phone down and ran out of the room shouting that I need the toilet, I heard them all shout K.I.S.S.I.N.G!

The next day, I avoided the subject of University and moving away and they pretended to have forgotten about it all. That afternoon, I was sitting in the living room on my own when my grandmother came in. She sat down and started staring at me. I ignored her and pretended to be lost in the TV program I was watching. She chuckled to herself and told me to stop acting. I told her that there was no reason for me to act. She didn’t waste time. Instead she blurted out the question “how much do you like Leila?”
I panicked! She caught me by surprise and I had no ready-made answer to such a question (even I didn’t know how much I liked Leila). I grunted. She asked me if the cat had got my tongue. I saw an opportunity for escape and used all my critical thinking skills to disprove the premise that a cat could get anyone’s tongue. She listened patiently and then repeated her original question! There was no getting away from this old lady. I had to tell the truth. I did.

My grandmother was a wise old lady. She believed that old people have to have an answer for any questions asked of them (and a few that were not asked). Some of her answers were pure fantasy. Some were the height of wisdom and most were just waffle. That day, she decided to answer all my questions, even though I didn’t ask her a single one! She began by saying “ you might well ask, and many young people do, would things work out between you and Leila?” She then went on to answer her own question!

Young children develop Milk Teeth, when a child has a full set of milk teeth, that child goes to flash them at anyone that would care to notice. He’ll proudly show them to his parents, teachers and friends. The child believes that nothing in the world is better than his Milk Teeth! When a child starts losing his/ her Milk Teeth, the child also starts losing faith in the world. He/She start feeling ugly. They think the world will end. They see no point in living. They start to change their mind about teeth and view them as useless! But then they start growing real and permanent teeth! They learn that Milk Teeth were only temporary and that they were there to help fix the jaw and gums and prepare them for straighter and more beautiful permanent teeth! My grandmother said that some people keep their Milk Teeth for a very long time and mistake them for the real thing. She said that when those people lose their Milk Teeth their disappointment is bigger than the average person that loses his/her milk teeth in the usual short period of time. That’s why, she said, the tooth fairy compensates some of these people.

She then went on to tell me that I should ask Leila out and that if things didn’t work out, then it was only a case of losing one’s milk teeth! My grandmother lost all of her teeth (including my grandfather). This is why she spent the rest of her life making up moral tales that always involved teeth. She never trusted people that didn’t take care of their teeth. She always said that a day that begins with a good tooth brushing session is bound to turn out to be a great day (if it didn’t, the tooth brushing was not to blame - even if it made you late). My grandmother liked Leila because Leila had a beautiful smile and her teeth were whiter than white.

After that little lecture from my grandmother, I didn’t mind it when the rest of my family teased me about Leila. Even the K.I.S.S.I.N.G didn’t matter anymore. Because I knew that regardless of how things turned out between me and Leila, at least we both would have taken great care of our teeth.
My grandmother finished her lecture, as she always did, with an envious curse: a plaque on both your mouths.

Good Boy, Bad Boy!

2005-06-24T05:53:00.000Z

When I was an infant, whenever I did anything good my mother would praise me and tell me what a good boy I was. She didn’t really spoil me, or ignore me. My mother was just right. Her friends, the neighbours, aunts, relatives and even passers by are the ones that spoilt me. If I eat my food they would all whoop and holler at the achievement of the good boy; “he licked his plate clean, isn’t he the most adorable and perfect boy?” They would all yell!

Whenever I did anything wrong my father would reprimand me and tell me what a naughty boy I was. He didn’t really treat me badly. My father was just right. His friends, the neighbours, aunts, relatives and even passers by are the ones that turned me into the nervous wreck that I am today. If I kicked a ball, they would all scream and shout at the actions of the naughty boy! “He almost broke a window, have you ever met a naughtier boy?” They would all cry!

This praise and telling off followed me around for years. As an infant, all these people limited my movement with their praise and rebuke. I could hardly do a thing without being told that I was a good boy or a naughty boy. Sometimes they were not even sure if I was good or bad; some would praise me and others would tell me off at exactly the same time and for exactly the same act! They had me on a tight noose, if I went left they would scream and shout, and if I went right, they would whoop and holler.

With time and the advancing of years, what I thought was a noose turned out to be a long thread! I was being mummified alive! Now, they didn’t praise me openly, they gave me contented looks. They paid me compliments and did me favours if they saw that I was a good boy. On the other hand, when I was a naughty boy, they would stop speaking to me, threaten me with violence or withdraw favours! The noose that was really a thread was being woven into a big shirt of morality! Now when I look back to my school years, I only remember the teachers who were in on this parental conspiracy. All the teachers I remember have contributed into the making of this shirt. Those that I can not remember, probably never noticed I even existed.

Last night, after getting off the bus on my way back from work, I decided not to rush home. Instead, I thought I would savour the unusual hot weather and go for a stroll. As I leisurely walked around and daydreamt about computer experts and their strange habit of giving their inventions the weirdest of names, I noticed that the guy in front of me had has wallet hanging out of his back pocket! I carried on daydreaming about Mice, Cookies and Rams.

I drifted from Apple Macs to Big Macs, from Bytes to Bites, from windows to offices! I then noticed that the guy in front of me had no wallet in his back pocket! I wondered if he dropped it. What if he had all his life savings there? I could have prevented this loss from taking place; I could have been a good boy!

I stopped and looked at the floor, I looked behind me and retraced my steps. I found no wallet. The man was disappearing in the distance. He lost his wallet and he didn’t even know it! I ran after him and started calling. He finally saw me and stopped. When I reached him, I was out of breath. I quickly asked him if he had his wallet on him. He looked worried and took a couple of steps backwards! I put my arms up to show him that I’m a peaceful man and mean him no harm. He misunderstood my gesture and took a couple more steps backwards. I put my arms behind my back hoping that this time he’ll see that I’m not mugger or troublemaker. He panicked and started shouting “what’s that in your hand, what’s that in your hand?”

This man was a coward. There was no way I could reason with him. If I showed him my hands, he panicked, and if hid my hands he screamed. I finally took two steps back and told him that if he promised to stay where he is, I’ll retreat to a distance where my arms can’t reach him. He stood there looking at me with his cowardly wide eyes without indicating agreement or rejection of my suggestion! I decided that silence was a better response than panic, and started backing off slowly.

As I did this, I started asking him if he was ready to hear what I had to say. He said yes and instinctively took a step backwards. That was not part of our deal! I told him so, loudly. He was startled and took another step back. I was getting fed up of this entire game. I told him so. He stared at me but didn’t reply. I stared back at him and saw that he was ready to jump back at the slightest movement from my side. I smiled. He looked confused but didn’t smile back at me. We needed to solve this standoff.

I finally told him that I would turn my face to the wall and have my hands up (like in police searches on TV). I told him that all he had to do was to listen to what I had to say, he didn’t even need to search me. He kept on staring at me idiotically. When I pressed him for an answer, he nodded his agreement. I turned my face towards the wall and told him the story of his wallet and how the Apple Macs and Big Macs distracted me from telling him earlier and preventing this whole tragedy from taking place.

I was half way through my story when I heard a young child’s voice shout “ the man you were talking to just legged it”! I quickly looked around and saw him running into the distance. He was a coward and a liar! I gave chase but he had too much of a head start on me. I stopped.

Had the approvers and accusers of my yesteryears left me alone to find my way in the world without all their praise and condemnations, I probably would not have lost to that lying coward and turned what promised to be a lovely and hot night into a stuffy and miserable one!

Job Interview

2005-06-21T05:47:00.000Z

Every once in a while, life gets tedious and one has to find a way to inject some excitement into the dreary thing. A couple of months ago I did just that. I applied for a new job!

I received a very long letter back. It had information about the multinational company that I applied to, short description of the job and details on the interview procedure. They wanted me to be at their office at 9.00 am on the day of the interview and they gave me a nice colour-coded map with all the directions I needed.

I kept the whole thing a secret from everyone I knew. I wanted to enjoy the naughtiness of it all. So, when the day of the interview arrived, I woke up very early and made sure that I was wearing my best suit and that my shoes were very shiny. I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered how any prospective employer could resist hiring such an imposing lion!

I got to the place ten minutes early and was ushered by the receptionist into a crowded boardroom. I panicked! I came here expecting to give an interview, not a damn lecture. I kept reminding myself of the power of first impressions until I managed to calm down. I flashed a generous smile at everyone in the room and made sure that I had eye contact with every single one of them. Some smiled back while others acted as if they didn’t notice me! Do these people think they’re dealing with an amateur? Good cop, bad cop is such an outdated style.

I humbly waited for someone to ask me to sit but was ignored by all. Aha! They must be testing my ability to cope with difficult situations, I thought. I patiently stood there with the same kind smile on my face. Ignore me all you like, I thought. The smile stayed, the confident posture remained and the eye contact was constant. Finally, I managed to break a way through their ranks. A pretty blonde asked me to sit next to her. They’re sacrificing their pawns first, I thought.

I decided to survey the room again and guess who the leader of this pack is. There were at least 8 people in the room, five were men and three were women. The women all looked pretty and very friendly, their vote was guaranteed. Of the men, three were ordinary looking and harmless, one looked dodgy and the final one was a giant of a man. I decided that the giant, who also had funny looking eyes, was the leader of this group of people. I decided to sneak subtle praise words about tall people when the interview really starts.

The receptionist walked in and asked us to all follow her into another room! Everyone got up and followed her, so I did too. She took us into a room that was set up like a test centre! I let the rest of the crowd go in first and quickly asked her what was going on! She told me that this part of the interview was the test part and that we’ll later be individually interviewed! INDIVIDUALLY?

I let my autopilot deal with the test while I kept myself busy with more important issues. The giant and his flock were not my interviewers; they were the competition! I decided that only the pretty helpful blonde shall be saved, the rest were doomed. I decided to have another look at all of them and note their weaknesses. The giant was the easiest of the lot. I berated myself for thinking him the leader of that gang. I decided to stick with my original plan regarding tall people. When my interview starts, I was going to wait for one of those open questions about strengths and weaknesses, then I’d talk about the importance of an average person and how giants are not suitable for many jobs in this world. I felt guilty for a second but then reminded myself of the nature of interviews; the job is open for only one candidate. This candidate has to be the best. I didn’t feel guilty anymore.

When the test was finished, we were all presented with refreshments and given time to calm our nerves. Like a lion surveying a herd of wildebeests, I stood apart from the group and daydreamed about the smell of gardens after an exceptionally heavy night of rainfall. I closed my eyes and pretended to be highlander after he’s killed one of his many opponents. The imaginary thunder and lightning added to the real presence of that garden smell. I happily inhaled it all in.

Someone called my name. I opened my eyes to see that everyone in the room was staring at me! How did they all know that was me? I looked around the room to see who was calling my name. It was the receptionist again. She told me that the interviewers were ready to receive me now and asked me to follow her. She was a short lady with short hands and short legs and short hair. She took very short steps as she walked ahead of me. I had to shorten my own steps and adjust my pace just so I don’t walk into her. A few seconds later, we finally trotted to a closed door. She knocked and walked in, I followed her. The room had a big table in the middle of it that was surrounded by about eight chairs. On the right hand side of the table, stood three people who seemed to have just broken off from a huddle! One of them was a man; the other two were women. One of the women greeted me and invited me to sit. She was very slim. She had brown hair; brown eyes and was smartly dressed in a brown suit! Looking at her, I remembered how nice brand new pencils looked. The man was dressed in a charcoal grey suit. He had very pale skin and dark black hair. He had a Buzzlightyear sort of jaw! Sitting next to the pencil lady with his dark suit, pale skin and huge jaw made him look like a giant rubber! To his left, sat the second lady. She looked like the motherly type. She had a round face, round hands, round body and best of all; she had mesmerising round eyes; they smiled at me and I almost fainted with gratitude.

They all looked at each other and then asked the round lady to begin the interview. She started by giving me a short summary of the job on offer and a brief outline of the company. Before the round lady could finish her introduction, the pencil jumped in and asked what makes me think I would be successful with their company! I looked her straight in the face and told her that though her choice for her first question wasn’t the most welcoming of choices, I will nevertheless supply her with an adequate reply that will bring her round to my way of thinking (I was trying to buy myself some time while I thought for an answer). I eventually waffled about the company’s history, competition, clients and work ethic. I humbly told them that my skills and experiences were compatible with the company’s style, while my posture and body language hinted at much more. Both messages hit their targets and I noticed a sudden change in the way they looked at me. They were awed by my genius.

We casually moved on from question to question. The more questions I answered the more I grew in stature and the more impressed they were. Interviews were supposed to be daunting experiences and there I was, juggling a pencil, a rubber and round lady with pretty eyes, in the air! It seems that the pencil was envious of the way I looked at the round lady. She fired another silly question at me! As a member of a team, would role do you play? She asked! I did not reply straight away. I gazed at her again and left her in no doubt as to my role in any team. However, seeing that there were two other people in the room, I had to go through the motions and put that look (for their benefit) into words.

It was my turn to ask inconsequential questions, which I duly did with pretend excitement and just the right amount of interest. They were falling over themselves trying to impress me with their replies. I sat back benignly smiling and knowing that this job is mine. They thanked me for coming; I thanked them for having me and we concluded the interview there and then.

A week later, I received a letter from them informing me that due to circumstances beyond their control, they regret to inform me that I was not selected for the job! I knew it was a great mistake to supply the name of my current boss as one of my referees. Indispensable, indispensable must have been the words he uttered to himself as he wrote the reference letter telling them how useless I was.

Autopilot!

2005-06-20T22:41:00.000Z

In life, many people pass their time mostly going on autopilot! When driving, you go through the gear sequences without even realising or noticing! When shaving, you bring the razor to your face and shave away with no fear at all! When running, you run as fast as you can without worrying about falling (though some people might hold on to their pockets, or chests if you’re female, as they run). People climb high buildings, cross busy roads and get on big metal airplanes that fly in the sky! It’s all done on autopilot (not the plane, though that too, I’m told, can go on autopilot). The first time any of us performed any of these activities we were all focused and paying attention. A razor can cause cuts, not getting the gear sequence right might result in you driving into a wall that is part of an infants’ school and injuring the lot of them, badly (or so the worry was back then). The first time you tried to run, like everyone else before you and after you, you fell on your backside and it hurt like hell. Likewise when you climbed a high place.

When we try a task once and work out a way of achieving it, we put it in a compartment in our memory where Autopilot can access it and get on with running our lives. Even thinking has an Autopilot. The Earth is round, drinking bleach might kill you, carrots are good for your eyesight and spinach, whilst it might not turn you into Popeye the sailor man, will still make you healthy and strong. For most of us, the memory compartments only contain the instructions and not the detail. If all these things were true the first time round, there is no need to know why they were true and how. All that’s needed is to have the confidence that such things are true. Autopilot comes with confidence.

I am a confident man. The other day, during my lunch hour, I was walking to the local sandwich shop to purchase my lunch. As I walked past this empty phone box, the phone started ringing! I looked around to see if anyone was going to pick it up but there was nobody near the phone. I wondered if the phone call was for me! I shook that idea out of my head. It came back again! What if my friends (or family) knew that I was walking past that phone box right there and then? After all, I am a superstitious man of habit!

I quickly ran to the phone box and opened the door. I glanced around me to see if anyone else was about but saw nobody. The phone was still ringing. Maybe it was an emergency! I picked up the receiver and slowly brought it closer to my ear. There was no sound! I blew into the receiver. I heard a faint crackle on the other side! I blew again. Nothing happened! I whistled the first few bars from Stevie Wonder’s famous eighties song. Whoever was on the other side must have liked that song; they whistled the second part of the song! I wanted to ask them if they were into eighties music and was just about to mention that song with the guy singing HELLO to the blind woman who ended up sculpting an exact likeness of his face even though she never saw him (because she’s blind) or got to touch his face! I stopped myself. They’re the ones that called and Autopilot says they have to speak first.

An interesting silence followed for a few more seconds. I could hear their muffled breathing on the other side. I deliberately started breathing heavily. The HELLO song was still playing in my head; once autopilot retrieves something it’s hard to send it back. My breathing started to sound like the HELLO song! Huh-Ho Ha-Ha Haa Huh Hooo. I stopped right there and waited. Again, they replied with the second part of the song. She didn’t know it at the time, but from her breathing and the way she did that song out of tune, I knew that the person on the other side of the phone was a woman. Rarely do men attempt to sing when they know they can’t. Women on the other hand, all think they’re the best singers in the world. That’s an autopilot truth.

I was about to start breathing down the phone again when I noticed a man walking past! What if he saw me breathing down the phone and his autopilot told him that I’m a stalker? He gave me a funny look but carried on walking. I had to hurry this thing up and disappear before he returned with a legion of armed police officers. Sometimes circumstances necessitate the overruling of autopilot, which is exactly what I did as I nervously uttered the word HELLO! She didn’t reply. I said HELLO again. I heard her clear her throat. I said, are you there? I heard someone say, who is this?

Autopilot encouraged caution. She was a stranger and there was no real need to give her my real name. A passer-by, I said. A passer by? She said! Yes, I said.
I don’t understand, she said. Who are you? I said. She was silent for a couple of seconds then I heard her attempting to suppress a giggle. Hello? I said. Hello, she said. Who did you say you were, I said. A Caller, she said! Very clever, I thought. How can I help you, I said. Why would you want to help me? She said! Damn autopilot, I thought.

This was a new experience for me. Autopilot was playing up and I had to face the world all on my own! Before I even did that, I had to deal with this woman on the other side of the phone! When I used to smoke, I could blow great smoke rings. Can you blow smoke rings? I said. She started giggling again. I used to be able to do the splits, I said. She giggled some more. What style hair do you have? I said. Pigtails, she said giggling. Nice, I said. She didn’t thank me!

An old woman was standing outside the phone box. I smiled at her but she ignored me! I got back on the phone and said, I got to go now; someone needs the phone. Who? She said. An old lady, I said. What old lady? She said. The one outside this phone box, I said. So this is a phone box? She said. Yes it is, I said.
Were you expecting a call? She said. No, I was passing by when you called, I said. Do you always answer phones that ring, she said. Only my own or empty phone boxes, I said. Do you always phone empty phone boxes? I said. Yes, she said. Why? I said. It’s my job, she said. Your job? I said. Yes, she said.
What a strange job, I said. Indeed, she said. The old lady is getting restless, I said. I can imagine, she said. It was nice talking to you, I said. You too, she said.
Will you be phoning this number again? I said. Maybe, she said. If you phone again, will you like me to pick it up? I said. That’ll be very nice, she said.
Ok, I said. Take care, she said.

I hung up the phone and walked out. As the old woman was trying to walk into the phone box, I shook my head at her and told her that the phone was faulty. There is a note on the phone now with the words “out of order”. Just like my autopilot.

Lies

2005-06-14T10:41:00.000Z

When you’re young you tell yourself so many lies that they eventually become facts with the repetition. Girls with tiny ears are easier to chat up than medium-eared or big-eared girls! Parents, governments and schools pick on you out of jealousy! Lions can be tamed if you’re quick enough to get them in a headlock before they bounce on you! Obviously with the lion bit, one will have to keep them in that headlock for quite a time before they finally submit – the length of time depends on the lion’s will really.

The list of lies is endless. As you grow up though, you start shedding these lies as fast as a bald man sheds hair! Still, there are some lies that are very hard to dislodge from one’s mind. Some, even though blatantly obvious, are so fascinatingly ingenious that you refuse to admit they’re lies. One such lie was told to me by a school friend when I was eleven years of age. It concerned King Arthur’s sword and how that when he took it out of that rock (or was it a stone) it wasn’t really that he was a chosen one or anything. Apparently, the reason all those other guys could not take the sword out was because they did no have the correct pin number – Arthur used his Barclays card!

Another great lie of my youth was the one about curly hair! Not ordinary curly hair, Michael Jackson curly hair! Back then, most of my school friends used to pour Coca-Cola on their heads to make their hair curly. When the Coke dried up, it kept the curls in place. Everyone swore that Michael Jackson used to use that exact trick on his own hair!

My life, like the lives of all young people, was one big lie. Even when I grew up and became an adult, that too was a lie! It was a gradual lie of course. It started with people telling me that I was sixteen years old and that I should start acting my age! The sixteen became eighteen, the eighteen became twenty-one and people were still telling me to act my age. Not once during all that time did I know how one was supposed to act when they were sixteen, eighteen or twenty-one! Ok I did, but only when looking backwards; at eighteen I was telling all those sixteen year olds to act their age.

This week, the lies of my youth caught up with me. I was watching the news with my wife the other day. My wife is ten years younger than me. Her childhood was all about Ninja Turtles (how silly), Power Rangers (how dull) and Take That (how sickening)! The news headlines had an item about Michael Jackson (again), Mike Tyson and Bob Geldof! She started asking me questions about each and every one of them. I told her that Michael Jackson was one of the greatest singers ever. She said that he was not great anymore! I told her that Mike Tyson was the fiercest fighter ever. She said that he was not fierce anymore! She asked about Geldof but I knew she only wanted to hear my opinion and then say something to put it down, so I did not reply. She said that at least Geldof was the same as he always was. I disagreed! Five minutes earlier, I probably would have agreed with that statement. Five minutes earlier, that statement would have probably come out of my own mouth. But, that was five minutes earlier. This was now and this Ninja Turtle loving woman was trying to challenge my knowledge of the icons of my youth! She noticed the look in my face and had a silent giggle. I ignored her. She was still smiling as she told me that I was being unreasonable and that I should not get defensive over suspect singers, washed up boxers and Geldof! Something deep inside told me that I wasn’t acting my age as I blurted out the words “ yeah well, you know nothing about these guys so why don’t you stick to talking about your Power Rangers and Michael Bolton?”

