Monthly Archives: May 2014

An aircraft story

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I’m sitting at the back of an aircraft. A big one, like a 747 or something.

It’s quite hot. The stewardess offers to open the back for me. There’s a curtain to keep the “draught” off my back. She’s right, it’s much cooler. Effectively the back of the plane is on a hinge. the curtain does not flap but moves slightly as if in a very slight breeze.

The absurdity of this does not pass me by. I wonder at how amazing it is that, at whatever altitude we are flying at that moment, unlike all the films, I am not sucked out of the back of the plane.

We are coming in to land and, for some reason, I walk down the plane and into the cockpit. The pilots are laughing and joking with each other and, generally, having a good time.

I notice something that they have failed to notice and so, I point it out to them.

But they react too slowly and sure enough, the next thing is that we hit the back of the plane in front, on the runway, which forces it to hit the one in front, and so on.

I fly through the air, backwards, as if lying on a magic carpet, whilst, in front of me, where I have just come from, the plane is crumpling up.

It is a race to see if I will make it out of the back “door” by this flying I am doing or whether the crumpling plane will catch up with me before I make it out.

And, to that, we will never know the answer.

I wake up.

And so it begins ……

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We should have done it at the weekend but, somehow, never got round to it. Plus I was really busy all weekend with various things, including a problem I am having with a website.

So, last night, once I had finished working, we met in the local bar for a beer and to go over the draft contract.

That morning, someone had visited to talk about recovering the three-piece suite, footstool, dining chairs and the armchairs we use in my kitchen. The price was high but it’s OK. We’ll get at least two sets of covers for the three-piece suite, which would be fantastic.

And then we go through the contract and make comments and he will ask for some clarifications and changes.

And then he told me what clothes he had bought that day.

“We can share things,” he says. Hmmm.

He then “complained” about the fact that I have more wardrobe space but less clothes.

“I will organise your wardrobe.” I smiled but in my head I’m screaming “WHAT?”

You have to imagine a wardrobe (his) which looks like a shop – everything neatly folded or hung, colours matched – everything in its place and a place for everything. My wardrobe is not “quite” like that.

All I could think was – and so it begins!

A rabbit frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car. What happens next?

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I admit it, I have a problem.

My problem is simple. When there are too many things to do and some of them are difficult to do, I enter a state of inaction.

I am here now.

It’s even quite difficult to write this post and I’ve been considering it for about half an hour.

I know the solution. The solution is to start something. But the starting is difficult because all the other things needing my attention are crowding my brain and won’t allow me to think straight on one thing.

I try very hard to put all the other things out of my mind. But they sneak back in, uncalled for, unwanted. And, before i know it, they are clamouring to be first, to be THE one, pushing aside the actual one – the one that I’m doing.

Take tomorrow. I have many things to do (aside from the things that will roll over from today – and trust me, there will be a few of them because each of those are also difficult). Some of the things for tomorrow, must be done in the morning. I can’t leave them because, possibly, next weekend, will be full. And by full I mean some yacht cruise thing on Saturday and then a trip to Udine for Sunday and Monday. Maybe. But I have to assume that F will say “yes” to those invitations. And so, the things that must be done tomorrow morning MUST be done. And then there is the afternoon where I have promised to help someone. And I shall probably have to help that someone on Sunday too. That’s fixed in that they will arrive at my place so I can’t put it off.

And, then there are the roll-over things from today plus the things that I should be doing this weekend as well, such as packing, brushing the dogs, supermarket shopping, laundry, etc., etc. In addition to which, there should be the sorting out of stuff prior to moving.

And the main thing that I’m supposed to be doing today is really difficult because I don’t have the answer and must find it. I’ve already tried several things that I’ve found but with no success which means delving deeper and trying to find different solutions. So, it’s a bugger really.

Not helped by my feeling like a rabbit frozen in front of the headlights of an oncoming car – knowing I must move but being unable to do so.

Add to this that the weather is quite nice now which is making me think of dog walking and beers at cafés and it’s not the recipe for success!

So, having written this, I will now start to try and do one of the many things to do.

Wish me luck!

Moving forward, slowly, slowly

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Well, I suppose I’d better give a bit of an update whilst I’m waiting for our IT guy to update my Java thing and wait for the download of a website that’s been hacked which, I sincerely hope, I can then fix.

So, our final offer was accepted.

Tomorrow, F will go and get a draft version of the contract and we’ll look at it this weekend. Or, rather, he’ll look at it since it will be in Italian.

So, I’m guessing, next week we will sign and agree a date to move in (which will be either the end of June or the end of July, I think).

There will be lots to do and, probably, there will be no trips down to Carrara until after we move in which is a bit of a shame but it’s OK.

Also, on Friday, a guy will come to talk about recovering the sofas and chairs.

And I have to sort out my clocks.

And clear loads of things out before moving. And I’m incredibly busy with lessons, editing and other things in the meantime, so less time to do things and relax.

It’s all good fun, probably, isn’t it? Certainly, no time to worry about what it’ll be like AFTER we move, which is, absolutely, a good thing.

Still, one thing at a time ……

Visits are like breeding rabbits.