I used to think that my youth was great. I thought Michael and Mike were great. I thought Liverpool’s European cup glories were great. I even thought Geldof was great. Now Michael has become a disgrace, Mike keeps getting knocked out and Geldof has become a politician! Even Liverpool is saying this latest cup win is the greatest in its history! Life is really one big lie and unless you’re inspector gadget I wouldn’t recommend that you ever try getting a lion in a headlock. What’s more, I’m married to a big-eared woman.

Leader of the Gang!

2005-06-10T13:29:00.000Z

Top shop, M & S, Boots and even Matalan always play music in the background as you go about doing your shopping. I’m not sure if any of the millions of shoppers that frequent these shops appreciate this. I’m sure that most of them value the music though. After all, most of the songs being played are current chart topping hits. It’s even possible that such background music plays a part in making up shoppers minds about visiting the next-door music store!

Last week, while strolling along the high street, I decided to walk into one of these shops (not the music store). To my surprise, the background music was not current chart toppers; it was the Greece Mega mix! That film, and its soundtrack, always irritated me. In the movie, Danny was a member of some sort of a gang! He was supposed to be the cool guy in the gang. The hardest, wittiest, wisest and cleverest of the whole group! Anyone who watched that film will agree that he looked like nothing of the above. That movie was an insult to gangs the world over. Even the YMCA singing group looked more of a gang than John Travolta and his T-Birds!

When I was a kid, I never belonged to any gangs. My school had an infinite number of gangs that I got on well with. Each area in my city had its very own gang. The leaders of these gangs were well known amongst the kids all over the city. The meanest one of the lot was a guy called The Wolf! He was a few years older than me. I was about seven years old when I first heard about him though it was another ten years before I got to meet him! Everyone feared the Wolf. Adults, when talking about wayward children and trying to dissuade one from being naughty, would shout, “do you want to end up like the Wolf?” They were warning us, but most kids noted how even the grownups had so much respect for this guy that they called him by his nickname! Back then; there was a popular urban myth about this name of his. Rumour has it that this guy fought and killed a wolf with his own bare hands. These were the stories we told each other as seven year olds.

The Wolf got arrested and was sentenced to ten years in prison. The meanest, strongest and most vicious gang in the city was no more. Suddenly, all the other gangs started fighting each other and trying to take up the title of the main gang in town. These gangs consisted of children and young men. One of them even had a 21-year-old man as a member!

None of these gangs had any official rules but everyone still followed the rules! When fighting, there was to be no biting, pulling of hair, punching in the face, stabbing or shooting. The use of weapons was limited to baseball bats and sticks. Members were forbidden from hitting anyone on the head or anywhere near the face. If the police interfered, members of both gangs were required to stop fighting amongst themselves and channel all their energy into fighting the police. This is why the police rarely got involved in gang fights between seven year olds!

When I was seventeen years old, I went to visit a friend who was a member of a gang. His gang consisted of fifteen current members and over a hundred absent ones that can be summoned within hours. We were playing a game of football against a team from another area (belonging to another gang). The other team were better players and they taught us a lesson on how to play football. My friend’s gang felt insulted and thought it rude that this team would dare to beat their hosts so convincingly. They convinced themselves that the other team was out to purposely humiliate them! I could see fists being clenched and unclenched. I could see faces starting to scowl. I could see them all looking at my friend and awaiting a signal! I was a bespectacled seventeen year old and therefore, the unwritten rules stated that my type should never be attacked first. I had no desire to take part in this unnecessary fight. However, as soon as my friend kicked the captain of the other team in the belly, I too was already being kicked and slapped around. I fought back heroically and, though the memory is slightly vague, I think I won the fight for the gang (a gang I didn’t even belong to).

The next day, I received a phone call from this friend of mine. The team that we beat (literally beat) came from the area that the Wolf used to control. The news all over town was that the Wolf was coming out of prison in the next day! It was time to emigrate.

My friend and his gang, like myself, grow up in awe of this Wolf person. Nobody even considered fighting back. They were all thinking of a way to get out of this problem. We were all a bunch of unemployed kids, so money was out of the question. The gang finally agreed that the Wolf should decide the kind of compensation that will satisfy him and his gang! They also decided to send an emissary to the Wolf offering him this compromise! Of course, no member of that gang wanted to be the one facing the Wolf. They argued for a while and talked about the merits of each candidate; X is a good speaker, Y has presence, Z is the leader of the gang! Somebody mentioned that I was not technically a member of their gang and that I should, as a neutral, be the one conveying the news to the Wolf! I tried to refuse but each and every member of the gang, at the same time, and using the same method of persuasion, convinced me that there was really no other choice but to face the Wolf.

The following day, the entire gang accompanied me to the border of the Wolf’s neighbourhood and gently prodded me forward. I didn’t know what the Wolf looked like. Didn’t know what to expect and didn’t know if I ever was going to leave this neighbourhood in one piece.

A little boy on a bike kept circling round me and asking me if I just moved into the neighbourhood. I told him that I didn’t live in that neighbourhood and that I only came to meet the Wolf. The boy was startled. He offered to show me where I can find the Wolf if I promise to mention his help when I met the great man! I agreed.

On the way there, the kid would shout to other kids “ He’s going to meet the Wolf and I’m showing him the way”! Like a pied piper, I came over the horizon with rats on bikes following me and being excited about meeting the newly released Wolf! The location was not much different from the headquarters of any gang in the city. All gangs were based in the local football field and all had built a wooden shed as their headquarters. Most really wanted to have a tree house as their base but football pitches have no trees!

There were a group of about six guys sitting outside the shed as we approached. One got up and came running over to us. Seeing me followed by all these kids on bikes (there were at least twenty of the little rascals by now), he assumed we were here for a fight! He asked what the problem was and if it could be resolved peacefully! He said that if we insist on fighting we should at least postpone the whole thing for a month. This meek attitude of his gave me courage. I told him that I wanted to speak to the Wolf, alone. He ran back and started talking to one of the guys. A few seconds later, he came back and said that the Wolf will talk to me but first, I’ll have to tell my gang on bikes not to cross the line he’s going to draw on the sand! The whole thing was very business like and I felt out of my depth.

The Wolf got up and beckoned me to the side of the hut. He was carrying two chairs in his hands. I told my group of kids to wait for me and walked forward to meet THE WOLF! He was in his early twenties. Had a handsome face, softly spoken voice and very serious eyes. I had both my hands on the side of my chair as I spoke to him. I was very excited about finally meeting THE WOLF and feared floating out of my chair with such excitement. He was very friendly and interesting. He spoke about prison, gangs, fights, education, life and even the weather! It’s a well-known fact that when another person speaks to you about the weather this person values your opinions and wants to be your friend. After advising me about my life and how serious it is to decide what needs to be done in the future, now, he finally asked me what was it that I wanted from him. I diplomatically told him what the problem was and volunteered no opinions of my own. He thought about the whole thing for a few seconds and then asked, “are they still waiting for you at the border of the neighbourhood?” I nodded. He got up and said that we’ll go to meet them now and sort out this minor problem.

I was walking, side-by-side, with THE WOLF! We were followed by his five friends and all the kids on the bikes too. Other people joined us as we got nearer and nearer to the edge of the neighbourhood. When my friend and his gang, who were loitering on the edge and waiting for news from me, saw us, they started scrambling over each other and ran off! Later, the Wolf told me that he was not going to fight them. He planned to lecture them on life and tell them to stop these meaningless fights! I was in awe of this guy who spent ten years in prison. I still am. When I hear John Travolta singing about his Greece lighting I feel insulted. I didn’t buy anything from the shop.

Advice!

2005-06-07T00:37:00.000Z

Films, drama, novels and even cartoons play havoc with our minds. They present us with situations and scenarios that become our reference points on anything that we do in life. I now know what to do if I was stuck in a desert island; I wouldn’t call the ball Wilson but I’d probably copy everything else Tom Hanks did in his film about being washed up on some island. I know not to annoy the mafia. I know that, in sport, it’s the taking part that really counts but that if I really tried I’m going to prevail! My experience in dealing with aliens is awesome. Even when it comes to sex and how it should be done I now, shamefully, know what goes where, when, how and at what angle!

Last month, I received an e-mail from an old female friend of mine. It was a pleasant e-mail telling me all her news and all the developments in her life in the past five years. I instantly replied and updated her on my own news and life. The following day, I received another friendly e-mail! Again, I replied. The day after, I received another e-mail but this time she asked for my phone number. This was/ is not a story about love, attraction or lust. I knew she was not interested in me and I never viewed her in that way. Well, maybe never is a strong word - I didn’t view her in that way, not often anyway.

We spoke on the phone and I was genuinely happy to hear her voice after all that time. She too was happy to hear my voice. In fact, she was so happy she developed a habit of calling me three times a day. At first, the calls were gossipy, pleasant and chatty. However, after what she deemed to be an acceptable period of time, she started sharing her problems with me! I had to advice her on everything. The problems she initially had were not that serious. She complained about people at work that she didn’t get on with and how they’re making life hell for her. I advised her to seek a new job. Most mortals would read that and think, I could have thought of this! But, could you have delivered the thought as masterfully and delicately as I have?

Everyday was a crisis and I had to come to the rescue! I was her hero, her rock and she would not have known what to do if I was not there! Now, I would like to believe that I’m a helpful person and that I’d go out of my way to make other people’s lives comfortable. I’ve also grown increasingly convinced of my superhero traits. In addition, as long as I watch TV and read novels, I also know that I’m not likely to ever be lost for words when it comes to dispensing advice. Of course, I would never be so common or vulgar as to use obvious cliches like those found in Bridget Jones Diaries and the like! Still, this girl was starting to get on my super nerves. I had to give her one of my legendary lectures. I don’t have the time or space to recount my words here, but they included bits from Rocky, Rambo, Predator, Enter The Dragon, Home & Away and a very touching moment from Laurel and Hardy. She told me that she got the message and that she will try to stand on her own feet from now on. She thanked me for all my help and promised to be in touch! I have not spoken to her for a full week!

Naturally, I got worried and wondered if she’s done something silly to herself. I later reminded myself that only girls in love with me contemplate suicide, this one was not in love with me, I think. The feeling was not sudden or immediate. I suspect that it was building up inside me from the first time she discussed one of her problems with me! However, now it was a real complete feeling. I was worried that someone else was now her adviser and that this someone else might be mistakenly deemed better than me! How could she do this to me? How could I do this to myself? How could I do this to her? Could she recover from such a damaging experience?

Yesterday, I phoned her! She seemed very distant and cold on the phone. She gave me one word replies and acted restless. I told her to forget about my lecture and that we should pretend that it never took place. She quietly chuckled (triumphantly perhaps) and told me that it was all forgotten. I asked her if there was anything she wanted advice on. I told her not to be shy and that as her friend it was my duty to do all I can to help. She lied and said that she had no problems that she needed to discuss with me! I hung up the phone and wondered if it was over between us. Now, I was convinced that she found someone else!

I’m going to phone her later today. I’m not going to mince my words anymore. I’ll tell her that there is no point in being friends if she cheats on me. I’ll politely ask her to reveal the identity of her secret adviser! If she agrees to tell me his (or her) name and give me a sample of some of the advice he (she) gave her then our friendship will continue. If she refuses! I don’t know what I’ll do if she refuses. I don’t think she will refuse. My powers of persuasion are legendary. Plus, I could always bug her phone.....

Straight walking!

2005-04-24T19:33:00.000Z

Sometimes, the oddest people in the world draw one’s attention to habits, traits and mannerisms that one had had for ever but never noticed. Mine was about the way I tend to bounce when I walk!

I was at home, as usual, watching TV and trying not to have a conversation with me wife. She wanted to tell me about a friend of hers who asked for a divorce because she got bored with her husband! Though I was enjoying my TV show; I knew I had to at least pretend to be interested in such a grave subject.

I wondered if there was a moral to this story or if it was just the usual gossip. I really could not take any risks here, so I decided to keep her sweet and offer to make her a cup of tea! Surely nobody could ever get bored of having their own, personal and smiley tea maker!

As I walked to the kitchen to make the tea, I managed to kick a toy that was lying in the floor. Now, normally, if I kicked anything, I’d usually kick it a few feet away. This time however, I managed to kick this toy up in the air and break the light bulb in the ceiling!

My wife screeched “what did you do that for?”
It was an accident, I said. She started muttering to herself. I stopped trying to clear the bits of broken glass and asked her what was her problem! You’re my problem, she said.

Some people, are amazingly slow and naive, but not I. I don’t waste time playing games, thrusting and parrying or tying myself in knots. I get to the point straight away. I said to her “is this your way of telling me that you’re bored and you want a divorce?”
Her eyes almost popped out and she looked like she was having a panic attack! Was it all an act, I wondered?

She told me that not only was I clumsy in the way I walked, I, allegedly, am also clumsy in the way I think! I disagreed of course and was shaking my head very vigorously as she continued on telling me off and explaining her reasoning. You’ve always been clumsy, she said. Remember the time you stood on that child’s foot when we were in the supermarket? Remember the time you kicked that rubbish bin when we were in the library? She continued to cite another half dozen examples, and with every example the shaking of my head decreased until I was finally standing there, very still and thoughtful! I’m clumsy, I thought. She is right!

I decided to find a cure for this clumsiness. But first, I had to win this argument. I let her go on for another ten minutes while I thought of a way to fix my problem. I got an idea! (I really would have said that a light bulb had illuminated above my head, but since I already broke the silly thing, there was no need to remind myself of my clumsiness). I decided to tell her that she was WRONG then storm out of the house. This, despite my newly diagnosed clumsiness, would allow me to catch two birds with one stone. On the one hand, my storming out would win me the argument. While on the other, being outside the house would allow me to practise a new safer walk. One that is not clumsy.

My plan was executed to perfection. There I was, slowly storming out of the house and hearing the last few words that she was shouting. Her voice was resigned and had a sad hint of defeat in it that I almost stormed back in and gave her a hug. She was shouting “you’re a mad and clumsy man, mad and clumsy”. I knew I could not go back in or I would lose this argument. It was tunnel vision all the way; the wife is already beaten and now I needed to conquer my other problem.

I was out in the street now. I stood in front of the house thinking of what I should do next. I looked at the street ahead, looked at my feet and decided to try my new walk. I looked at the street ahead once more and a cowboy tune started playing in my head. No, it was not the Lone Ranger. It was the tune of the man with no name. In fact, it was a remix of the tune; there was a hip-hop beat accompanying it! I decided to push my chest out, lift my head up, have my arms by my side and march to the beat. In no time at all, I was bouncing away down the street. A bit of arrogance started to seep through me. I was enjoying that walk and thought to myself that no living human could stand in my way if they saw me walking in such a graceful and manly style. Alas, there was nobody there to revere my walk.

I was not troubled by the lack of spectators. I knew they’d soon appear. I carried on walking my royal walk and dropping my shoulders to the silent beat. I noticed a pair of eyes staring at me! There were no people anywhere but I could still feel the eyes! I panicked! Could it really be that my walk was far too powerful for the poor people? Could they all be hiding in their houses and looking at me through their curtains?

I stopped walking and stood looking around at all the windows of all the houses. I could still feel someone looking at me but couldn’t work out where they were. This was very frustrating! Maybe I should call out to them; maybe I should pretend not to notice; maybe I should just walk back home!

I finally caught the culprit. It was a cat! I almost laughed at my silliness. This was nothing but a stray cat. I chuckled loudly and was ready to walk away. But this cat was still staring at me. I looked it straight in the eyes but that didn’t phase her. This weird animal was looking right through me. It was as if she knew that I was a fake! I felt guilty and wanted to explain. I then decided that there was no point attempting to explain anything to a cat, I don’t speak cat language anyway. I decided instead to confess all by merely nodding my head at the cat. This animal was out to humiliate me! Nodding my head was not enough for her. She wanted me to get down on my knees, confess that my walk was not real and even tell her that I’m really a clumsy man! I wanted to rebel and throw a shoe at her, but those hypnotising eyes told me that no matter what I did she knew my secret.

I walked away but the cat was still looking at me. I couldn’t walk away! I had to come back and beg her forgiveness and understanding. I still could not speak cat language. I smiled at her and shrugged. It made no difference to the expression on her face! She was looking at me as if I was lower than the lowliest mouse! That cat didn’t think much of me. I told myself that it was only a cat, a pet, and an unthinking animal. Her eyes though, were not those of a simple cat, pet or unthinking animal. Her eyes though looking up at me, because of the natural difference in size, were really, looking down at me! I was reduced to the size of a street cat and she took on the size of the lion that used to be me!

I wanted to walk away but she will not let me. I wanted to look away but she wont let me. I didn’t know what to do! I was pathetically standing there and my whole body was pleading with this cat to let me go. I almost promised her that I’ll be a good boy and would never fake anything again as long as I lived. I was ready to make as many promises as she would ask me to make. I finally shouted “what do you want from me?”. I heard someone say “ are you ok, mate?” I panicked, turned around and jumped backwards. The man, who asked me that question looked shocked, shrugged and walked away! I quickly turned around again, feeling guilty and worrying what trouble turning my back on this judgmental cat would get me in! The cat got startled and ran away!

Ha! This cat was a fake after all, no wonder we had a connection.

Slavery

2005-04-20T04:34:00.000Z

Last night, while sitting at home and flicking through the various TV channels, I saw a black and white movie. It was one of those films about American southern plantations, but it was not Gone With The Wind.white movie. It was one of those films about American southern plantations, but it was not Gone With The Wind.

I sat watching it for a bit and thinking if the actresses back then were really that good looking or if the black and white quality of the movie was what made them look good. It obviously was the quality of the filming, I thought. There was no zits, uneven skin colours or signs of abuse of skin bleaching products! Surely they had all of these things back then?

As I was thinking of skin colours, the scene moved to slaves working in the plantation. A shiver ran through my body. There are sometimes when I hate myself for being distracted and wandering off the point. This was one of those times.

I saw myself in that field, in the middle of the afternoon, digging a hole and singing Bob Marley’s Buffalo Soldier (No, I’m not. I’m as bald as a frog). Every muscle in my body was showing and the perspiration gave me a glorious glow that even the diet coke ladies would have been impressed with.

Some white guy on a horse came trotting by and I winced. He must be the devil I read about in all those history books. I looked around me for an empty bottle, a stick, a baseball bat or anything that I could use as a weapon. This horse-riding devil was not going to whip me like all the guys I read about and all the scenes I’ve seen in movies. I assumed a defensive posture (about the only thing I’ve perfected in my Kung-Fu lessons). He trotted right past me!

Some unusual malfunction occurred in my mind and it decided, with no input from me whatsoever, that I’m too good for a field slave. It moved me to the big house instead. I was going to have some privileges now. My naked feet had some brand new Nikes on them. I’ve gone up in the world and was in the BIG HOUSE. I was going to go to the kitchen and eat as many sweet potatoes as my body could handle (you never know when I might get sent back to the field again).

I had another malfunction! This time, the message from upstairs was that I should run away. I panicked. Running away was no small matter. I’m not fond of running away. I remembered the time when I was twelve years old. I had an argument with my parents and decided to run away. That time, I walked the streets for a few hours then went back home when I got hungry. I tried to reason with upstairs; if I couldn’t run away as a free twelve year old, how could it do it as a legal slave?

I ran away. I heard dogs barking in the background. The chase is on! I felt sorry for foxes. I ran and ran for hours. Suddenly, it was dark and I was sitting under a tree eating the remains of a cheese sandwich (it was really a ploughman’s lunch). As I was eating my sandwich, I sat thinking of home. How am I going to get back there? Where is home? When I get back there, will my people welcome me?

I decided that they probably would not welcome me. They’ll either think that I’m a ghost, having given up on me being a live long ago. Or, they’ll think that I only came back to snatch more children. Besides, they wouldn’t know what a ploughman’s lunch is anyway! Going back home was not an option. Like a lion in a zoo, I just had to find me a corner in this enclosure and make it my own.

I started thinking if I were the only run-away slave out there. Surely there are others! I decided to find them, form an army and finally fight back the foxhunters. I heard the march of the Romans. All is not lost after all! I’m not alone in these woods. Good old Spartacus is in the vicinity. Oh we’re going to teach the Romans a lesson, and when were finished, I’ll ask him to help me with the foxhunters. I stopped thinking! Kirk Douglas is white and blue eyed, and I’m pretty certain that he did some slave movies in the past. He’s not going to help me against the foxhunters! I’m doomed!

I slowly shuffled back to the field and was intercepted on the way. The foxhunters got me; their dogs took no notice of my aggressive defensive posture. I was going to get a whipping!

Suddenly, Will Smith was there, singing a loud and nonsensical song and dancing with half naked women! This was torture of course, but it wasn’t what I expected! I heard my wife asking me if I liked this song. She had switched the channel! I told her that I don’t like all that noise and that after my ordeal; I’d appreciate something a little easier on the ears. She asked me what “ordeal” was I talking about. I told her that she would not understand. She asked me to “try her”! Will Smith was just a decoy; this was the real torture. I had to lie. She was not going to get a confession out of me. I’ve been through a lot already and if there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to meekly surrender. I told her that I had a pain in my leg (I wisely didn’t mention all the running I did). She asked me what has a pain in the leg got to do with noisy music?

The knee bone is connected to the shinbone, I said. She gave me an angry look! I told her to work her way up. She was getting angry. I told her that I had a headache. She was not angry anymore. She stroked my head and asked me if I wanted anything to eat. I asked her if she had any sweet potatoes....

Superstitious Man Of Habit!

2005-04-19T22:54:00.000Z

Every now and then, normal daily tasks grab one’s attention for taking longer than usual to complete. When one cries, it takes so long, and so many tears are inexplicably shed that one ends up suffering from dehydration! When one visits the toilets, the act of reliving oneself (from either end) feels like an eternity, and, in my opinion, is bound to cost a stone or two in weight. Sometimes, after a bit of the usual exercise in the gym I find that I’m sweating more than is customary for such an activity in such a short space of time! Even (kids in the back might want to shut their eyes at this point) Sex has a queer and irregular habit of lasting longer than the internationally accepted standard of three minutes!

Yesterday was one of those days. To the best of my knowledge though, I did not partake in any of the above activities. Yesterday’s abnormality was to do with the walk to work! On any normal day, it takes me ten minutes (give or take a couple of seconds) to get from my house to the station. Yesterday was not, a normal day.

I’m a superstitious man of habit. When I wake up in the morning and get out of bed, I have to stand next to the bed for at least a minute, fully awake and thinking whether today is a good day for going to work! It usually is. I always rinse my mouth thoroughly, have a drink or something to eat and then brush my teeth. Most people who observed me do this think I’m mad, but then, I’m not really the one walking around with bits of cornflakes stuck between my teeth.

When I leave the house, I have a choice of turning left, where I could go to the bus stop and take a bus to the station, or turning right, to walk the back streets to the station. I normally turn right. I take the first left after that. I then take the second right and walk to the end of the road before taking the third left.

This left is where I had my first problem yesterday. There I was, leisurely strolling, looking forward to the day ahead and humming a mixture of Briteny's and Notorious B.I.G’s ‘One More Chance’ songs! When, I saw a group of bin men who parked their truck in the middle of the road and were kicking the hell out of some driver! I panicked. The sight of aggression always makes me panic. I was not necessarily scared, but I was wearing a suit and slip-on shoes. Such garb, all wise men would agree, was not made for fighting, despite my infinite courage and limitless stamina.

I turned around and took the next left instead. This was out of character for me. I was in new territory here. If anything went wrong today I’ll know it’s because I’ve taken the wrong left. However, since it was a choice between walking amongst fighting men (meaning a sure change to my day) or the possible risk of ruining the rest of my day; it wasn’t a hard choice to make.

The street was empty and every peaceful! I carried on humming my song and looking at the various cars parked on the sides. Just as I reached the middle of the street, I heard a voice! The words were not clear the first time; they were low and muffled. I carried on walking. I heard the voice again! I froze! This time the words were very clear. It was a woman’s voice and the words were ‘excuse me’!

Now, those two words, when put together, are amongst the most polite words in the English language. However, depending on the way they’re uttered and the person saying them, they also can be two of the scariest. In my case, and here nobody wins any prizes for guessing, it was the latter! This woman (for a woman she indeed was) must have been a former headmistress or something. When she said ‘excuse me’, I instantly knew that she meant ‘come here right this minute, young man’. I had no choice but to walk back to her and hope whatever she wanted will not take long. As I walked back, I quickly checked with myself if I did anything wrong as I was walking down this ‘new’ street. I didn’t spit, throw chewing gum, tissue or kick any cars. I had nothing to worry about.

I also had time to have a quick look at my caller and ascertain the level of her hostility. She was an old woman, in her mid to late seventies. She was wearing a white ill-fitting nightdress (with tiny pictures of blue ducks all over it). The dress stopped just above her ankles and on those, she had odd colour socks on top of old slippers that the colour had faded from, probably, in the early sixteenth century.

I tentatively approached her and nodded. If I could see her face under all those wrinkles, I could swear she was frowning. She grunted and said ‘I need your help, young man‘. I meekly smiled, shrugged my shoulders and didn’t reply (as I’ve always done with all my head masters in the past). She said ‘well, aren’t you going to offer it?’! By now, I was already staring at her hair and wondering how she managed, at her age; to still have a few black hairs left! In my panic at being caught staring, I replied ‘offer what?’. Her voice grew louder and she said ‘your help, young man, your help’. I quickly nodded, her eyes seemed to narrow and her wrinkles thickened! She asked me to follow her and walked back into her house! I panicked. I’m a young (ish) black man and she’s a white, probably widowed, probably living alone, probably holding millions of pounds in a secret hole in her mattress, old woman! Men like me and women like her only meet in the crime pages of newspapers or scary stories of wicked witches. Walking into her house was a risk either way and I had no witness to speak up for me when the police came or call the missing people’s phone number if I’m still not out in a couple of days!

She clicked her fingers and said that she doesn’t have all day (Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble). I managed to follow her in while keeping my right hand close to where, if I had one, my gun holster would be.

In her living room, there was a big box. It was so big that at least two normal size fridges would fit in it with space to spare for a family of mice! I knew that I couldn’t carry that box alone, even if it was empty. I told her so. She said, I’m not asking you to carry it. I need you to fill it for me. I panicked! I mentally prepared myself for the coming trick that she was bound to pull. I am not going into that box no matter what sob story she concocts to convince me. What if I listen to her and she locks me in there, then when I eventually, out of exhaustion, fall asleep, she fills it with boiling water and starts chopping onions on top of me?

She said, do you see all those books on those shelves over there? I instantly replied in the negative and assumed my tried and tested defensive posture. There were signs of irritation in her voice as she said, pay attention, young man. I straightened up and did as I was told. We spent the next fifteen minutes emptying shelves and organising books in alphabetical order! This old woman was a perfectionist and she was barking orders, as if I were her son or servant! I tried to tell her several times that I’ll be late for work and that I really had to go, but she would just ignore me and bark more orders.

When we managed to empty all the shelves and store them all in the box, I was relieved and ready to go. She though, seemed to have more work for me. She said, we have to go to the bedroom now. I almost fainted. I told her that I really have to leave because I’m late for work. She said, this would not take a minute. I thought, I bet it wont! But, I still insisted that I couldn’t. There was no way I’m going to walk into a single woman’s bedroom. What if, while we were in her bedroom, her brain finally gave up (which is not a farfetched possibility at her age) and she madly started shouting RAPE?

We went to her bedroom. It was very nice, clean and grand but it smelled of urine. I saw her looking at my nose, so smiled and inhaled. There were a couple of small boxes under her bed that she wanted me to take out (is that where she hides her money, I thought). I took the first box from under the bed, took it downstairs and came for the second box. She followed me downstairs the second time.

Back in her living room, she wanted me to empty the two small boxes into the big box (in alphabetical order again, for they were full of books). This time, I had to put my foot down and tell her that I’m already late for work. She tried to bully me again but saw my trade mark steely determination and knew not to provoke the lion. Two minutes later, I was out of her house and on my way to work, having promised to return in the evening to help with all the other boxes.

I’ve been back to her house twice already but I still think that yesterday (and today) is one of those abnormal days that don’t take place so often (even though it’s now my habit to walk down her street in my way to work! I’m a superstitious man of habit after all).

Microwave

2005-02-26T20:06:00.000Z

Yesterday, I woke up early and went downstairs to make what I hoped would be a great and huge breakfast. I searched the fridge for various ingredients and looked through all the kitchen drawers. There were eggs, beans, bread, cheese, tomatoes, burgers, chips, meat, chicken, various sauces and even frozen pizza! I only wanted breakfast and was not too sure that any of that stuff would go into making a great early meal. I decided to take a minute and think about this huge breakfast that I was planning. In the course of thinking, my enthusiasm faded away and my usual laziness took over. I got a bowl out and made some cornflakes! Even with that, I still had problems. Do I have it warm, as is my habit or do I follow everyone else and have it cold? I decided to warm it up. I put the bowl in the microwave and stood staring it going round and round.

Microwaves scare me. The one I own is not an digital microwave; it’s an old style microwave. Once it starts, it ticks, ticks and ticks for an eternity before the “ping” of the bell is heard and the food is ready to be taken out. There I was waiting for my food to warm up and thinking of the day ahead. The kitchen was completely silent. The bowl of cornflakes was harmlessly revolving inside the microwave and the grating ticking sound was getting louder and louder. I couldn’t take my eyes of the damn thing; I was hypnotised by a bowl of cornflakes! The seconds were ticking away; it was going to finish any minute now. I panicked! I wanted it to continue a while longer. Why does it have to finish this soon?

I started hearing another ticking sound. This one was fainter yet everywhere! I ran to the cooker and checked if anything was in the oven. I found nothing! I looked at the thermostat to see if I can find anything. I found nothing. I looked at my wrist to see if it was my watch that was making all this noise. I don’t own a watch!

I went back to the microwave confused and very puzzled. I continued stroking my wrist as I stared back at the dreaded machine. It was still ticking. The other ticking was also still faintly reverberating around the room. I felt it on my wrist! It was my heart. I quickly felt my chest. This was going to be yet another dilemma. I felt the left side of my chest and then the right side. In my panic, I forgot which side my heart was on! Both sides sounded the same; my heart must be bang in the middle! The throbbing in my wrist was louder than both; my heart must be in my wrist. The ticking of the microwave and the throbbing of my wrist were harrying my thoughts. The sound was getting louder and louder. The end is near. The two sounds were frighteningly synchronised. I’m a goner! I wanted to scream for help. Like a heroic and idiotic soldier refusing to cry out in pain when he’s dealt the killer blow, something in me stopped me from screaming. I accepted my fate. When the pang of the microwave goes, I go.

I stood staring at the revolving bowl of cornflakes and waiting for the inevitable when I realised that I’m going to die without having had my breakfast! People are going to be busy with my corpse to notice or even bother with eating my cornflakes! I started getting angry. The blood rose to my head. I didn’t spend all this time planning and thinking of my breakfast to let it go to waste. I’d rather die than waste good food. I got images of pliers, red wires, green wires, blue wires, all manner of wires. I got images of Princess Diana with protective clothing walking through landmines. I closed my eyes, braced myself and quickly opened the microwave door before the ticking has finished. I was two seconds away from death and the horrible thought made me lose my appetite. I looked at the microwave socket while trying to suppress the temptation to cut the damn red wire.

Alive and kicking

2005-02-26T20:02:00.000Z

Yesterday, I left work early to accompany a friend to the dentist’s. I was going to be his nurse for the day because none of his family lived in London. We went in and had to read a big list of what to do and not to do. This, I discovered was going to be a minor operation! An operation!

I started getting nervous and wondering what sort of serious bother have I let myself into. What if my friend never wakes up? What if he gets a severe disability from this? What? What? What?

We walked into the room and he was instructed to sit on the dentist’s chair. Four people crowded round him and started picking out all sorts of instruments and needles. They were all dressed in green! It was like a scene from ER. A nurse brought out a tray full of syringes. One of the guys in the green clothes started tabbing my friend’s hand and then inserted a tiny needle in it. He then picked up one of the syringes and emptied all its contents in my friend’s hand. He then picked another and repeated the same action. He then picked yet another syringe! After using four of these tiny syringes, he picked up a huge syringe filled with some white liquid! This was supposed to be a dentist and my friend was only having his wisdom tooth removed!

I was starting to feel dizzy and faint. Had they tried to extract any of my teeth, I don’t think I would have felt any pain! They put an eye patch on my friend’s face and started going to work. I ran out of the room. As I ran out, I got a flashback of Scarlet O’Hara running out of a burning house. I quickly tried to hold on to my imaginary skirt and cover my modesty.

I went and sat in the waiting room and looked at all the scared faces in there. This was like being in a labour ward. All the anxious fathers (and some mothers) were sitting erect and staring in the distance. Some slowly moved their lips but there was no sound coming out. I sat thinking about my poor friend. I thought about ER and hoped that those dentists had better self-respect than the self indulgent ER people. I imagined the dentist cutting my friend up and lamenting the end of his relationship with the blonde receptionist. I quickly stole a glance at her. I really don’t blame the dentist. She was worth crying over. I thought about talking her into giving it one more try with the dentist. I idiotically started thinking up excuses why the dentist had neglected her and convinced myself that I can convince her to take him back. The thought calmed me down.

The receptionist caught me staring at her and smiled at me. I panicked! This was not the time for the woman to fall for me. My friend is under her boyfriend’s knife! I pretended to frown. She was startled and looked away from me. I smiled.

A nurse came out and read out my friend’s name. He’s only been there for ten minutes! How could they finish so soon? I panicked. Something must have gone wrong! She asked me to follow her to the recovery room. I struggled to get up. People were looking at me! I quickly jumped up and calmly followed her. I noticed the looks of admiration as I glided by all those expectant mothers and fathers. What they didn’t know is that while I looked cool, calm and very collected in the outside, inside, a band of drunken monkeys were rioting against the recent shortages of coconuts.

We walked into the recovery room and I saw my friend. He looked dead! I went closer to his bed and noticed that he was breathing. He had a heart monitor on. He had an oxygen mask on his face. His mouth was open and there was a big piece of cotton sticking out. His upper lip had shrunk and his front teeth were very visible. I got a flashback of a dead sheep’s head. I looked at my friend’s face and slowly started nodding. His head did look like a sheep’s head! I always knew he reminded me of something but could never point it out. I smiled. I frowned. The peeping of the heart monitor continued steadily. On it, there was, in big font, the number 100! It always stayed the same while the tiny numbers on the side kept on changing. I had no idea how heart monitors worked. I decided that if the tiny numbers went below 70 then my friend must be in trouble. I stood staring at the heart monitor and willing it to stay above 70. The tiny numbers stayed between 89 and 85. Things were looking good. He was going to make it. As I was about to turn my gaze away from the heart monitor and look at my friend’s face, I noticed the 100 becoming 99! I almost fainted. I quickly looked for the emergency button. My friend’s life was gradually seeping away. I got ready to give him first aid. I panicked! How could I give him the kiss of life if he had his wisdom tooth taken out?

I looked at his mouth. I tried to think of a way to give him the kiss of life without touching the cotton sticking out of his mouth. He opened his eyes! I jumped back. He closed his eyes again. I panicked and started talking to him. He didn’t open his eyes. The nurse came over and asked me if I was ok! I silenced the rioting monkeys, looked at her calmly and told her that I was fine. She told me that my friend was going to come round any minute now.
A few minutes later, he was awake. A few minutes after that, we were discharged. On the way out, I told him that I thought he was going to die. He grunted. With that drugged up face of his and the cotton sticking out of his mouth, I really didn’t know what that grunt meant! I told him that his head reminded me of a dead sheep. He grunted again. I carried on explaining why I thought he looked like a sheep. He grunted and kicked me. Sheep face was nowhere near death it seems! He was, erm, alive and kicking.

Phone call!

2005-02-26T12:56:00.000Z

I was sitting staring at my screen and feeling really bored. I then started staring at my phone and willing it to ring. In my boredom, I decided to really stare at the phone and focus, therefore “making” it magically ring. I closed my eyes and wished for someone really interesting to be on the other side. It rang! I was startled! I quickly picked up and said an excited “HELLO”. A strange voice on the other side said hello back. I said, “Who are you?” She said “fine!” I said, “I didn’t ask how you were, man” she didn’t reply. I said “hello” again, she said, “Who is this?” I said, “YOU phoned me,” she said “Yes I did, so what?” I said “Why?” she said “to ask you if you want to take part in our survey” I said, “what survey?” she said “ the survey I’m going to ask you about” I said “sorry, wrong number” she said “no it’s not” I said “ do you know me better than me?” she said “why do you ask?” I didn’t know what to say! She said “ do you want to take part in our survey?” I said “no” she said, “do you mind telling me why not” I said “ because I’m bored and I’m waiting for someone to call me?” she said “ but our survey will not take much of your time! When are you expecting your phone call?” I said, “I don’t know”. She didn’t say anything. I smiled. I said “ well, aren’t you going to say anything?” she sounded like she was taking a deep breath then said “ Do you want to take part in our survey?” I started giggling. She asked, “Why are you laughing?” I said, “I’m not laughing” she said, “ Is it my voice?” I said “what about your voice?” she said “do I sound funny?” I said, “I don’t know”. She didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. A few seconds later, she said, “I’ve got to go, can I call you back later?” I said “ok”. She said “bye”. I said “bye”. Just as I was about to put the phone down I heard her say, “What was your name again?” I picked the phone up to answer her but there was nobody on the other side. She was nice.

Weighing Machine!

2005-02-26T12:55:00.000Z

Today, I bought me brand new weighing machine. I took it out of it’s packaging and was keen to test it. I got a bag of sugar and a box of tea bags. Stuck the sugar on one side and the tea on the other. Sugar is heavier than tea! Sweet is not always light it seems. I got excited about my new toy and wanted to test it more. I took my shoes off and put one on either side. My right shoe is heavier than my left! Why?This experiment is real fun. I decided to surpass myself and weigh something out of the ordinary this time. I thought long and hard, long and hard, what could I weigh next? I went to the kitchen and got a digestive biscuit, broke it into small pieces and picked up the smallest crump I could find. I put it on one side of the scales. Now I need something to put on the other side. Again, I thought long and hard, biting my nails as I did so! Aha! Nails. I bit out a big piece and put it on the scales. This time, sweet won the day. Biscuit crumps are heavier than finger nails! I next started to rummage in the kitchen drawers. Found a golf ball, a golf ball? What’s a golf ball doing in my kitchen? I put it on one side of the scales and tried to think of something else to put on the other side. I thought long and hard, long and hard. As I did so, I kept looking at my stomach, and beyond. I undid my zipper....

Hair!

2005-02-26T12:54:00.000Z

Today, on my way to work on the tube, the carriage was very crowded. People were pushing and shoving and there was hardly any space to stand. There was a very tall woman standing in front of me. She had long jet-black hair. I was standing so close to her that my nose kept touching her ears and her long hair kept tickling my lips. There was some sort of strange and serene smile on her face. She moved her head slightly to the side and my face was totally covered in her sweet smelling black locks. I couldn’t see anything. It was very dark in there. The people behind me continued their pushing and shoving. Random elbows kept hitting my sides, crazy feet kept stepping on mine and that woman’s hair was still covering my face. The darkness intensified. I panicked! I started taking deep breaths. The sweet smell of her hair disappeared. I started hallucinating. The pushing and shoving continued. I tried to calm myself by not thinking about it all. I started thinking about a program I watched on TV the other day. I remembered the news; remembered Iraq. I started thinking of blindfolded hostages. Felt sorry for the poor hostages. Got an elbow on my side again. Moved forward a little. The hair engulfed me. The darkness intensified. My hallucinating got worse. Thought I was a blindfolded hostage. Another elbow! This one really hurt. No sweet smells anymore. A strange smell entered my nostrils; it was a smell of dampness! I tried to move but that only made the pushing and shoving increase. I felt helpless and confused. I wanted this whole ordeal to end. I was ready to confess all. The train stopped at Holborn and the tall woman got off. The silly woman needs a haircut!

Airplanes in the park!

2005-02-26T12:53:00.000Z

Today, I saw an airplane. I can’t tell what airline it was. I was walking in the park and the airplane was far away in the sky. I kept on walking while looking up and trying to work out what country that plane belongs to. I then noticed that the plane wasn’t going that fast. I knew it was going really fast but to my naked eye it didn’t seem as if it was! I lowered my head and looked ahead. The park was almost empty and my path forward was clear. I looked up at the airplane and noticed that it was a “couple of meters” ahead of me. I looked ahead again then looked up at the plane. I started running and looking up at the plane. I almost caught up with it. I started thinking of the Olympics. I should have been at the Olympics! I started thinking of running the 100 meters in Athens. Is there enough time left for me to make it there? Could I win it? Of course I could. I’ve just beaten a plane, man. What’s the speed of mere mortals when compared to a 747? I started dreaming of lining up against world record holders and wanna bees. I knew I had the beating of all of them. I started thinking of my preparations for the race. I’ll need to work on my running style. I’ll need to stick to my lane. I’ll need to know how to get out of the blocks quickly enough. Aaah! Blocks? I had no blocks when I beat the plane. Aaah, plane? What are the chances of a plane flying past just as the gun goes at the start of the Olympic 100 meter final? I decided to run the marathon instead.

An unfortunate leakage!

2005-02-26T12:52:00.000Z

When I woke up this morning, I felt real sick. I felt dizzy. I almost suffered from a blackout as I got out of bed! I steadied myself by leaning on the wall for a couple of seconds. I slowly moved my hand away from the wall and moved my left leg forward. That’s when my illness was confirmed; I usually move my RIGHT leg first. I slowly walked to the toilet. Five minutes later, I got there and held on to the door, taking deep breaths. I wanted to go back to bed, sleep and feel better again. The bed was too far away!I picked up my toothbrush and started lazily brushing my teeth. The feeling of giddiness got worse. I stopped. I rinsed my mouth. As I was bending down rinsing my mouth, I heard a rumbling sound come from my stomach. The noise got louder. I had thunder in my stomach and lightning in my eyes but I heroically held off the rain. I ran to the toilet seat, I stumbled then got up. I felt like vomiting. I tried to run back to the washbasin. The pain in my stomach got worse. I panicked. All these feelings were putting huge pressure on my already fragile nervous system. Shutdown was imminent. What if I fainted, started leaking from both sides and was then found by my mother-in-law? Which side would she start wiping first? I thought of my friend who really hates his mother-in-law and wondered if he would have loved to swap places with me! I thought of DEATH. What if this was it? I didn’t like the idea of dying like a burst water balloon. Told myself to get a grip. Steadied myself and put my right leg forward....

I hereby instruct you all that in the event of me fainting while on this site, you should secure the premises and call my mother.

Absent mindedness!

2005-02-26T12:51:00.000Z

Today, I woke up feeling great. I got dressed and left for work. I don’t know what made me happy but I was. I wasn’t even walking; I was floating all the way to the bus stop. When I got there, I decided that it would be a waste to wait for a hot and stuffy bus and that I should walk to the station. So I did. On my way there, all the women looked extra beautiful. The streets looked extra clean and there was hardly any traffic on the roads. My good mood started to change! Surely things couldn’t be THAT perfect. It’s the quite before the storm. Something is bound to go wrong now. I started to slow down, I thought of taking the bus. I worried that I might be late for work if I didn’t. Then I changed my mind. What if I took the bus but it broke down on the way? What if at the precise minute I got on the bus, lots of traffic materialised out of thin air? I better carry on walking. What if it started raining? I better take the bus. It took me twenty minutes to walk to the station (instead of the usual ten). When I tried to get in I discovered that I forgot my Travel card at home. I knew something was going to go wrong, I knew it! I rushed back home, got my travel card and went out again. This time, I was not feeling happy at all. The streets looked dirty, the women were all old and haggard and there was lots of traffic. I took the bus. The central line had problems, the Piccadilly line had problems and I got to work late. I went to my boss to apologise for my lateness and give him some made up story about some accident on the way to work. He looked surprised to see me and said “ I thought you were on holiday today?”

Sitting in the Garden!

2005-02-26T12:50:00.000Z

Last night, I decided to go out and sit in the garden. I made me a cup of tea and took a small bucket. I turned the bucket upside down and sat on it. It was dark, quiet and very nice. It wasn’t a cold day. It wasn’t a hot day. If it weren’t nighttime already, I would have described it as a pleasant sunny day. There was no sign of the moon but there were plenty of stars dotted across the sky. A bird flew past. A bird? At night? I sat wondering why was it awake that late and how is it going to find its way home? Maybe it’s an emergency in bird’s world. Maybe one of its chicks chocked on a worm bone and the daddy bird had no choice but to leave in the middle of the night in search for a doctor! It wasn’t a small bird. It was some sort of flying duck or swan. It kept circling round and finally landed on the roof opposite. I felt sorry for it. Tried to communicate with it. I thought of trying sign language but knew that that would scare it away. I tried to whistle but didn’t want to wake my neighbours up. I went in and got some bread. I started throwing bits of bread in the garden. As I was throwing the bits of bread, my eyes kept following where they were landing. There was some sort of dim light at the bottom of the garden. I throw a bit of bread towards it. It almost moved! I panicked. I picked up a rake and moved forward slowly. It jumped up. I jumped up. I got ready to strike it with my rake. The dim light kept following my eyes. I focused on it and was ready to strike it when I noticed that it was nothing but a tiny black cat. I relaxed and eased my grip on the rake. The cat got startled by the movement and tried to jump up the wall. I got startled by the movement and tried to back off. The cat fell off the wall. I stumbled on the rake. The cat tried again but failed and fell back towards me. I tried to get up but panicked and stumbled on the rake again. I sat still. The cat sat still. We stared at each other waiting for someone to make a move. The bird was watching all of this. It flew off. The cat got scared and ran towards me. I got worried and tried to move out of its way. The cat stopped and turned around running the other way. I stumbled on the rake again. I gave up and lay back on the grass looking up at the sky. I saw a face at my neighbour’s window. I looked the other way in embarrassment. I saw another face. My wife opened the upstairs window and asked me what all the noise was about! I heard someone giggling.I’m going to buy me a cat trap, man.

Cure for drowsiness!

2005-02-26T12:49:00.000Z

Today, I woke up feeling tired. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I washed my face with cold water but I was still feeling sleepy. I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my face. I wanted to focus on my face maybe that way the tiredness will go away and my brain will kick into gear. It didn’t work. I decided to have a cold shower. I fell asleep in the shower. I almost drowned standing up. I came out of the shower feeling cleaner and fresher. As I was drying myself, I felt sleepy again. How the hell am I going to make it to work in such a state? I went back to the mirror and tried talking myself into waking up. The face on the other side was having none of it! I picked up a razor. I threatened myself with it. Still no change! I was still feeling sleepy. I made a small cut on the side of my cheek. A tiny blood droplet came out. There was no pain and the sleepy feeling was still there. I picked up the shower gel and applied a bit of that to the cut. I felt a minor sting. I pulled a face. It still didn’t work. I looked around the bathroom for something else to use. A sleepy and lazy “Aha!” I found a bottle of bleach. I took a drop of that and put it on the wound. Flash lights everywhere. PAIN. Lots and lots of pain. I jumped up and slipped on the wet bathroom floor. I hit my head on the bath. I got a big bump on the side of my forehead and a cut on my cheek but I’m fully awake now (I think).

Good day, dirty shoes!

2005-02-26T12:48:00.000Z

Today was a good day. It was one of those rare days when everything goes so smoothly it makes you wonder where the trouble is going to come from. I woke up before the alarm. I didn’t have to look for the towels when I went to have a shower. I managed to get the bus the minute I reached the bus stop, and best of all I managed to get a seat on the train! I was so happy with this petty treat that I kept smiling at all the people sitting opposite me. Some smiled back, some looked right through me and others tried to avoid my gaze nervously. I started wondering about each one of them. How many grandchildren did the old men opposite me have? Was he ever married? What if he was gay? He smiled back at me as I had that thought. I panicked, didn’t want to encourage him and moved my eyes to the woman sitting next to him. She was blonde, had a pretty face and amazing blue eyes. I couldn’t stop myself. I kept staring at her. She stared back. A naughty thought crossed my mind. I decided not to look away. Let her look away first. I’m going to make her blush. She didn’t look away. I started searching her eyes for a sign. Wonder what she’s thinking of right now! She probably was thinking the same thing. I found myself getting lost in those lovely blue eyes. She was sitting too far away for me to see my reflection in her eyes. I looked at her left eye. The pupil looked like a tiny island in a sea of blue. I started thinking of poems and songs about someone drowning in the eyes of his beloved. Now I know what they meant by that. It made great sense to me. I sighed. She blinked. I panicked. Did she read my thoughts? I don’t love her. I don’t even know her. I lost the competition. I lowered my gaze. I quickly stole one last glance. She had what looked like a triumphant smile on her face. She could read my mind after all! I didn’t want to play anymore. I looked at the woman sitting next to her. She was wearing glasses. She didn’t look back. She was reading a book: A suitable Boy. I felt sorry for her. The book was a thousand pages long but the ending was not worth the effort. I looked away quickly before I could blurt out my thoughts. The eye woman was still staring at me. I looked down at my feet nervously. There was some sort of white dot on my shiny black shoe! I wondered what that was, how did it get there? It looked like saliva. Somebody spat on my shoe? I felt embarrassed. Tried to cross my legs clumsily. I failed. That woman was still staring at me. How rude. I wished I had a bag or newspaper to hide my spit covered shoe with. I had two more stops to go. Six full minutes of embarrassment! I closed my eyes and pretended that I wasn’t on a train. I pretended that I was in the cinema. The seats were comfortable. The atmosphere was cool. I don’t know if it was the thought of comfortable seats in a dark room that did it but when I opened my eyes next, I had missed my stop (and the four after that too).

Domestic bliss

2005-02-26T12:47:00.000Z

Last night, I went to bed early. This was the first time I managed to do that in months. I lay down in bed and sat waiting for sweet lady sleep to come over and engulf me with her relaxing caresses. She stood me up! I twisted, I turned, and I counted sheep, counted goats and kicked the green bottles of the wall. I still could not sleep. I covered my face with a big blanket and hidden every last trace of light from my eyes. I also managed to keep the air out. A minute later, I jumped up throwing the blanket away and breathing heavily. I decided to have a warm bath, maybe that will help me sleep. I filled the bath, poured some of that salty aromatic stuff in it and got in. I sat splashing about in the bath for a full half hour but didn’t feel relaxed at all. I started singing to myself. I picked up my kid’s plastic ducks and attempted to recreate a famous sea battle in which the duck on the left defeated the mighty armada. I came out of the bath happy and relaxed. I went back to bed. Lay down and shut my eyes. Sleep was still not forthcoming. I thought of taking a sleeping pill. I worried that I wont wake up on time if I took one. I spent a couple of minutes weighing my options and finally decided to take the sleeping pill. I got up and went searching in the medicine cabinet. My wife who was awake watching TV and feeding the baby, asked me what I was looking for. I told her that I was looking for sleeping pills. She said “Why?” I said, “ Because I’m trying to sleep”. She said, “Have you tried having a nice bath?” I said, “Yes. What else do you think I was doing in there for the past hour?” She said, “ Don’t shout at me, I was only trying to help”. I said “Sorry” She said, “Have you tried having a warm glass of milk?” I said, “I hate milk”. She said, “It will help you sleep”. I said, “I hate milk”. She said, “If you’re not going to take my advice, why did you ask for it?” I said, “ I didn’t”. She said, “ You did”. I said, “ I only asked you where the sleeping pills were”. She said, “ We don’t have any sleeping pills, we never have”. I said, “Why didn’t you say that earlier then instead of this long pointless discussion”. She said “ Just because you can’t sleep it doesn’t mean you can take it out on me”. I said, “ I’m not, I’m just asking a simple question”. She said, “ Look, I don’t have time to argue with you I’m trying to feed the baby here”. I said, “ I’m not looking for an argument either, I just want to sleep”. She said, “ So it’s my fault that you can’t sleep now?” I walked away. I heard her saying, “ Yeah, yeah, start an argument then walk away when you lose it”. I went to bed angry and wanting to go back and re-win the pointless argument. I didn’t want her to think that she beat me. I kept thinking of all the things I would say and all the sarcastic remarks I would make. I fell asleep thinking. This morning, she wasn’t talking to me. I pretended I didn’t notice. I’m going to avoid her all day and night. When it’s bedtime again, I’m going to start another pointless argument with her.

Professionalism!

2005-02-26T12:46:00.001Z

Yesterday was a boring day. Nothing happened. I did the usual stuff I do everyday. In the whole twenty-four hours of yesterday there was not one interesting thing that happened to me. No, I told a lie. There was one interesting thing but it wasn’t real. Maybe that’s why I didn’t include it here! It happened just after I went to bed. I fell asleep straight away. I woke up. I went downstairs and switched the TV on. I made me a cup of tea. I came back and sat down in front of the TV. I was watching some Arabic news channel. They had an interview with a former Egyptian politician. The presenter invited the viewers to phone the number at the bottom of their screen if they wanted to ask his guest a question. The Egyptian politician was an arrogant so and so. He was dismissing all the viewers’ opinions as being silly and idiotic. I wanted to phone him and give him a piece of my mind. I wanted to tell him that if it wasn’t for him and corrupt politicians like him, the Middle East would have been a peaceful place. I decided to wait and bide my time. I did. I fetched me a pen and paper and started noting down all the contradictory comments he was making. I was going to make a fool out of him: Live and exclusive only on Al Jazeera!I started getting excited about the thought of putting him in his place. Maybe once I’ve done that Al Jazeera will invite me to become a regular hunter of these politicians. They’ll have to pay my phone bill of course. This is not a damn charity. Maybe they’ll bring King Fahad next. Naah, doubt it. He’s too frail to appear on a TV show. They’ll bring the heir to his throne instead. No biggy (as the kids would say), I could take him on. I’d ask him about the reforms he’s pretending to make in the Kingdom. I’d ask him about all the corruption and the fact that the royal family keep confiscating other people’s land and property! Yes, this guy is going to be easy to put down. I wonder whom they’ll have on next? How about Tony? The leader of the British Labour Party! I could already visualise him giving me one of those fake smiles and trying to wriggle and twist away from my piercing questions. You’re not going anywhere, sunshine. I got you pinned down like a roman wrestler. Answer the questions.I stopped daydreaming. Picked up the phone and dialled the number. Got an engaged tone. I tried again. Still engaged. Again! Engaged. I kept on pressing the redial button. After an hour of trying and an aching finger, someone answered. I panicked. I heard a man’s voice. He said “ HELLO”. I said “hello” back. He asked, “Who’s there?” I thought ‘how unprofessional’! He asked again. I said, “ I’m phoning to speak to the Egyptian politician”. He said “Pardon?” I said, “ I’m phoning to speak to the Egyptian politician”. I was nervous. This is going to go live on air. People all over the world are going to hear my voice. I’ve got to try hard not sound nervous. The first time the people of Peru hear my voice should not be a time when I’m sounding tense. I cleared my throat and asked, “ Who am I speaking to?” There was an angry tone in his voice when he replied. He said “ You’re the one who phoned me, who are you?” I said, “ I’m phoning from the UK” He said, “ I don’t know anyone in the UK” I thought ‘what an imbecile!’ He said “ What do you want, Mr UK”. I sensed the sarcastic tone in his voice. I lost it. I told him how unprofessional he was and that he should be replaced. He lost it. He said “ Listen you fool, stop phoning people in the middle of the night and calling them unprofessional, do you know me to accuse me of such a thing?” I said “No, I don’t know you but if you don’t use the accepted etiquette when answering the phone, it’s fair to call you unprofessional” He started laughing. He stopped. He said, “ Look, I have no time to waste on you, just put the phone down and don’t phone this number again”. I said, “ It’s not for you to tell me to put the phone down, let me speak to your manager please”. He said “ What manager? There is no manager here, I’m the BOSS here and I’m telling you not to phone this number”. I said, “ You’re abusing your powers, just like that Egyptian politician”. He said, “ Who the hell is this Egyptian politician you keep talking about?” I said “ The guy you have as a guest on your show”. He said, “ What show? Who exactly did you think you phoned?” I panicked. Did I phone the wrong number? Did I wake some poor guy up? He’s not poor anyway, he’s rude! I said, “ Is this Al Jazeera Television?” He said, “ No, it’s not Al Jazeera Television, what the hell made you think it was?” I said “ The phone number they had at the bottom of the screen of course” He said “ Well, sounds to me like you’ve got the wrong number. You should really check before you start accusing people of being unprofessional” I said “ Ok, ok I’m sorry for bothering you but you are unprofessional, you know”. He said “ Are we back on the accusations? What did I just tell you?” I said “ Don’t talk to me in such a way, I’m not obliged to listen to you, man” He hung up. I called him again. He said “ Hello” I said, “ See? I told you you’re unprofessional” He said “ If you don’t stop phoning me I’m going to phone the police” I said “ The police will not listen to you, Mr unprofessional” He said “ is this how you pass your time? Phoning people and calling them names?” I said, “No, I’m a really nice guy” He said, “ You don’t sound like a nice guy to me, you’ve been insulting me all night,” I said “ Sorry” He said, “ Apology accepted,” I said, “ Don’t take this the wrong way or as an insult, but, you’re very unprofessional when answering the phone”. He hung up. I went back to bed. This morning, my wife asked me “Who the hell were you arguing with late last night?” I said to her “ Don’t worry, I’m not cheating on you, dear. If I were I wouldn’t phone my mistress from our home phone, I’m not that unprofessional, man”.

The Zoo!

2005-02-26T12:46:00.000Z

The Zoo!

This weekend, I was going to treat myself to a great trip to the Zoo. I’ve been looking forward to this trip for weeks. I was planning to leave the wife and kids at home. This was going to be my secret. No friends were going to know. No family were going to go. Just me alone amongst the beasts! I woke up very early on Saturday morning and had a quick and simple breakfast. I got dressed. I picked up an empty rucksack and loaded it with pens, paper, tissue, a baseball cap and a small towel. I have no idea why I decided to take these items with me! It’s not as if it was going to be a picnic or anything! I got ready to go out when the wife confronted me by the doorway. She asked me where I was going. I didn’t want to lie to her but I also didn’t want to tell her the truth. It was a nice and sunny day and I knew if I told her the truth that she’ll ask me to take the kids with me. I didn’t want to take the kids. This was my treat not theirs. I wanted to laugh and pull faces at the lions. I wanted to pretend to hold an invisible joystick and move it about outside the chimp’s cage. I wanted to enjoy myself without having to worry about young infants crying for the toilet, drinks or ice cream. I wanted to tiptoe around the snakes without having to act the fearless adult. Today, I was going to be the only child not the daddy. She was standing there watching me and repeating the questions with her eyes. I said, “I’m going to visit a friend” she said “ what friend?” I said “ an old friend that you don’t know” she said “How come you didn’t tell me about all of this earlier?” I said “I’m telling you now!” she said “ Yeah but that’s only because I caught you sneaking out” I said “ I wasn’t sneaking out” she said “If you were not sneaking out why didn’t you come to the living room and say goodbye then?” I said “do I always have to say goodbye when I’m going out? What if I was going to the shop round the corner?” she said “ but you’re not going to the shop, are you?” I said “ no, but what if I were, do I have to say goodbye too?” she said “ no, that would be silly. If you were going to the shop you would come and ask me if I needed anything” I said “ Is there anything you need from the shop then?” she said “no” I said “ goodbye then” she said “what time should I expect you back?” I said, “don’t know, early evening maybe,” she said “ early evening? This must be a very good friend that you’re going to see!” I said “ yeah, king of the jungle” she looked puzzled. I ran off before she could ask me any more questions. I walked to the station. I was very excited. The station was closed. Stupid engineering work! I went to the bus stop and jumped on a bus to the next underground station. The bus hardly moved. There seemed to be some sort of road accident ahead. Twenty minutes later and the bus still hadn’t moved. I decided to get of and walk. It started raining. I was soaking wet. I started thinking to myself ‘ I bet she cursed me’. I turned around and started to walk back towards home. I still had enough time. I’m going to tell her the truth. Get her blessings. Go out again and hopefully the rain would have stopped by then, the traffic cleared and maybe even my local station would be open. I got home and rang the bell. I had my own keys but I just like the sound of the bell ringing. She opened the door, scowled at me and ran back in. I followed her in. There was lots of crying and screaming. She shouted “ don’t just stand there, help me out”. I didn’t know what was going on. I went over to the baby and picked him up. He stopped crying. My middle daughter came running and started shouting “ NO! NO!” I asked my wife what’s going on but she ignored me. My eldest came running and sat on my other side. She looked at me with a big wide smile on her face and said, “ I vomited on the carpet”. I asked her if she was ill and she said no. I asked her why did she vomit then and she said, “ Because it’s fun”. Her sister started feeling jealous and wanted to get my attention. She started making some funny sounds. I laughed. She got upset. I kissed her and laughed again. She hit her sister. The baby started crying. They both started crying while still trying to hit each other. I almost felt like crying. My wife who was still trying to clean the soaked carpet started telling me to “ do something!” I screamed. They all stopped crying. I screamed again. The girls laughed and my wife got upset and called my childish. I wasn’t going to go to the Zoo anymore. I’ll do it next week instead. I’m still not taking any of them with me though.

My family doesn’t understand me

2005-02-26T12:45:00.000Z

Last night, I left work on time. Got on the tube. Got home twenty minutes earlier than usual! Is London Underground improving?I got in, got changed and sat in front of the TV watching the day’s Olympic coverage. Amir Khan beat a Korean guy. He’s only 17 years of age! I wondered what it would feel like having your face on every TV screen at seventeen. My wife, who was sitting watching the fight with me, asked, “ Did he win the gold medal?” I said “ No, but he’s guaranteed a medal of some sort” She said, “Do you mean silver?” I said, “ Yeah, but it could also be bronze” She said, “ Are they going to do some kind of lottery? Why not just make him fight another guy for a silver or bronze?” I said, “ That’s what they’re doing” she said, “ Why didn’t you just say that then?” I said, “ I only repeated what the commentator just said!” She said, “ You always like to complicate things” I said “ No I don’t I only repeated what the commentator said. He won his quarterfinal and now he’s in the semis. He’s guaranteed a bronze medal and if he wins his next fight he’ll have a chance to fight for Gold but will be guaranteed a silver” she pouted and asked “ Why did Kelly Holmes run again, didn’t she win gold already?” I said, “What do you do when you watch TV? Do you just stare at the screen and admire their tracksuits?” She said “ Why are you turning this into an argument? I was just making conversation” I said “ I’m not turning it into an argument, I just find it strange that you can sit here and watch the exact same show that I’m watching but get nothing of what’s going on” She said “ I’m not really watching the show, I hate the Olympics” I said “ So, why were you asking me all the questions and why sit here for a whole hour watching it if you really hate it?” She said, “So you don’t want me to sit with you?” I said “ that’s not what I said, don’t start twisting my words now” She said “ that’s what it sounds like to me” I said “ You only hear what you want to hear” she said “ Look, you had a long day at work, I had a long day with the kids and now I thought we would spend some quality time together” I said “ is this your idea of quality time?” She said “ listen Mr, I’m not the one who’s trying to turn this into an argument, YOU are” I said “I’m not, I’m not” she said “ You always do that, first you start picking on every word I say then when I catch you out you say you didn’t mean it like that. I suppose now you’ll do what you usually do and tell me to forget about it!” I said, “ No, I’m not going to tell you to forget about it” She said, “ What are you going to say then?” I said “ Nothing” She said “ Nothing?” I said “ Yes” She said “ So what now?” I said “ What?” she said, “What should we talk about?” I said “ do we have to talk?” she said “ Are you angry with me?” I said “ No” she said, “ So why wont you talk with me?” I said, “ I am” She said “ no you’re not! You just said we don’t have to talk!” I said, “ You know full well that’s not what I meant! Oooh, forget about it” She laughed and said, “ See?” I said, “ Did you do that on purpose?” She said “do what?” I said “ never mind” she said “This Moroccan guy is greedy” I said “What Moroccan guy?” she said “He must have been running and winning medals for more than ten years now” I said “ He never won an Olympic medal, you know” She said “ Really? So, what were all these medals he won in the past then?” I said, “ I’m not doing this again,” She said “doing what?” I said “talking about the Olympics,” she said “ Are you going to watch it in silence?” I said, “ If you allow me to,” she said “stop being childish” I said “ I’m not” she said “so why are you getting upset over some silly Olympic show?” I said “ I give up, you win, happy?” she laughed and called me childish again. I got up and went to the kitchen. I put the kettle on and stood waiting for the water to boil. The doorbell rang. She went to open it. She called out to me and said “ make that three cups of tea, your brother is here” I wasn’t planning to make her a cup of tea! I had to now. I made the tea and got back to the living room. Exchanged niceties with my brother and sat back watching the Olympic coverage again. He asked, “ Did the Moroccan guy win?” I said “ HE’S RUNNING NOW, CAN’T YOU SEE THE DAMN TV?” He ignored me and said to my wife “ What’s wrong with him?” she said, “ He’s been like this all day. See if you can have a word with him and make him see sense?” I kept a straight face and decided to ignore them. They’re doing this on purpose. My brother turned to me and said “ What’s the matter with you?” I said, “ Nothing” He said “ Did I come at a wrong time?” I said “ No, no you didn’t. Stop being paranoid” He said, “ why are you acting funny then?” I said “ I had a long day at work, that’s all, man” My wife jumped in and said “ We all have bad days, we don’t take it on others” I said “Sorry” she said, “ Sorry is not enough” I said “ All you’re getting from me is the word sorry, you want it? Take it and if you don’t I’m happy to take it back” She said “ You’re not making sense now” The baby started crying upstairs. As she ran upstairs to see to him, the Moroccan guy won his race. I jumped up and shouted, “That’s my boy,” she shouted back “Don’t think that you’ve won, we’re not finished yet”. My brother started saying, “ I HAVE come at a wrong time, didn’t I?” I sat back with a smile on my face and shook my head.

Chat room encounter!

2005-02-26T12:44:00.000Z

Last night, I couldn’t sleep again. I logged into the Internet and read various discussion boards (including this one). I was using a dial up connection. Everything was very slow. I decided not to bother waiting for message boards to load and spend my time on Google instead. I started playing an interactive game with Google. I’d tell it a word and it would try to guess what I was talking about. So far, the score is twenty-five to zero for me. Google must be male by the way. It’s obsessed with filthy sex and naked women! I started thinking about the miracle of computers. How could this little box of metal and plastic “understand” everything I ask it to do? I started to think about artificial intelligence. Will we soon be able to design a lusty robot?I needed to talk to someone. The family were all sleeping. I needed to talk to someone! I went to one of those voice chat programs and entered an American country music room. They were playing a song that I’ve never heard before. I liked it. I decided to listen to the music and take part only by typing my responses. I didn’t think these American southerners would understand my accent. I told them that I liked the music they’re playing. The woman on the microphone thanked me and asked me if I had any songs that I wanted to play. I told her that I wasn’t into country music. She asked what sort of music was I into. I told her that I was a Brittney Spears fan. She was silent for a few seconds. I even think I heard her gulp! She finally said, “ I’m not a fan of Brittney but maybe I just don’t get her songs, I’ll try to listen to a couple of her songs again and see what I’m missing!” I thought “ How diplomatic” she asked me if I wanted to play a song, any song. I told her that I will but I’d rather listen to her great songs for a while longer. She left me alone. The user name I had was DESERT STAR. People seemed to like that name. Somebody sent me a private message. His name was Rugged Cowboy! He asked me if I wanted to have sex with him! I said “No thank you”. I didn’t want to be rude. Maybe this is how these guys do things! Who am I to tell them it’s rude to ask a stranger for sex without even saying hello first? Rugged Cowboy didn’t give up. He told me he’s going to dedicate a song to me. I can’t remember the name of the song now but I got its meaning. Rugged Cowboy wanted me to “Let him into my heart!” I laughed at the persistence of the guy. Doesn’t he know that I’m male? Doesn’t he know that I don’t swing that way? I remembered that I didn’t tell him all of this. How would the poor guy know if I didn’t tell him? He sent me another message telling me that he’s “ dying here” I sent him a message back and told him that I was male, straight and not interested. He sent a message back that said, “ You’re just playing hard to get, baby,” I laughed to myself. I even wondered if I was really playing hard to get! I wasn’t. I’m male and straight. I don’t like cowboys, rugged or clean-shaven. I told him so. He sent me a message back calling me a tease! I remembered Chaka Demus. He was a rugged type of fellow, wasn’t he? Why would I want to tease someone that looked like that? Why am I even asking myself these questions? I’m male, straight, slightly chaotic but not interested at all. The woman on the microphone called my name and asked me if I was ready to play that song now. I said “No, I’m trying to convince some guy to leave me alone because I’m not at all interested in him” She laughed and said “ is Rugged Cowboy trying it on you too?” I said “Yes” she said, “ Ignore him, darling,” I said “Ok”. Rugged cowboy came to my private again and started calling me all sorts of obscene names. He was upset that I let “our” secret out! I told him it was not a secret. He said “ I trusted you and thought you were an adult” I said “ I am an adult, a male adult” He said “ You don’t have to pretend anymore, baby, I don’t like you anymore” I said “ good” He said “ May you never cyber, harlot” I said “ Amen” He called me a few more names then stopped sending messages. A minute later, he left the room. I felt guilty. It didn’t last. The woman on the microphone started playing “Fly Me To The Moon”, the song reminded me of a Tom and Jerry cartoon where Tom was “swinging” among the stars. Then I thought about the Moon being made of cheese. Someone sent me a private message. His name was Tiny_Man. He asked me if I wanted him to “Fly me to the Moon”? I laughed. He said that he was a romantic man. I said, “ I bet you are but go do your romancing far away from me, man”. He said I should give him a chance and hear him out before dismissing his advances. I told him that I was not interested in his advances. He asked, “If you’re not interested in Cyber Sex, what the hell are you doing here?” I told him about my sleep problems and explained that I wanted somewhere to pass the time. I don’t know why I bothered. I really didn’t have to. He said, “ You’re nothing but a tease, I tried the direct approach, I tried the romantic approach but now I know that you’re a frigid tease”. It was Rugged Cowboy! I asked him if he had a web camera. He got excited and told me that he has. I placed my web camera on an angle where it would fully show my face then told him to switch his camera on. Poor kid looked only seventeen. Rugged Cowboy was not rugged at all! The look of shock on his face was adorable. There he was expecting to see some busty blonde on the other side but instead he got to see ME. I went to sleep happy.

Strange family!

2005-02-26T12:43:00.000Z

Yesterday, I left work early. Got home. Got changed and went out again. I was meeting a friend in the sport’s club. When I got there he had already finished his workout and was waiting for me to arrive. We went for coffee and started talking about life, family and boredom. He said he had to go to his elder brother’s house because they’re having a big family meeting. He asked me to go with him. I told him I wasn’t invited and I’m not a member of his family. He said that I was invited! He said that since he comes from a big family, seven sisters and nine brothers, any guest that any member of the family brings with him or her does not need an invitation. All their houses are like hotels with people checking in and out. He said that all his brothers and sisters would be there. They’re trying to agree the plans for their parent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary party. He said “Since I’m the second youngest, I’m really not going to have much of a say in these plans so I would like you to come to give me an excuse to leave early”. I understood his logic and since I had nothing better to do, I went with him. We got to the house and rang the bell. An 18-year-old girl opened the door, looked at us and walked away without saying hello or asking who we were. He told me she was his niece. I heard a loud and deep voice calling his name. We walked into the living room and saw a fat guy standing in the middle of the room and smiling at us. There were lots of other people scattered in all the corners of the room. My friend went over to this brother and started talking to him. I followed him. Like a two-year-old shy child hiding behind his mother’s dress, I kept very close to my friend. The brother was looking at me but didn’t say anything. No “welcome”. No “Have we met before?” Nothing at all! He just stood staring and listening to my friend talk. I felt silly. I should really have not agreed to go. I decided to take the bull by the horn and introduce myself. I clumsily interrupted my friend and stuck my hand out at his brother. “Hi, my name is so and so, I’m a friend of your brother’s” He looked at me and shook my hand coldly and said “ Friend?” I looked at my friend with a big question mark in my eyes. He avoided my gaze. I said “ Yes, friend. I don’t walk into people’s houses for no reason, you know!” He smiled and welcomed me in his house. I thought ‘what a strange family’. A woman hugged me. I hugged her back. She was good looking. She smelt nice. I held her longer than is normal. When I finally let her go, I wondered who she was! She introduced herself. She was one of the sisters. She was single. She lived in Manchester. She was beautiful. My friend pulled me to one side and told me to stop “looking” at his sister. He reminded me that I was a happily married man. I told him there was no harm in a bit of window-shopping. His elder brother didn’t seem to mind. He was happy to see me ogling his sister. He asked her to fetch me a drink. I thought ‘what a dictator’. He didn’t even bother asking me what drink I liked! I decided to teach him a lesson. When the drink arrives, I’m not going to drink. I’ll just stand there holding the full glass. Let it go to waste. A kid ran past. He was running very fast but was making no noise at all. I wondered if he was disabled! The big brother shouted at him and told him to sit down. The kid stopped running, said sorry and sat down obediently. He’s not disabled after all! This big brother is a bully. I hate bullies. I wish he’d tell me to sit down, I’d tell him where to go. He seems to have read my mind, he asked me to sit down. I gave him an evil look. He looked puzzled. I flashed a fake smile at him and sat down. He started asking my friend where the rest of the brothers and sisters were. My friend shrugged. He started telling me how useless all his brothers and sisters were and how tired he is from acting the ‘big brother’ all the time. I gave him another evil look while thinking to myself ‘shut up you bully’. He looked confused again and asked me if I was ok. I said, “Yeah I’m fine. Just a little tired, man”. He started asking me personal questions. The rest of his brothers and sisters arrived and rescued me from the bully’s interrogation. There weren’t enough seats for all of us so we had to stand up instead. The big brother started talking about the details of the proposed party. He told them not to worry themselves about anything. He was going to pay for it all and was going to organise it all. I looked around at all the brothers and sisters. They looked like something a cat would give birth to. They were different shapes and sizes. They had different colour hair. Strange looking family. I noticed that nobody objected to the big brother’s proposals. I thought that somebody must confront this bully. It was a “loud” thought. They all looked at me. I was in it now. No point in retreating and making excuses. I might as well go for it. The big brother asked me if I was ok. I said, “ Yes. I am ok but I’m a little confused” He said, “What’s the reason for your confusion?” I said, “ Why did you ask everyone to come if you’ve already decided how this party is going to go?” He said “ because it’s a party for our parents of course” it was a clever answer. Not a good one but a clever one. He wanted me to really have a go at him. I was trying to put it politely. I panicked. What if I have a go at him and get everyone against me. There were more than twenty people in there and they were all family. I was the stranger here. Surely they’re not going to side with the stranger! I had no choice. I’m a man of principle. I started thinking of all those heroic revolutionaries who left their own lands and went away to liberate people in foreign lands. This was the same. It’s my duty to see this revolution through. Bullyboy should not rule anymore. I said to him “ I know it’s for your parents but YOU are the one organising it. None of your other siblings are taking part in any of the work. Why did you invite them then?” I got him. It was a direct hit. His face started to crumple. The cracks were showing. He meekly said “ What’s so wrong with inviting my family to my house?” The smell of blood was filling my nostrils. Time to put this baby to sleep. I said “ But this was not just an invitation, this was an invitation that they couldn’t dare refuse. It’s emotional blackmail, you bully,” He said “ What’s it to you?” I said, “I’m here, aren’t I?” He said, “What’s that got to do with anything? Are you forced to stay?” I said “ Are you kicking me out of your house?” He said “ No. I’m not, why are you so aggressive?” I said, “ I’m not. You’re the aggressive person here not me” He said “ How so?” I said, “ You’re just trying to get me to talk while you think of a way to get out of the trap I set you. It’s not working, sunshine” He looked at my friend and said, “ Who is this man?” My friend said “ he’s a good mate of mine” I said “Lets not waste time and organise this party properly” The big brother said “ What do you want us to do? “ I said, “ First, you have to take a step back” He did! I said “ That’s not what I meant, man” He looked puzzled. The rest of the brothers and sisters must be really scared of him. Hardly any of them spoke. I said “ when I say take a step back I mean leave the organisation of the party to your siblings to plan” He said “ If they want to do this, I have no problem with that”. All the brothers and sisters started talking at once. My mission is complete. I liberated and gave voice to that poor family. I clipped the wings of the fat tyrant. I turned round and looked at the rest of the family with a humble and modest smile on my face. They were not looking at me. They were pleading with their elder brother to ignore me and go back to his original plan. I stormed out in anger. Nobody followed me. It seems that in this world, some people don’t want to be liberated, man.

The greatest babysitter

2005-02-26T12:42:00.000Z

On Friday night, I was home alone. My wife and sister went to a wedding party and were coming back late. I got back from work. Changed. Had something to eat. Said goodbye to the ladies and was ready to start looking after the six kids I was left to look after! Two girls and four boys. Ages ranging from two months to six years. It promised to be a fun evening. It was. I first started preparing their final meal of the day. Jam sandwiches and milk. The one year old girl was happy with my choice but all the rest refused to eat! They wanted chips! I could not make them chips. We compromised. They had crisps for dinner. Next, I had to divide them into groups of two and wash them. The three year old girl. My daughter. Refused to share the shower with her two year old male cousin. I thought to myself 'that's my girl'. I washed the three boys first. While I was doing this, I gave the two girls a couple of brooms and told them that sweeping the floor outside the bathroom was the most important job in the house. They did a great job. It was their turn to have a shower. I gave the boys the Hoover and asked them to vacuum the area that the girls cleaned. They had to somehow share the credit for a job well done with the girls. They also did a sterling job. After washing the girls and the boys, it was time for their night clothes. Children are picky little rascals! I threatened the boys with skirts and the girls with a hair cut. They behaved. I put the boys to sleep and got ready to dry and comb the girls' hair. They wouldn't sit still. The elder one kept asking me to promise not to cut her hair! I did. She didn't believe me. I gave her a small mirror and told her to jump away the minute she saw me trying to cut her hair. She sat still throughout. The younger one asked me to apply makeup to her face! She's only eighteen month's old! I put some baby powder on her face. The older one who's not used to seeing me agree to their demands easily worked out why I was very nice to them. She knew I didn't want them to make any noise and wake the boys up. She started taking advantage. I asked her to stop. She said " NO" I said " If you don't stop right now I'm going to put you in the backyard" She said " I'm not scared". I said " I'm going to leave you there all night" She said " I'm not scared" I said " You're going to be cold" She said "I'll sleep in the shed" I said " are you really not that scared?" She said " Yes" I said " So, do you want to sleep in the backyard?" She said " No. But I'm not scared" I said " Ok then. Be a good girl and you can sleep on your own bed" She didn't know what to say. Her sister started singing the theme song to Balamory. I told her to stop. She pretended not to understand me and started laughing. I pretended to laugh with her and stuck my tongue out at her. She stopped singing. I finished their hair and put them to bed. I didn't put them in the same room as the boys. My six year old nephew got up and followed us into the room. He wanted me to read him a bedtime story! I picked up an Arabic book and read them the story about the guy who had to look after the six naughty kids. They felt sorry for the hero of the story. I made up a childish song about that guy being the greatest babysitter in the world. They sang the song with me. I said goodnight and left them to sleep. They promised they'll sleep. I sat in front of the TV and watched highlights of the Olympic games. I saw athletes finishing races and looking real tired. I didn't feel sorry for them as I usually do. I thought what silly and weak people these tired athletes were. I'm looking after six kids here. I'm not acting weak and tired. I should be getting a gold medal. The door opened. I saw tiny feet. My two year old daughter came in. I asked her why is she not sleeping. She told me that her younger sister is coughing too much. I went upstairs. She followed me up. The younger sister was sleeping. She was not coughing. She was snoring! I prodded her a couple of times. She stopped snoring. I told my daughter to go to sleep and ignore the "coughing". She did. I went downstairs. I heard a baby cry! Damn! I forgot all about the baby. I forgot where I left him. I looked for him everywhere. I followed the sound. He was in his Moses basket. On top of the kitchen table! When did I leave him there? I picked him up. His nappy was full. I started changing him. He kept on wriggling about. I started singing to him. The same song about the greatest babysitter. He calmed down. I made him some milk. I gave him his milk and put him back in the basket. I felt guilty about forgetting him. Sat back watching the tired athletes. This was easy. for twenty minutes, I sat watching the TV with no problems. I panicked.Things should not be that easy. I looked at the baby. He was sleeping. Was he sleeping? He wasn't moving at all. I lifted his arm up and let it fall. It fell! I prodded him. He didn't move. I did it again. He didn't move. I did it a third time. He cried. I was relived. I picked him up and begged him to stop crying. He wouldn't stop. My daughter and my eldest nephew came running down. She said " The baby is crying" I said !"I know. Why are you not sleeping?" She said "Because the baby is crying" I said " I'm looking after the baby, go back to sleep please" She said " I can't" I said "Why can't you?" She said " because the baby is crying" I said " Ok, go back and just lie down in bed, you don't have to sleep" she said " I can't" I said " Why not now?" She said " because it's dark" I said " No it's not. There is a baby light in the room" She said "It's darker than here" I said " Do you want to sleep here?" She said " I can't" I was ready to throw the baby at her. I said " Why not?" She said" because the baby is crying".I asked her to sit down and not talk at all. She did. My nephew asked me if he could sit down too. I said he could. He walked over to her with a happier face than a gold medal winner! The baby stopped crying. I put him back down and turned my attention to the sleepless two. I asked them if they wanted to play the sleeping game with me. They said yes. I asked them to lie down, shut their eyes and see who would sleep first. My daughter was excited and almost agreed to play the game. My nephew whispered something in her ear.She looked at me. She looked hurt. I asked her what was wrong. She said " It's a trick" I said " No it's not. It's a game" She said" You want to trick us" My nephew said " Yeah, you want to trick us". I couldn't trick a couple of infants! Take that gold medal back. I'm not worthy. They were both looking at me. Waiting for my next move. I need to come up with something totally childish to win this game. I picked up the baby and started walking out of the room. I told them to switch the TV and lights off when they come to bed. They didn't say anything but I could see it in their eyes. They thought this was another trick. I went upstairs. Went to bed. They both came running after me. My daughter climbed into bed and whispered in my ear " daddy, are you really going to sleep?" I said "yes". She said "What about mummy?" I said " She has a key" She said " Can I sleep next to you?" I said " No. Sleep on your own bed" She said " But I can't sleep on my own bed" I asked her why. She said " because it's too small" I said " You're small" She said " No I'm a big girl" I said "Big girls sleep on their own beds" she said " but your bed is big" I gave in. My six year old nephew who I suspect to be the brains of this lethal partnership, jumped in. I told them to go to sleep and not give me any more hassle. They didn't reply. Half an hour later, they were both snoring. I put them back in their own beds. I picked up the baby's basket and went back downstairs. Nothing else happened. Three hours later, my wife and sister came back. I passed them the baby and went back to bed. I entered the bedroom and found my daughter and nephew bouncing on the bed. they tricked me! I didn't care. It wasn't my problem anymore. I sent them downstairs and went to bed. The next morning, I woke up late. I went downstairs and found all the kids lined up and waiting for me! They clumsily started singing the song from the night before. The greatest baby sitter song. I grunted and went to the toilet....

A Bee in a bottle

2005-02-26T12:41:00.000Z

On Saturday, I went for a run in the local park. After running round for ten minutes, I decided to have a break. I sat on a bench and thought about having a cigarette. I didn’t. I heard a funny sound. I looked around and couldn’t find where the sound was coming from. I found it. There was a bottle of coke next to me on the bench. It was empty and had the cover on. It was shaking slightly. There was a Bee in it! Who would lock a Bee in a coke bottle? I felt sorry for the poor creature. Who locked it in there? Why? I decided to let it go. I didn’t. I remembered Aladdin’s story (or was it Sinbad?). The one where he found a bottle in the beach and when he opened it a huge Jinni came out and tried to kill him. Aladdin managed to outwit the jinni on that occasion, could I outwit the Bee? What if I let it out and it took its anger out on me? I decided not to take the risk. An old man walked past and looked at me with the bottle in my hand. I hid it behind my back. I hoped he didn’t see the Bee. He probably now thinks I put it there. I’ve got to let it go. I can’t walk away and leave it there. There is a witness now. I looked around me to see if anyone else was coming. The old man was gone. There was nobody about. I slowly put the bottle back and got up. A woman ran past. I sat down again. I didn’t put the Bee in the bottle so why am I feeling guilty about it? Maybe I was born guilty! Is locking Bees in bottles classed as cruelty to animals? Would I get persecuted for it? Surely that’s not the coolest of crimes to get sent down for! I decided to walk away and if I got caught in the act of walking away, I was going to punch whoever catches me. If I were going to go to jail I’d rather go down for assault than for mistreating Bees. What if the Bee dies inside the bottle though? I’d be a Bee murderer. No I wont. I didn’t put the silly Bee in the bottle. I only found it there. Will anyone believe me though? My fingerprints are all over the bottle! I decided that the best course of action was to cut short today’s exercise and take the bottle home with me. I’ll think of something to do once I got home. I put the bottle in my pocket and walked away guardedly. Whenever someone walked past me I’d start to whistle to drown the sounds of the Bee in the bottle. The journey home usually takes five minutes but that day was different, it was as if I was walking a marathon with a Bee in my pocket! When I was a few yards away from home the noise stopped. I took the bottle out to find the Bee dead! I almost fainted. I took deep breaths and convinced myself that the Bee was not dead. Maybe it’s just unconscious. How do you give a Bee first aid? I opened the front door and walked in. My wife saw me and said, “ What’s in the empty bottle?” I said “ a dead Bee, dear” She said, “ Why are you carrying a dead Bee in an empty bottle?” I said “ I found it in the park” She said “ But why are you carrying it?” I didn’t want to say why because she’ll only call me silly again. I said, “I felt sorry for it” She said “ So what are you planning to do with it now?” I said, “ I’m not sure,” She said “ It’s cruel to keep Bees in bottles, you know” I said “ I know” She said “ Let it go” I tried to open the bottle when my wife screamed “ Not here, silly, not here” I stopped. She said “ go outside and then let it out” I said “What if anyone saw me?” She said, “ What if anyone saw you?” I said “ Exactly” she said “I’m married to a mad man” I said “ I’m not mad” She said “ No you’re not but you’re very childish” I said “ Is it childish to feel sorry for Bees?” She said “ No it’s not” I said “ There you go then” She said “It’s childish to keep them in a bottle though” I said “ I didn’t put that Bee in this bottle” she said “Who did then? Your invisible friend?” I didn’t want to have this conversation anymore. She was patronising me. She said, “ I think the Bee is dead” I said, “ No it’s not, it’s just unconscious” She said, “How did you know that?” I said, “ I just know” She said, “ Just get rid of it please” I walked out, looked around me and opened the bottle. I waited for the Bee to get some air and wake up. It didn’t. I shook the bottle. The Bee fell out. It was dead! I threw the bottle away and went back in all sad and melancholic. She said to me “ You are very silly” I didn’t reply. She said “don’t get upset now, I didn’t mean to make you that sad” I said “ it’s not you, dear, it’s the Bee,” She said, “ Did it sting you?” I said, “ No, it’s dead” She said “ You’re sad because the Bee is dead?” I said “ Yes” she said “ But it’s only a Bee, dear” I said, “ I’m a Bee murderer” she said, “ I told you you’re silly”.....

Nightmare!

2005-02-26T12:40:00.000Z

Last night, I went to bed early and had a nightmare. Some strange guy in a shopping mall that sometimes looked like a bus stop and sometimes looked like a beach kept on calling me a bully! I was laughing in my dream at the randomness of his attack. He kept on calling me all sorts of names. Other people joined in. I decided to ignore them and walk away. Some kids rang the doorbell and ran away. I had enough and decided to go back and give that guy a piece of my mind. A pack of dogs started chasing me. I tried to trick them and get back to the guy. I fell in a hole. I saw a mouse trap with a mouse in it. It had henna on its feet! I walked away. I saw a gang of mice heading my way. I ran. They gave chase. It wasn’t the mice it was the dogs again! They started shooting at me. I dived into a ditch. I saw a sleeping snake. I jumped out. The guy at the bus stop was laughing and saying, “ You’re not just a bully you’re a coward too” I punched him on the nose. It deflated like a big balloon. I was buried under it. I fought to get out but the rest of his body was trying to restrain me. I started screaming. Everyone screamed. I kept on punching in the dark. It started raining. I heard babies cry. The rain was cold. I was drenched. I looked up and saw a giant snail. It was talking to me! I didn’t understand what it was saying. I tried to focus. I wasn’t wearing my glasses. I got up and looked for them. It was my wife. She told me to stop making so much noise and punching the wall. She looked angry. I pretended I was still sleeping. I put the cover on my face. Under the cover, I started checking out my bleeding hands. I fell asleep. In the morning, my wife asked me if I had a good night’s sleep. I said “ Why did you wake me up last night?” She said, “ I didn’t,” I said “ Yes you did and you also poured some cold water on me” She said, “ I didn’t. You must have been dreaming” I said “ I was dreaming but you woke me up and told me to stop punching the wall, even my knuckles were bloody!” She said “ They’re not bloody now, are they?” I looked at them and they were not. She said, “ See? I told you it was a dream,” I said “ Maybe that bit was part of the dream but the water bit was not,” She said “ You need to see a doctor” I said “What for? My hands are ok now” She said, “ You just do,” I said “ I wont” she slapped me! When I woke up this morning, I was going to ask her about that slap and start an argument with her over it but I was running late and had to go to work. I might as well forgive her now.

ATM

2005-02-26T12:39:00.000Z

Last night, on my way home from work, I decided to stop by a cash machine and withdraw some money. I stood by the cash machine and took my wallet out. I took my bankcard out and tried to put it in the machine but I dropped it. I panicked. I quickly picked it up and put it in the machine. As I was waiting for it to be read and the request to type my pin number to appear on the screen, I started reading the little notices written on the cash machine. It said “BEWAR OF THIEVES”. I looked around me but didn’t see any. I was prompted to type my pin number in. I had another quick look around me then typed the number quickly. I got it wrong. I typed it again and got it right this time. I followed the instructions on the screen and picked the right amount of money. While my money was being counted, I kept looking around me to see if any thieves had arrived. I didn’t see any. My card came out. I quickly picked it up and put it back in my wallet. I put the wallet back in my pocket and walked away. I remembered the money. I ran back to the cash machine, picked it up and tried to hurriedly stuff it in my wallet. I put the wallet in my pocket and was just about to walk away when someone stopped me. I jumped back. He took a step back. I said, “ What do you want?” He said “can you lend us a pound for a cup of coffee, mate?” I said “ I don’t have any money” He said “ I just saw you taking money out the cash machine” I said “ No I didn’t, I was only checking my balance” He said “ But I saw you, mate” I said “ You must have imagined it” He said “ You really don’t need to lie” I said “I’m not lying” He said “All you had to say was that you had no spare change, mate” I said “ Isn’t that what I just told you?” He said, “ No, you said you had no money” I said, “ Well, I don’t” He said “So what’s that in your wallet?” I quickly had a look at my pocket. The wallet was inside my pocket. How the hell did he see what’s in my wallet? I said, “My wallet is empty,” He said, “ Show me”. I was stuck! I can’t show him my wallet. He’ll see the money. I said “NO”, he said “Why not? Do you have something to hide?” I said “ I don’t have anything to hide and I don’t have to prove anything to you either” He said “You know you could have saved yourself all this panic if you just gave me that pound” I said “What pound?” He said “ The one I asked you to lend me” I said, “You want me to lend you a pound?” He said, “If its not too much trouble, mate” I said, “When will I get it back?” He got upset and said “ Look, if you don’t want to give me money, that’s fine, just don’t play games with me, mate” I said “ I’m not playing games” He said “You are” He looked at me for a second then grunted and started walking away. I thought to myself “what a useless thief!” I went after him. He ignored me. I asked him to stop. He told me to go to hell. I apologised and asked him to ‘please stop’. He stopped and said, “What do you want?” I said “ I don’t want anything, it’s you who wanted something from me” He said “ Yes, I wanted a pound to buy a cup of coffee but you tried to humiliate me for it” I said “ nonsense” He started walking away. I said, “ Ok, ok, maybe I humiliated you unintentionally, I’m sorry” He said, “ apology accepted”. I said, “ Now that we’re friends again, how about we go for that cup of coffee?” He said “What cup of coffee?” I said, “ The one you wanted to buy with my pound!” He said, “ You didn’t even give me the pound,” I said “ I don’t have to, I’m going to buy you coffee” He said “I don’t want coffee now” I said, “ Well, what do you want?” He said “ Just the pound” I said, “What are you going to do with it?” He said “ That ‘s my business” I said “But it’s my pound, man” He said “Keep your pound and just leave me alone, you tight-fisted so and so” I said “ I’m not stingy” He started laughing and walked away. I followed him and said, “Why did you laugh?” He stopped and said, “ If you don’t stop following me, I’m going to beat you up and not just take one pound, I’m going to take all your money”. He is a thief! I told him that I was going to stop following him and that I don’t deal with thieves. I started walking away. He followed me angrily and shouted, “ Who are you calling a thief?” I turned around and asked him if he was drunk! He said he wasn’t but still wanted to know why I called him a thief. I wasn’t scared of him. I just didn’t want to spend another half an hour explaining to him why I thought he was a thief. I really wasn’t scared of him! He started calling me names and asking me why I called him a thief. I took a pound out of my pocket and held it out to him to shut him up. I told him to have it and just leave me alone. He swore some more and got really so close I could see the veins in his head. I panicked. Punched him with the pound and ran away.If you see a guy with a pound sign on his forehead, BEWARE BEWARE....

A dog and a tramp!

2005-02-26T12:38:00.001Z

Last night, I went out for coffee with a friend. We were walking down the road when we noticed a guy lying on the side of the pavement. He looked dead. We approached him to see if he was really dead. We stood above him and started talking to him and asking him to wake up. Neither of us wanted to touch him. He wouldn’t wake up. My friend sat down next to him and started shaking him. The guy didn’t move. I was standing and looking down at both of them. I kept giving my friend instructions. I suggested that we put him in the recovery position. We argued over the correct way to put someone on the recovery position. I looked around to see if there was anyone who could help us agree on the correct way. I couldn’t see anyone. I saw a dog! It was a massive German Shepard. It was running towards us. I ran away. My friend ran after me. The dog went to the corpse and started sniffing it. We stood on the pavement about twenty yards away from the corpse. We decided to phone the police. We decided to also phone for an ambulance. I didn’t have a mobile phone. My friend tried to look for his mobile but couldn’t find it. We found the mobile. It was by the corpse. My silly friend forgot it there when we were trying to help the dead man. The dog had wandered away. We thought about quickly approaching the dead man and picking up our phone. A girl walked past. She was dressed up to the nines. She looked as if she was going to some party. She saw the dead man. She stopped and tried to talk to him. We shouted to her to run away. She looked at us and turned around to look at the dead man again. She saw the dog running towards her. She ran. She lost one of her high heels. She came and stood next to us. She kept saying “ My shoe, my shoe, help me get my shoe” My friend told her that he also needs to get his phone. A guy walked past. He didn’t see the dead body. He came towards us. The girl asked him to help her get her shoe. She told him about the dog. The dog had wandered off again. The guy said “ What dog?” we told him about the dog. He told us off for not helping a damsel in distress. We told him that if he was such a great hero, then he should go and get the shoe. We asked him to get our phone for us too. He looked at us as if he was looking at a couple of kids and walked arrogantly towards the shoe. The dog chased him away. He dropped his hat as he ran. We laughed. The girl phoned the police. A couple of teenage girls walked past. We shouted at them to come and stand with us. We told them to run. They told us to go to hell. They saw the dog and ran. We all stood around discussing this dead man, the shoes, the mobile phone, the hat and the dog! A cat walked past the dead body. We all stopped talking and looked at it. We hoped that when the time came for it to run, it would go the wrong way. It didn’t. It ran towards us, with the dog right behind it! There was lots of pushing and shoving. We scrambled over cars and people’s fences. The cat ran under a car. The dog barked a little then turned around and went back to the corpse. A police van arrived. We explained the situation. They asked us where the dog was. We told them it had wandered off again but it will be back as soon as anyone went near the body. They told us not to worry and parked their van on the road next to the dead body. The dog saw them. It didn’t run. It stood watching them. They didn’t see it. One police officer got out the van and crouched next to the body. He saw the dog. He slowly got up. He waited. The dog was running towards him. It was getting near. The police officer ran and jumped inside the van. We all laughed. Some shabby looking guy with shorts and a dirty vest came out of the house we were standing next to. He looked angry. He asked us why we were standing there and making all this noise. We told him and showed him the corpse and the dog. He walked over to the corpse. He ignored our warnings. The dog came running at him. The guy didn’t move. The dog stood inches away from him barking and bearing its teeth. The guy didn’t move. He was murmuring some soothing words to the dog. The beast calmed down. The man asked the guys in the police van to pass him a leash. He took the dog and put it in the back of the police van. The corpse got up and started shouting “ Police brutality, man, police brutality! Why are you arresting my dog?”Damn tramp.

The Moon was shining and the stars were out!

2005-02-26T12:38:00.000Z

Last Week, I Went To The Shop To Buy Some Milk. It Was A Saturday Night. The Roads Were Busy. I Decided To Walk To The Shop. It Was A Nice And Pleasant Night. The Sky Was Clear And The Stars Were Shining. There Was A Full Moon In The Middle Of The Sky. It Looked Like Some Great Optical Illusion! How Could That Great Light Float In The Sky In Such A Way Without Any Ropes To Hold It Still? It Was A Perfect Night. I Started Wishing I Was Younger. I Wanted To Be In Love With Someone Who Doesn't Love Me. I Wished That Tonight Was The Night She Told Me She Does Not Want Me To Pester Her Anymore! It Would Have Been Perfect. All That Pain And All That Disappointment Would Have Been Worthy Of A Night Like This. I Could Cry Myself To Sleep In Some Park Under The Moon And The Stars. I Could Spend My Time Thinking Of Ways To Have My Revenge On Her! I Started Thinking " Maybe I Should Spend The Night Out Here", I Wondered Where Would I Sleep? I Decided That I Will Not Sleep. I'd Stay Up All Night And Sit Staring At The Moon And Stars Instead. I Looked Around Me For A Place To Sit. I Thought About Sitting On The Side Of The Pavement. I Thought Of People Walking Past And Asking Me Why Am I Sitting Here At This Time Of Night. I Saw Myself Telling Them All About My Imaginary Lover Who Dumped Me When I Was Younger And That Tonight Was The Fifteenth Anniversary Of That Dark Night. Then I Thought Of Policemen Stopping Me And Asking Me To Go Home Or Spend A Night In The Cells. I Decided Not To Sit On The Pavement After All. If I'm Going To Do It, I'll Need To Find Somewhere To Hide. I Looked Around Me And Saw A Big Rubbish Bin. It Had The Words " Please Keep Your Borough Tidy" On It! I Went Over And Stood Next To It While Mentally Measuring It And Trying To Work Out If I'd Fit In. It Was The Perfect Place To Hide. The Angle Was Right For Seeing The Moon And Stars. Its Size Was Adequate Enough For My Bulky Body. I Started Thinking About The Lack Of Rubbish Bins In London. I Remembered Someone Telling Me The Reason Was Terrorism! I Panicked. What If Someone Saw Me Entering The Rubbish Bin? They Would Think I'm A Terrorist! What If Someone Saw Me Now? I Heard A Voice. It Said " What Are You Doing, Sir", I Quickly Turned Around And Saw A Policeman. He Was Huge! In My Hurry To Reply, I Choked And Started Coughing. He Stood There Staring At Me Without Moving A Single Eyelash! I Finally Stopped Coughing And Said "i Was Thinking Of The Moon". He Didn't Say Anything. I Said " I Was Thinking How Great It Would Be If I Entered The Rubbish Bin And Sat Staring At The Moon All Night! I Know It's A Silly Thought". He Still Didn't Say Anything. I Didn't Say Anything. He Said "what Were You Doing, Sir?", I Wanted To Slap Him. I Said "nothing, Officer", He Kept On Staring At Me For A Few Seconds And Then Turned Around And Walked Back To His Van. I Wanted To Run After Him And Kick Him In The Backside. I Started Thinking Of How I Would Do It. I'd Have To Run Very Fast And Then Jump In The Last Minute And Kick Him. A Karate Type Of Kick Not A Football Volley. By The Time I've Decided On The Type Of Kick I'd Administer, He Was Already In The Van. I Shrugged And Carried On Walking. I Was Walking The Wrong Way. I Still Didn't Get The Milk! I Turned Around And Went Back Towards The Shop. A Young Boy Stopped Me And Asked Me To Buy Him Some Cigarettes. I Refused. He Begged Me. I Still Refused. He Said " Listen Mate, I Know You Think I'm Unederage But I Swear To You That I'm Over 16 Years Of Age" I Said "in That Case, Why Don't You Go And Buy Your Own Stuff? You're A Big Boy, You Don't Need Me" He Said " But I Do! The Shop Owner Hates Me" I Said "why?" He Said "he Just Does" I Said "hating You Shouldn't Stop Him From Doing Business With You" He Said " Never Mind The Shop Owner, Are You Going To Help Me Or Not?" I Said " No" He Said " Please" I Said " Sorry I Don't' Want To Break The Law" He Said " I'm Not Asking You To Steal Anything" I Said " Yes You Are, You're Asking Me To Steal Your Innocence" He Swore At Me And Told Me That I'm Mad! I Thought Of Karate Kicking Him. He Swore At Me Some More. I Ignored Him And Walked Into The Shop. The Owner Welcomed Me And Said " I Hate That Little Boy Outside" I Said " I Know" He Said " How Do You Know?" I Said " He Told Me" He Said " That's Why I Hate Him". I Didn't Say Anything. I Bought The Milk And Walked Out. I Looked At The Boy Then Kept On Walking Home. The Boy Karate Kicked Me And Ran Away. I Lay Down On The Ground Looking Up At The Moon And Smiling. It Would Have Been A Really Rotten Night If My Imaginary Lover Had Dumped Me In Addition To This Silly Kid Kicking Me. I Smiled Some More. The Moon Was Shining And The Stars Were Out.

Poorly colleague!

2005-02-26T12:37:00.000Z

Today, I got to work to find that my assistant is ill again. The poor girl suffers from chronic food poisoning! When I was told that this menacing ailment has struck again I felt sorry for her. I felt sorry for myself too. It’s not that I’ll have to cope with work on my own again or anything of the sort. I felt sorry for myself because when she comes back, I’ll have to sit and listen to all the gory details. She’ll cry. She’ll apologise for leaving me in the lurch. She’ll reassert her long life wish of committing suicide. She’ll tell me again that the only thing stopping her from doing so is the fact that she has not fulfilled all her other ambitions in life! Apparently, she first has to finish decorating her new three-bedroom house, she needs to paint the garage door and she needs to finish the fishpond that she created in her garden. All are major tasks! She’ll also go into great detail about how everyone hates her and how unfortunate she is. She’ll ask me again “ Why did I end up with a dark haired guy when all my life I dreamt of marrying a blonde man?” She’ll apologise again about taking the last two days off and tell me that she’s worried about her job security! She’ll go on about how she’s being paid peanuts and being taxed thousands. She’ll mention her hate for the jobless and “scroungers” of this world! She’ll tell me again about the TV advert she saw a few months ago. An advert that nobody else I’ve asked seems to have seen. She saw it though. She swears she did. It was a governmental advert encouraging single mothers to return to work. She didn’t have a problem with the advert itself but she had a problem with the actress pretending to be a single mother! It seems that, her hair was done too nicely for her to be a poor single mother. Her flat was also nicely decorated and she had a BANK ACCOUNT! These poor scroungers should not have bank accounts. They already get paid millions of pounds of taxpayer’s money. How dare they have bank accounts? I’ll sit and nod. I’ll sympathise. I’ll give her fake and reassuring smiles. I’ll tell her that life is hard and the bad guys always win. She’ll agree and she’ll repeat the story about her next-door neighbour who seems to own two cars. Two cars when you’re living in a backwards area like Walthamstow? She’ll quickly remind me that he’s not really her next-door neighbour. He apparently lives on the poor side of their street!She’ll go back and tell me about her food poisoning again. I HAVE to believe her. She will not take my word for it though. She’ll keep on talking until she believes that I believe! She’ll tell me about the miscarriage she had. She’ll tell me about all the pregnant woman that she seems to suddenly notice when she’s out. She’ll tell me how she wishes they all had miscarriages! She’ll accuse them of probably being single mothers. Married woman don’t have children, only single mothers do. She’ll tell me how she decided not to have any kids because children play havoc with your figure. They cost money. Money better spent going on holiday or saving for a rainy day! She’ll say that even though she hates food poisoning it does have its benefits. She’s fat and she needs to lose weight. I’ll tell her that she’s not fat and does not need to lose any weight. She’ll tell me that I’m a man and men don’t know anything about weight. She’ll moan, she’ll whinge and she’ll complain about how hard life is. After an hour of this, she’ll ask me how I coped in her absence! How could I tell her the truth? What do I say? Do I say that I was fine while she was away with food poisoning and that now she’s back; I’m starting to suffer from mind poisoning?Sometimes, sometimes I think of ways of annoying her. Maybe I should get all the latest press cuttings about scroungers, asylum seekers and the deputy prime minister. Maybe I should start leaving them on her desk everyday. I could add a couple of photos of the Beckham’s on holiday. Show a few glitzy pictures of rich film stars. Tax rise news? Beautiful pregnant women? Maybe I should just phone in sick tomorrow.

New Man!

2005-02-26T12:36:00.000Z

Last night was a crazy night. I got home to find my wife in a very bad mood. She was tired of doing the housework, looking after the kids and working as my unpaid personal secretary. I felt sorry for her and offered to swap places. I’ll stay at home and she can go out to work. She accused me of patronising her. My offer was genuine! I didn’t want to have an argument so I decided to put in an extra effort and clean the entire house. I though that by doing all the little jobs she’s been nagging me about for the past few months, I’d make her happy! I thought wrong. She asked me not to placate her as if she was a little child. I told her that I wasn’t. I was genuinely trying to help. She got me! I saw it in her eyes. I did, I did!She asked me to start by cleaning the kitchen. She said she couldn’t clean the oven and that she wanted me to clean it thoroughly for her. I did. She then asked me to clear the dust from behind the fridge because some Politician on TV was criticising woman for not doing so. I felt like a voodoo doll being stabbed in order to get back at somebody else. I did all the kitchen tasks. I wouldn’t want to blow my own trumpet but I think I did a marvellous job too. I wondered if there was such a job as kitchen cleaner and if it’s good business. She then asked me to vacuum all the rooms in the house. I did. It was also another good job. I made myself a cup of tea and sat back admiring all my good work. I was amazed at my great stamina. How could I have done all of this when I’ve already done a full day’s work? I heard some noise coming from the kitchen. I called out to my wife to ask her what she was doing. She said “ Nothing”. I said, “ If you’re doing nothing then where is that noise coming from?” She said, “ I knocked something over”. I said “ What?” she said, “ Why are you asking me all these questions? I just dropped something and picked it up straightaway” I started getting suspicious. I told her that I needed to know what she dropped. I really needed to know. She tried to shut me up with one of her usual arguments. I kept on asking and talking. I slowly walked towards the kitchen as I did. I caught her red handed. She was cleaning the oven! I asked her why did she do it? She replied, “ I noticed that you missed a bit on the side” I said, “ Why didn’t you tell me that when I was doing it?” She said, “ I just noticed it,” I said “ Why did you congratulate me on a job well done then?” She said, “ Because you did a good job” I said “ But I didn’t, did I?” She said, “ Yes you did, I was only applying the final touches” I said “ Are you also going to do the vacuuming?” She said, “ No, I don’t need to. You did a very good job there” I said “ Are you sure?” She said “ Positive”. I decided to let her off this time. I went back and sat drinking my tea. She came in and switched the TV on. She got up and walked off. She stopped. She turned around. She said, “ Can I ask you something?” I said, “ Yeah, what do you want to ask?” She said “ promise you will not get upset?” I said, “ I wont” She said “ Promise!” I said “ Ok, I promise” She said “ Do you mind if I quickly vacuum this room? You did a good job on all the other rooms but there is a bit of dust on the corner there and I wont be able to sleep if it don’t get rid of it” I wanted to cry. I controlled myself and said, “ Do what makes you feel comfortable, dear” She said “ Are you upset?” I said “ No, not at all. Go ahead and do your vacuuming,” She said, “ You are upset,” I said, “ I told you that I’m not. Do you want me to be upset?” She said “ No I don’t” I said “ Stop asking me these questions then” She said “ Oh god, I upset you, didn’t I?” I said “ Yes you did, now just leave me alone” She said, “ I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you” I said, “ It’s ok. It’s no big deal,” She said “ But it is. You spent three hours doing all this work and now I’m making you feel as if it was not good enough” I said “ I only have one question; if you knew my work was not good enough, why the hell were you happy to let me do it?” She said “ The work didn’t make me happy, it’s the thought that counts” I said, “ What thought?” She said “ The thought that you’re helping me out” I said “You made me do all of this just because the thought of it made you happy?” She said “ its sounds bad when you put it like that. I’m not that evil” I said “I didn’t say you were” She said “ You didn’t have to, you implied it” I said “ I didn’t imply anything” She said “ Don’t try to wriggle your way out of it, be a man and admit it” I said “ I’m not going to admit anything. I’m not going to let you trick me again” She said, “See, you’re doing it again!” I said “ Doing what?” she said “ Implying that I’m evil and that I trick people” I decided not to argue anymore. She walked off in a huff and started cleaning the entire house once more. I wanted to burn the house down.

Family pet!

2005-02-26T12:35:00.000Z

Last weekend, I finally gave in to the pressure from my wife and kids and agreed to buy us a pet. I took my three-year-old daughter and we went to the local pet shop. I always pass this shop on my way to work or the gym but I’ve never noticed it before! It’s like a mini zoo! They had kittens, fish, hamsters, mice and lots of noisy birds. We were supposed to get a kitten. I asked the shop assistant about the kittens they had and how much they cost. The price seemed reasonable and my daughter loved what she saw. I then asked him if there are any other things that I needed to do. He started giving me a long lecture about the different things I’ll have to do to keep my kitten happy and healthy. I remembered the midwife telling me similar things about looking after babies! I decided not to buy the kitten. I managed to convince my daughter that buying a kitten was not really a good idea; we should look at other animals. We looked at the fish but they were not practical enough for a three year old. She wanted to touch them and kiss them. Why would anyone want to kiss a fish? I told her not to rush things. She’ll have plenty of frogs to kiss when she grows up. She asked me where the frogs were. The shop assistant, who was following us around, told her that they don’t sell any frogs! We then started looking at the birds. I thought they looked lovely but my daughter had her hands on her ears throughout. Maybe I should take this little girl to see a counsellor! How could she hate the sweet sounds of birds?We had no choice but to move on to the hamsters and other rodents. She saw a white mouse in a cage. She insisted that I buy her the mouse. I couldn’t agree to buy her a mouse. It’s a mouse for god’s sake! She would not budge. She wanted the mouse and she was not going to move unless I bought it for her. The wise shop assistant joined in. He sensibly asked me who was I buying the pet for. I told him that I was buying it for her. He said “ Well, seems she got her heart set on a mouse, sir” I contemplated his reasonable words then told him that I’m not buying her a mouse. She gave in and said that she does not want the mouse anymore. She said she didn’t want anything anymore. She wanted to go home. She looked sad! I felt sorry for her. It was only a mouse after all! I bought it. We went home happy. She ran to her mother and told her about the latest member of the family. My wife came and had a look. She ran to the kitchen and shut herself in. She screamed from behind the door and asked me to take the mouse back. She said that if she wanted a mouse, she would have caught it herself. I tried to reason with her. I’ve since learned never to reason with a woman scared of a mouse. While we were arguing, my daughter let the mouse out of the cage and tried to stroke it. The mouse ran away. My wife screamed some more. My daughter heard her mother scream and started crying. My wife said, “ Now, look what you have done?” I said “ I didn’t do anything, it’s you who scared her with your screaming” She said “ You’re the one who brought that filthy rodent into our house” I said “ It’s not filthy” She said “ All mice are filthy” I said “ But I bought this one from the pet shop” She said “ They ripped you off” I said “ It wasn’t that expensive” She said “ I don’t care how much it cost, just get rid of it” I said “ You’ve got to help me catch it” she said “ I’m going nowhere near that filthy animal” I said “ Stop calling it filthy, I think it’s sweet” I asked my daughter if she thought the mouse was sweet. She was still crying but she nodded her agreement. My wife said, “ It’s not nice to teach a child to take sides”. She was in an argumentative mood and I knew I was not going to win. I stopped talking and tried to catch the mouse. My other daughter, who was sleeping on the sofa throughout all of this, woke up. She saw me and her sister chasing the mouse around the room and she joined in laughing. The doorbell rang. I told the girls to carry on chasing the mouse and went to open the door. It was my sister-in-law. I greeted her then turned around and went back to the living room. The mouse ran past me. My sister-in-law jumped on me. I panicked and pushed her away. The mouse ran out to the street. A car hit it. I screamed. My two daughters behind me screamed. My sister-in-law came out and was shouting for us to tell her what’s going on. My wife came out and was shouting for us to all come back in. My brother-in-law got out the car and asked us why we were all shouting?I told him that he killed our first ever pet. He looked under the car and said, “ What pet? All I see is a dead mouse!” I explained that it was our new pet and that he killed it. He told me not get myself worked up over a dead mouse. My wife and her sister agreed with him. My daughters got distracted with a cartoon show on TV. I decided to go on strike. I stopped talking to them and told them that I’ll only talk if they acknowledged the fact that OUR pet was murdered. They accused me of being mad and unreasonable. I ignored them. They finally surrendered and tried to compromise. We buried “shooting star” in the back garden.It’s been four days since our mouse died. We’ve decided to honour his memory by never buying another pet.

Expensive socks!

2005-02-26T12:34:00.000Z

This morning, I woke up early and went out. The streets were unusually busy. I went to the high street. It was busy too. I saw a queue of people outside a shop! Why was there a line outside this shop? I assumed there was a sale. I joined the line. I wondered if it was women’s shop. I looked at the shop sign. It didn’t mention anything about women. I wanted to ask the guy in front of me what was he planning to buy from the shop. I didn’t want to look silly. I didn’t ask. I looked behind me and noticed that the line was getting bigger. There were two women behind me. They were talking about their children. Something to do with schools and leaving things to the last minute! I noticed that they were looking at me, straight in the face! I realised that I was also looking at them, straight in the face! I quickly turned round and looked straight ahead. I felt someone touch my shoulder. I worried that those women were going to start a fight with me. I quickly shouted “ I’m sorry for staring, ok?”. It wasn’t the two women. It was another woman. My next door neighbour. She asked me what was I doing in that line. I was about to answer her when the two women behind me interrupted. They told her to go and join the end of the line. She told them that she’s only here to talk to me and that she’s not planning to buy anything. They didn’t like the way she replied to them. One of them whispered some sarcastic remark under her breath. My neighbour shouted “ what did you just say?” . The woman said “ nothing”. My neighbour said “ you’re very rude”. The woman replied “ no, you’re rude for jumping the queue”. My neighbour said “ I didn’t jump the queue, I only came to ask this guy why was he standing in line for a shop that sells school uniforms when his kids don’t even go to school?”. I almost fainted. I lied and said “ I’m planning to buy stuff for my nephews”. Nobody heard me. The women were still arguing. I told my next door neighbour to stop arguing with them. Told her that I’ve changed my mind and didn't’ want to buy anything and that we should just go. She refused! She insisted that I stay in line and that she’ll stay with me. She stood there looking at the women and daring them to make a move. They backed down. She stood next to me and started to talk about how rude society has become. When she calmed down, she started telling me about her back garden and how she was having trouble fixing her lawnmower. She asked me to come round and help her fix it if I could. I said that I’d give it a try. We finally got to the shop. They had all sorts of school uniforms. I had to choose one. I didn’t know any sizes. She was trying to help me by asking me lots of questions that I had no answer to. I lied again, and again, and again. We came out of the shop with a brand new school uniform! I decided to pretend that I had something really important to do. I wanted to walk away then come back to the shop and give them the uniform back. She said that she’s finished all her shopping and didn’t mind coming with me. “ We can walk home together once you’ve finished” she said. I wanted to strangle her. We walked into a Mark’s and Spencer’s store. It was a big store. I kept walking around in circles, with her right beside me. I bought a shirt that I didn’t really need. I bought expensive socks that she thought were nice. I was shopping with a strange woman! I hate shopping with my own wife! I hate shopping. We stopped by the women’s section. She was trying on a few perfumes. I slowly wandered away. I ran out of the shop. I went back to the school shop to return the uniform. The line was still long. There was no way I could return the uniform. I went home. My wife said “ where is the Broom?” I said “ what broom?” She said “ the broom you went out to buy?”. I panicked. I forgot to buy all the stuff she asked me to get. Now she’ll call me useless again! I said “ Oh, the broom? Isn’t there among all that shopping?” . She said “ No, it’s isn’t! There is only a school uniform and some shirts”. I started pulling faces and pretending to be confused. “ You must have picked someone else’s shopping by mistake” she said. I agreed. I relaxed and was laughing inwardly at how great I could be at times. The doorbell rang. My wife opened it. She came in alone with a smile on her face. I asked her who was it that rang the bell. She smiled at me, put a carrier bag in front of me and walked away. She was acting strangely. Damn women! I picked up the bag and looked inside. I almost fainted. The bag contained Mark’s & Spencer’s expensive socks! Damn women.

Perfect knees!

2005-02-26T12:33:00.000Z

Last night, I got a call from a friend telling me that he found me a bargain laptop. I could not remember that I asked him to find me one! He asked me not to leave and that he’d be at my house in a few minutes. Twenty minutes later, he was knocking on my front door. I opened the door and asked him to come in but he wouldn’t. I tried to ask him what the matter was but he made a signal indicating that I shut up. I did. I whispered “ What’s wrong?” . He whispered “ follow me”. I followed him. We went to his car. He looked around him then opened the boot. There was a black bag and a tyre in the boot. I wondered why was the tyre visible! I thought new cars were designed to hide the spare tyres in the floor of the boot! He pulled out the bag and took out a brand new laptop. He looked around him again and passed me the laptop. I panicked. I passed it back to him. He told me to calm down and have a look at the laptop. I did. It was a nice laptop. Black, shiny and brand new. He asked me if I liked it and I told him that I did. He asked me if I wanted to buy it and I told him that I didn’t. He said “ why?”. I said “ because I already own a computer”. He said “ but this is not a computer, this is a laptop, silly”. I said “ it’s the same thing”. He said “ no it’s not! You can’t put your computer on your lap but you can put a laptop on your lap!”. I never thought of it that way before! I was impressed; he’s a good salesman, my friend. I thought the word laptop was just one word and had nothing to do with laps. I told him that I was impressed with his great observational skills and that he could have been a great salesman instead of the dodgy one that he is sometimes. He grunted. I knew he was flattered. We didn’t talk for a few seconds. Both were lost in different thoughts. I was thinking about the designs of new cars and visible spare tyres in boots. He was thinking of a way to sell me the laptop. He spoke again. He asked me if I’ve changed my mind and was ready to buy the laptop now that I’ve realised that I could put it on my lap. I told him I didn’t. He asked me why. I told him because I had a shaky knee. He said “ what’s a shaky knee?”. I said “ a fidgety knee”. He said “ how could your knee be fidgety?”. I said “ my knee is not fidgety, I am”. He said “why did you say it was your knee then?”. I said “because as a result of me being fidgety, my knee becomes shaky”. He said “what’s that rubbish got to do with you buying the laptop?”. I said “ I wouldn’t be able to put it on my lap because of my shaky knee”. He said “ but you’re not going to put it on your knee, you’re going to put it on your lap”. I said “ same thing”. He said “ no it’s not. One is your lap and the other is your knee”. I said “ I don’t need lessons in biology from you, mate”. He laughed but his eyes didn’t. I panicked. I laughed back with all my body. He stopped laughing and asked me if I wanted to buy the laptop. I told him that I could not afford it. He said “ how the hell did you know that you couldn’t afford it, I didn’t even tell you how much I’m selling it for?”. I said “ it’s an expensive laptop, right?”. He said “ yes”. I said “ well, I couldn’t afford it”. He said “ no, no, no you got it all wrong. It’s an expensive laptop but it will not be expensive for you”. I said “ how do you know if it will or not?”. He said “ because I’m selling it to you”. I told him that still didn’t explain how he knew that I could afford such an expensive laptop. He said he was giving it to me at half its value. It was an impressive offer. I couldn’t agree to it though. I’ve already said I couldn’t afford it. I told him so. He was shocked. He said since I was a mate he would sell it to me for a quarter of the price. I told him I still couldn’t afford it. He asked me to pay him fifty pounds and take the laptop. I told him I didn’t have that much money on me. He finally said “ Don’t mess me about, mate. Do you want to buy this laptop or not?”. I said “not”. He said “ why didn’t you say that from the start?”. I smiled and apologised even though I really didn‘t have to. He put the laptop back in its bag and shut the boot. He stood thinking for a few seconds. He opened the boot, pointed at something inside and said “ do you want to buy a spare tyre? I saw you looking at it earlier”. I was tempted but I told him that I didn’t have a car and I probably could not afford a brand new spare tyre anyway. He slammed the boot shut. Got in his car and drove off without saying goodbye. When I got back indoors and told my wife about it, she told me off. She bragged about her perfect knees.

High heels!

2005-02-26T12:32:00.000Z

This evening, I left work on time and got on the tube. I got a seat! I decided that tonight was going to be a very good night. I don’t believe in omens, I make them up. I got to my station with no delays and if there were any, I didn’t notice them because I was sitting down. I got out and walked to the bus stop. It was unusually busy. Our local football club must be having an evening game tonight! The bus arrived and I got in. I sat in front of a group of noisy teenagers. They were talking loudly and swearing a lot. I looked back and tried to give them a look that said “ shut up!”. They were not looking at me. When they finally looked at me they seemed to have misread my “look”. They gave me an acknowledging look and carried on talking louder than before. I was about to explain but stopped myself at the last minute. I sat back trying to reason with myself. Eventually, coward me managed to dupe fearless me again and persuade him to ignore the kids. I couldn’t ignore them; they were very loud. They were using very offensive language. I decided to get off the bus and walk the rest of the way. I convinced myself a bit of exercise was good for my health. I pressed the bell and got up to stand by the bus’s exist door. There was a slim, beautiful and dark haired woman standing by the door too. She gave me a look that said “ I’m getting off first”. I felt sorry for her. How could someone so beautiful be so petty? While I was thinking about her pettiness and beauty, the bus stopped. I instinctively got off. She tried to push out at the same time. I beat her to it and my foot touched the ground first. I tried to stifle my laughter and kept a straight face as I looked back at her. I’m happy to report that looks can’t kill! She walked off very quickly. I followed her. I was going the same way. I found myself racing her. I passed her. I slowed down a little to savour the moment of my winning. I heard her footsteps behind me. She was still walking very fast. Is she going to karate kick me when she gets closer? What a sore loser! Once bitten twice shy. I didn’t want to get a karate kick again. I increased my pace. She seemed to increase hers. Her footsteps seemed to get louder by the second. Tick, tock, tick, tock. It was as if we were running inside a clock. The big hand is forever chasing the small one and whenever it catches up with it, it completely covers it! I didn’t want to be covered. I walked very quickly. I didn’t want to look back. I kept on almost skipping down the road. The sound of her footsteps started to fade away. Did she give up? I couldn’t risk looking back. I didn’t want her to think she had a chance of catching up with me. My daydreams must have slowed me down. The sound of her footsteps was getting louder again. I panicked. I almost ran. I controlled myself and tried to walk at an even quick pace. The sound of feet was getting really close. I ducked to my left and walked into a newsagent‘s. The guy behind the counter must have been looking forward to seeing a customer, any customer! He smiled at me, I half smiled and then cautiously looked outside the shop for signs of my pursuer. She wasn’t there. I breathed a sigh of relief and was about to walk out of the shop. I heard the shop owner call me. I turned round and looked at him. He asked me if I needed any help. I said “ not anymore, thanks”. He asked me if I was ok. I told him that I was. He asked me if I needed to buy anything from his shop and I told him that I didn’t. I could see him visibly getting angry! Why was he getting angry? I picked up a magazine, paid for it and left. He smiled and asked me to come again. Out on the street, there was no sign of the girl. I started laughing at my paranoia. How the hell could I question my ability to beat a woman wearing high heels in a walking race? I carried on walking. Home was less than a hundred yards away now. I heard the sound of footsteps. The same footsteps! I walked quickly again. I could see the door of my house. A few more seconds and I’ll be there. She can’t catch me anymore; we’ve reached the finish line. Home? I didn’t want her to know where I lived. What if she was a sore loser and started to throw pig kidneys through my letterbox each morning? I was not going to take that risk. I didn’t know what to do! I was a couple of steps away from my house. The footsteps were still following me. I walked straight past my house. I suddenly stopped and pretended to do my shoelaces. The footsteps didn’t stop. They walked right past me. It wasn’t her! It was a different woman. Still, I let her win. It was only a walking race anyway.I rang the doorbell. My wife opened the door and let me in. My little girls came running to me. I passed my wife the magazine and picked my youngest daughter up. As I was kissing my youngest and asking my eldest about their day, I sensed that something was wrong! I turned around to see that my wife was holding in her hands a copy of MEN’s WORLD! Did I say tonight was going to be a good night?

Revolving doors!

2005-02-26T12:31:00.000Z

Last night, I finally decided to join a gym. I got home from work, had something to eat and went out again. I was walking towards our local sports club. I wanted to get an application form and have a look at their facilities. It was an impressive place. It had a big and lovely foyer and huge revolving doors. I hate revolving doors. I managed to manoeuvre my way round them and get into the sports centre. I went to the receptionist and asked her for an application form. She told me to go and speak to the fat man sitting on a table on the side. He was wearing a tracksuit and had a colossal beer gut. I went over and asked him the same question that I asked the young receptionist. He was very excited to see me and started telling me how important exercise was. He repeated the usual stuff about healthy minds in healthy bodies and the like. There was no sign or mention of an application form. He said, “ Why do you want to join our sports club?” I told him that I wanted to stay fit and healthy. He asked, “ How fit do you want to become?” I said “ fit enough to run without being out of breath after two seconds” He said “ do you hope to get to a professional standard of fitness?” I said, “Is this a job interview?” He said “ No it’s not” I said, “ why are you asking me all these questions then?” he said “ it’s the club’s policy” I said “ shouldn’t the club policy be about attracting customers to the club?” He said “ Yes, but we don’t want any old customers, we want people that care about what they do”. I said, “I care. Can you give me an application form now, please”. He said, “ In a minute, but first I have to ask you a few more questions”. I got up and said “ stuff your application form, mate. I changed my mind”. He smiled and said, “ Now do you see why we ask all these questions?” I said, “ Yeah, you seem to have a grudge against the management of this place and want to drive all their potential customers away”. He looked hurt and said, “ this is not about me it’s about you”. I said “ I only wanted to join a gym and workout twice or three times a week to convince myself that I’m leading a healthy life. I didn’t want to become a bodybuilder, man”. He said “I realise that but if I didn’t ask you all these questions, how would I know that you’ll come back tomorrow with a filled in application form and a cheque?” I said “ you’ll have to take a chance, it’s not as if you’re losing money or anything”. He said “ but we are!” I said “ how?” he said, “ we’ll be losing your potential joining in fee,” I said “ you lost it already, mate” he said, “ Why are we having this conversation then?” I said, “ I don’t know!” he said, “ Can we try one more time and start again? You came all this way, it would be a shame if you go back the same way you came in” I was confused! Why would it be a shame? I always go back the same way I come in! I didn’t say anything. He smiled and handed me a blank application form. I knew that was the carrot and that the stick was coming any minute now. I wanted to run away with my application form before he opened his mouth again. He said, “ Now that you’ve got your application form, will you relax a little and answer my questions? It’s all for your own good”. I reluctantly agreed. He asked me if I smoked. I thought that was a trick question. I lied. He asked me what other forms of exercise did I do. I told him I didn’t do any. He asked me what parts of my body did I want to improve. I remembered the spam e-mails I keep on receiving. I looked at him suspiciously and asked him about the setup of the showers in the sports club. He looked confused and told me that he’ll give me a guided tour later. He went on to ask me about the types of food I eat! What is it with people and the types of food I eat? My doctor asked me the same question the previous week. The girl in MacDonald’s was also interested in the types of food I eat and now this guy! I told him that I eat everything. He told me that he’d devise a plan for me. I started daydreaming about this plan of his. What is it going to be like? Would I have to sneak downstairs in the middle of the night and eat chocolates and sweets behind my wife’s back? I thought of the famous chef Delia Smith and her revolutionary method in boiling eggs. I bet his plan will never be as good as hers. He asked me why was I smiling. I panicked. I lied and told him that it was a smile of excitement. He got up and asked me if I was ready for that guided tour. I said I was. He showed me the gym first. There was a huge man standing by the mirror and measuring his waist. Normal people would be impressed or disgusted by the size of his body. I wasn’t. I was impressed by the size of his head. I wondered if he was always this big. I concluded that he must have been. A head that big would’ve crushed a thinner frame. I looked around the gym and saw a collection of unfit people rowing, riding bikes and running on treadmills. I saw my reflection in the mirror and noticed that I was fitter than all of them. I asked my guide if all these people started today. He told me that most of them are old members of the club. He praised their dedication and fitness! He praised his own fitness! He was a fat man with a beer gut. I looked at him closely. I looked at all the unfit and fat people in the gym again. Majority ruled. Fat is fit and thin is out of fashion. I decided to become fat too. I told him that I’m planning to do my best to get to his and these people’s levels of fitness. He was as touched as a false priest peptizing a new convert. We went on to see the swimming pool and all the other parts of the sport club. He finally escorted me to the revolving doors and told me that he’s looking forward to seeing me again. I said goodbye and left. I got home and told my wife about the gym and my intentions of becoming fat. She told me that I was already fat and that I should lose weight. I told her that the times are changing; fat is in and thin is out. She told me fat would never be in, it’ll never get through the door. I thought of those revolving doors. I had a scary vision of being stuck in those revolving doors. I panicked. She smiled and asked me if I wanted to have a Delia style boiled eggs. I declined her offer. Fat might be the in thing but I’m no fashion victim. I started making a paper airplane out of the application form.

Football!

2005-02-26T12:30:00.000Z

Last night, I got a call from a friend asking me if I wanted to play a game of football! Did he know about my new fitness plan? I agreed to play and told him that I’ll meet him in the local park at eight. I fished out my sport’s gear and told the wife that I’ll be late because I’m playing football. She looked surprised, she shook her head and then she laughed. I ignored her and went out. I got to the park to find two professional looking teams warming up on the sides. Even the goal posts were of international standard! I walked over to my friend and asked him what position were they thinking of playing me in. He told me not to worry and that they’ll fit me in somewhere. He told me to start warming up because the game will be starting in a matter of minutes. I started doing some stretching exercises and casting my eye on the opposition. They didn’t look anything special. I decided that they were beatable. My friend called me over and started asking the other ten players to form a circle round him. A short and bald guy appeared from nowhere and started telling us what the game plan was. This was more serious than I thought! Does the other team have a manager too? I looked around to check and saw that they did. The short guy told me to pay attention. I apologised and pretended to listen to him. He asked me to play as a holding midfielder. His instructions were that nobody should be allowed to dribble past me. He told me to tackle hard but avoid a red card. I thought those rhyming words sounded nice. The game started. There was no time wasted with introductions and showing off. Players were running at a hundred miles per hour. Tackles were flying everywhere and the managers were screaming as loud as they could. Our game plan started at 4-4-2 but kept on switching to 4-5-2 on account of our excitable manager getting upset and running into the pitch every so often. The opposing team were mediocre but had a very good goalkeeper. He blocked, saved and scoffed at all our attempts to score. The game had the word draw written all over it. The opposition scored! Our manager started jumping around in celebration. I wondered why was he celebrating his team conceding a goal. I moved closer to where he was standing. He wasn’t celebrating. He was saying stuff about my mother! I swore back at him. He challenged me to a fight. I panicked. I stayed where I was and swore at him again. He came running towards me. I panicked. People got in between us. I swore at him again. My friend held me back and told me to calm down. I refused. I had an audience now. Coward me hates embarrassment but fearless me loves a show. I was going to batter that short guy and shine my boots on his bald patch. There was no stopping me now. He was still staying thing about my mother. I jumped on him and had him in a headlock. It took four players to drag us of the floor. The lifted us up, with him still in my headlock. Someone pinched my arm. I let go of him. He was still saying things about my mother. I got pushed to the far end of the pitch and was persuaded to calm down by a group of five large guys. I calmed down. The game was ready to begin again. The manager was making a substitution. I dared him to take me out. He said something about my mother and then told me that as much as he would love to take me out, he had no replacements for me. He was planning to take our injured fat centre forward out. Since we had nobody to replace him, the manager was going to play in his place. I thought of waiting for him to get the ball then tackle him real hard. I remembered that the fool was on my side. I decided to control my anger and enjoy the game. My earlier fight with my manager and heroic muscle flexing must have annoyed some of the opposition’s players. When the game was resumed, their large midfielder clattered into me and almost broke my right leg. He almost broke my favourite leg! I was about to get up and ask him politely not to repeat such tackles again when I noticed that our short manager was already there saying things about his mother. A fight broke out between the two guys. I jumped in and tried to keep them apart. My manager got upset and accused me of being ungrateful. I was ready to start another fight with him when the opposition’s player pushed me to the ground! Other players came running and started pushing each other around. The referee joined in and started blowing his whistle. Somebody punched him. He stopped whistling and fell to the ground. I told him to relax and watch the fun from here. He told me he’s going to declare this game abandoned! The players stopped arguing and fighting and all looked at us at once. How could he abandon a game that has been running for only ten minutes? He said he couldn’t referee a game with that much aggression in it. Our short manager shouted, “ It’s a game of football, silly, it’s not Ice Skating”. He said something about the referee’s mother too. The referee abandoned the game. Everyone blamed the short manager. He blamed me and said something about my mother. I tried to attack him but was too tired. I decided I’d had enough of this game and went home. When I got home, my wife looked surprised. She said, “ Back so soon?” I told her that the game was abandoned because of fighting and that I was tired anyway. She asked me if I was part of the fighting. I told her that some people alleged that I was the reason for the fighting. She said something about my mother being proud of having a grown up son starting fights in parks. I almost had her in a headlock. I didn’t. She told me that all that adrenaline brings out the worst in me. I told her that people mentioning my mother bring out the worst in me. She said “ There is no point reasoning with you when you’re in this state”. I said, “ What state?” She said “ this state!” I said, “ You mean getting upset about people calling my mother names?” she said, “ see what I mean? You couldn’t beat up the guys in the park and now you want to take your frustrations out on me! There is no talking to you when you’re in this state”. I wanted to take my frustrations out on her. How does she do it? How does she manage to attach every instance of anger I have to herself? She won again. I didn’t want to talk about anything anymore. The phone rang. She picked it up. She said, “ It’s your mother”. I stormed out of the room.

Jack, the dog!

2005-02-26T12:29:00.000Z

Yesterday, I went to the city centre with two of my friends. We were planning to visit a couple of coffee shops and later on go for dinner. We went to an Arabic coffee shop and ordered a Shiisha or nargile (Hookah) or hubbly bubbly as some people call it. I’m not very fond of that last name because it gives the impression that this particular activity is some sort of game! While we were there, I saw many people smoking a hubbly bubbly. They were very easy to spot too. They were the men and women who didn’t inhale. They were the ones who spent their time trying to create smoke rings every time they sucked in. They’re the worst kind of customer in such coffee shops. They give the rest of us a bad name. A true professional knows that this activity is a pure art form. Every time you inhale and hear the sound of the water bubbling up in the bottle you picture yourself sucking in an entire ocean. It ebbs and flows with every breath you take; it’s a true shame that they have not invented fish flavoured tobacco yet to complete this lovely image.While I was lost in smoke (in my mouth and around me), I heard some guy greeting one of my friends. I was introduced to this person who turned out to be my friend’s first cousin. We asked him to sit with us and ordered him a coffee. He didn’t want to smoke and claimed to be a health freak (his words not mine). In looks, he perfectly fulfilled the second part of that description. The first part was confirmed when he asked for his tea not to contain any milk or sugar in it! Anyway, this person’s name was Jack. I had a friend who had a dog named Jack once. He was the only Jack I knew and he looked a lot healthier than this new Jack did.Jack told us that he got a new flat and that he would be very grateful if we went over to it and gave him our honest opinion on its condition. We had plenty of free time before we had to go to dinner and since we had nothing else to do, we agreed to go see Jack’s flat. Jack phoned his girlfriend and asked her to come and pick him up from the coffee shop. His excuse was that he was useless with directions and that only his girlfriend knew where the new flat was! I suspected that Jack was a sad soul and was trying to show his girlfriend what exalted company he keeps. I didn’t think he was wrong either. Apart of course, from the keeping part; I only met him today!The girlfriend arrived. We got in our cars and decided to follow her. My friend decided to change the plan and suggested that we all go to have dinner first and then visit the flat on our way back. Jack’s excitement at this unexpected good news triggered off his asthma. Poor Jack. His girlfriend adored him and believed every word he said. At times, she was more like a mother to him than a partner was! Whenever she wanted to praise him and tell us how great he was, she put it in similar language as a mother of a two-year-old would! “Jack is a great painter and decorator, you know”, “ The other day, Jack worked on a three-story house all on his own and did a very good job too”, she would say.We spent an hour trying to find a suitable restaurant. When we finally found one, we spent twenty minutes trying to decide on what to eat. When the food finally arrived, we spent an hour talking and watching it go cold. When we finally finished eating and were ready to leave the restaurant, it was ten o’clock at night. I just wanted to go home but Jack begged me to see his new flat and told me how much he valued and appreciated my opinion! His girlfriend joined in too and fluttered her eyelashes at me. I’m not sure what was it that made me change my mind and agree to see their wretched flat. I’m sure it wasn’t the fluttering of eyelashes, for I’m not the type that melts whenever a woman shows me a hint of interest. It usually is the other way round.We got in our cars again and went to the flat. It wasn’t a flat, it was a HOUSE. It was a big house too. Jack opened the door and let us in. He switched the lights on and showed us the rooms in the ground floor. The place was a mess. The walls looked damp, the floor was full of old and yellowy newspapers and a big mouse ran past us the minute we stepped into the ground floor living room. Jack told us that he’s planning to redecorate the place and that for the time being, he’ll only be occupying this floor. He said he didn’t have a look at the top floors yet. He thought there was no better time to do so than the present. He walked up followed by his girlfriend, followed by my two friends and me bringing up the rear. I whispered for him to switch the stair or hallway lights on but he whispered back that there were no lights in either place. I wondered why people always whisper in the dark! I stopped, put my hand in my pocket and took out a lighter. I lit it and heard lots of screaming and shouting! I panicked. Were we in some ghost house? Do these ghosts hate light and fire? After all, it was a sort of abandoned house with no electricity in the top floor! Whatever happened, I told myself not to utter the words BEETLE JUICE! I lit my lighter again and tried to have a look at where the noise was coming from. People ran past me. I saw a ghost wearing shorts. He was chasing Jack. My two friends were chasing the ghost. Jack’s girlfriend was chasing my two friends‘. A naked female ghost was chasing her. I froze in my place. The screaming continued. I slowly walked downstairs. I couldn’t see much. There were newspapers flying all over the place. The ghost with the shorts kept on slipping and getting up again then punching Jack and slipping again. Jack kept on falling and getting up then getting punched by the ghost. Jack’s girlfriend was swinging around the place with the female ghost holding the end of her hair. My two friends were watching all of this and avoiding getting hit. It took me a few minutes to realise it, but, these ghosts were not really ghosts. They were human! I quickly ran downstairs and shouted at all of them to stop. The male ghost left Jack and came charging towards me. I put my hands up and shouted at him to stop. He stopped in his tracks. My deep and manly voice would scare any ghost, never mind a mere mortal in his underwear. I asked him what was his problem and why was he hitting Jack. He told me that we were trespassing in his property. I told him that we had a key and that this was Jack’s property. He told me that Jack was a liar and a thief. I was ready to turn Jack into a football when he begged me to stop and promised to explain. He told me that he rented the place from the owner and that he was not told about any other tenants. The man in the underwear, the ghost, his name was Brownie by the way. He too said that he rented the place from the landlord and was not told of any other tenants. I told Brownie and his girlfriend off for attacking Jack and his girlfriend and asked them of they had a death wish. They said they didn’t but they had to defend their property from thieves and trespassers. I told them that I agreed but that they should use some weapons next time and should put some clothes on. Brownie’s girlfriend was still fully naked and my two friends were still fully staring. Jack and Brownie decided to visit the landlord’s house and ask him to sort out this dispute. I told them to stop fighting amongst themselves and take their frustrations on the landlord instead. “ Ask him to reduce the price of the rent” I said. “ Ask him to compensate you for your injuries from your fight “ I said. They seemed to listen to me and promised to give the landlord a very hard time. I bid them all farewell, asked the ghost woman to put some clothes on and left. When I got home, my wife asked me why was I late. I told her about Jack, the flat, Brownie and the ghost woman. When she heard that the ghost woman was naked she said “ why did you stare at her if she was naked?” I said, “ I didn’t stare at her” she said “ How did you know she was naked then?” I said “ I saw her, didn’t I?” She said “ so; you’re trying to tell me that you saw that she was naked but that you didn’t stare?” I said “ Yes” she said “that does not make sense, stop telling lies” I said “ I’m not telling lies” She said “ so, was she totally naked ?” I said “ yes” she said “ so you admit that you stared at her” I said “ I admit nothing” she said “ if you said that you THOUGHT she was naked, I’d believe you but you said you SAW that she was naked, so you must have stared at every part of her body”. I told her to give me a minute and let me think. She told me that she would not stand there while I fantasised about another woman. I knew this was going to take all-night, I had to confess. I told her that I did stare at the naked ghost and that she was not the most attractive of women. She laughed and told me that she didn't care but was only doing this to keep me on my toes. “ You never know when you might see something really nice and your eye might stray” she said. I remembered Jack, the dog.

Traffic dispute!

2005-02-26T12:28:00.000Z

Yesterday, I was out walking around with no particular destination in mind. It’s a habit I had since childhood. I vividly remember the day and the reason it started. I was six years old. It was a very hot afternoon and I was extremely bored. I decided to pass the time with some interesting activity. I ran all over the house and could not find anything or anywhere interesting to play with. I saw my father’s car keys. I remembered what a great radio that car had. I decided to go and sit in the car and listen to the radio. I got to the car, tried to switch the radio on but it didn’t work. I didn’t realise I had to switch the car on first! I fiddled around with the radio for a while but still had no joy. I remembered my dad looking around the engine of his old Nissan before he got rid of it. This was an old Volkswagen Beetle. I had no idea that the engine was at the back. I opened the front-boot and was horrified when I didn’t find an engine. Would my dad accuse me of destroying his car? How will they punish me? The boot looked nice and spacious. I decided to get in and see if I could fit in there. I did. It was nice, airy and cool. I could stretch my feet fully in there. I thought about sleeping in there but the sun kept getting in my eyes. I closed my eyes but I could still feel the heat of the sun. My eyelids were closed but I could still see an orange light! It was not really orange. It was a mixture of orange and black! I decided to shut the “door” and kept the keys with me, in case I needed to get out when I woke up. I instantly fell asleep. I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping. I was woken up with the sounds of people screaming my name! I tried to open the boot “door” and go see what all the noise was all about. I heard my father’s voice. He was saying “ When I get my hands on that boy I’m going to kill him”. I gathered myself up into the furthest corner of the boot and tried to control my breathing. I’d hold my breath for twenty seconds. Count the twenty seconds down then exhale. I’d quietly inhale and do it all over again. My dad was sitting on the boot of the car. He was talking to someone. It was my grandmother. She was trying to soothe him. I heard her tell him to go easy on me. She said “ that boy was born lost”. That day was also the day I discovered that my grandmother was psychic. She always tried to tell me that she was but I never took her seriously. My grandmother told lots of lies. She didn’t tell me about silly tooth fairies or fat old Father Christmas. Her lies were even stranger than these. She told me of nomadic women that eat men and young boys. She told me of epileptic snakes and heartbroken rhinos. I never accused her of being a liar because I didn’t want to get hit! Anyway, that day, I knew that she was psychic because she told my father that if he calmed down, I would come out! She said “ He’s probably hiding somewhere and knows that we’re looking for him but is afraid to come out”. My father must have been persuaded by her psychic logic or maybe she just hypnotised him! I heard him say “ Don’t be scared son, come out and everything will be ok”. I didn’t believe him. My grandmother joined him in saying the same words too. I didn’t believe her at first. Then I thought to myself that if she were really gifted, she would know that I’m hiding in the boot and I’ll lose the benefit of the doubt. I started shouting “ I’m in here”. They asked for the key and when they found out that I had it, their promises of lenience and forgiveness evaporated! They eventually managed to get me out and while they were arguing over who will get to confront me first, I managed to run away and hide behind my mother. I was six years old and my mother was always on my side.Anyway, back to what happened yesterday. As I was saying, I was walking around with no particular destination in mind when I saw a scooter get hit by a car! Neither was going that fast. Both drivers acted as if it was a major accident. Their anger and fright amused me. I decided to stand around and watch. Both were women. Each was accusing the other of being in the wrong. They saw me! The girl on the scooter, or maybe I should say off it! Asked me what did I see. I told her I saw the car hit the scooter. She looked happy. The other woman, the owner of the car, asked me if I thought the car hit the scooter on purpose or that the scooter got in the way of the car leaving it no time to avoid hitting it. She accentuated the second choice and gave me such a sweet smile. I’m not the type of man that easily gets swayed by smiling women. Nevertheless, I choose the second option. The first woman was in tears now. She was insisting that this accident was not her fault. I felt sorry for her. I tried to calm her down and tell her that I agreed. The second woman, after seeing that her feminine charms (oh, what feminine charms they were too) didn’t work on me, decided to change her tactics. She accused me of being a useless witness. I politely asked her to mind her language. She told me that she was not insulting me but rather telling the truth! I told her that she seems to be as reckless with her words as she is with her driving. The first woman agreed with me. The second woman told me to “just go away and let us sort this ourselves”. By now, a crowd had gathered. Some chivalrous man came out of nowhere and offered to rearrange my face if I didn’t leave these ladies alone! I thanked him for the offer and thought it was only fair to counter with an offer of massaging his eyeballs. He declined my offer and backed off. I told the ladies not to bother relying on my testimony, because, although I was in the right place to see the accident happen, and although I saw the car swerve and hit the scooter, and although I saw the car driver come out and apologise to the scooter lady, and although she confessed to being in the wrong at first then changed her mind later, and although the scooter lady didn’t hear much of this, I was not going to testify because I was thinking of my dad’s car boot at the time and it was also not my job to sort out traffic disputes.