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So, as far as it goes, The Visit number 2 was OK. In fact, in the end, I did The Visit number 2 and The Visit number 3, since The first Visit had spawned 2 other Visits.

Overall, so far and touch wood, everything is fine. In fact, it’s all too fine.

As a result, I am now required to go on another FOUR Visits!!

FFS!

I think the theory being worked on here is that there SHOULD be something and they will go to extraordinary lengths to find this something.

When I say “they”, I mean “they” want “me” to do Visits (and pay even more money).

On the other hand, the “too fine” bit meant that, apparently, I am one of very few very, VERY lucky people in the world. So I was told. And that’s a problem. Apparently.

And so, 1 Visit leads to 2 more Visits which leads to 4 more visits.

Anyone spot a pattern here?

Is one of the new Visits going to result in another 8 Visits? God, I hope not. This is too stressful for me.

My worry is kept hidden, of course, except from you, my dearest reader. I am, during these Visits, at my most charming and am able to happily (on the face of it) chat and laugh and cause others to laugh. My favourite joke is that I am giving them a free English lesson too!

But, it is no laughing matter. At least, not for me.

Visit number 4 now takes place tomorrow. This is the one that (I’m sure) the person at my Visit number 3 “hopes” will provide something – otherwise, it’s just not fair. Which, I guess, is true.

But this multiplication of further Visits is exactly the reason why I never really wanted to go on the first Visit.

Bloody people.

The Visit, part II

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There is another.

It is tomorrow.

I am not looking forward to this. I had a dream about it last night. It’s been “off” (well, almost) my mind due to the visit to the far-off country and then holidays. But tomorrow is the day. The worrying makes it worse. My dream was much worse. It’s one of my “nightmare scenarios” from way back.

My hands are already quite sweaty and I’m finding it hard to concentrate on things.

I’m TRYING to concentrate on other things because I know that my fears are unfounded.

Or, at least, I really hope they are.

Oh, well, I will either survive or I won’t, so to speak.

These last few weeks are turning into a bit of a roller-coaster, aren’t they? Or, rather, they are, in my twisted, screwed-up mind.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m just a little crazy, you know?

What is a camp hotel anyway? The best birthday present.

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It wasn’t on purpose; I swear I had no idea but I managed to book us into the campest hotel I’ve ever been to in my life!

I should have had the idea when looking at the rooms over the Internet. They were, shall we say, Gothic, elaborate and immensely over-the-top. That was in the pictures. In real life, more so.

They did “dark”. The walls were black, the lighting subdued and yet, in the bedrooms, the lights by the side of the bed seemed to have come straight from Liberace’s house. Still, comfortable rooms, once you got used to the darkness of everything.

They offered us a drink, on the house, whilst we waited for the receptionist. We sat outside in the “garden” at the rear. The waiter was ever-so-slightly “gay”. The next table had a couple of ever-so-slightly gay people. And, of course, when I say “ever-so-slightly”, I mean really camp. It seemed like the whole place was heaving with gay people or that I had booked into an exclusively gay hotel!

And, as many of you who read my blog know, that’s not really my “cup of tea”.

However, the hotel was nice, the breakfasts (for me), reasonable, the bed comfortable and the position was good.

I say “good” except for one thing. It was under the flight path from the airport and they didn’t have double glazing and so at dark o’clock the next morning, I was woken up by aircraft accelerating out of the country. More or less, where I wanted to be.

But this particular morning was my birthday. And I wasn’t at home.

Of course, F texted me and then texted me later to tell me that we have got the flat! So that was nice. Well, nice and slightly terrifying too, as you know.

So, now, lots of things will have to be done and organised. I don’t mind that but, still, unlike other moves I’ve made, many more things must be sorted and many things thrown away or got rid of. I guess the next couple of months will be really, really busy!

And, then, of course, there will be the “living together”. But, I’m sure it will all be OK, more or less.

Won’t it?

Notes from a far-off country

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Monday, 28th April.

It is very dark o’clock. The alarm goes off and I know that I must get up. I have only left myself 20 minutes before the taxi expects me to be downstairs. I’m hoping it will be enough.

The dogs stay with me, hopefully, for about 5 minutes until they lose hope and realise that I won’t be taking them out after all.

I leave the house at about a minute to 4. It is tipping it down. Miserable, bloody weather. Still, I will be out of it for a few days. Not that I want to be, you understand. I’m off the that far-off country. One that everyone agrees is “lovely” and I hate, almost without measure.

I get to the station for the train to the airport. It is still dark and still raining. I realise that this thing we have, with airlines leaving before about 10 or 11 in the morning – not before 9, anyway.

The sooner I am out of this effing rat-race, the better.

I have a cigarette – only my second so far – but I know this train – there is no warning it will leave so, even if there is 5 minutes to go, I get on.

Lots of people are on the train but it is silent. Some people seem to be sleeping and I wish I could. A woman gets on at the second or third stop. There’s lots of goodbyes to one or more people at the station and then she spends the rest of the journey on the telephone. I wonder who the hell she can be speaking to before 5 in the morning?

We arrive at the airport and, as expected for the far-off country, the check-in is “special” and requires the longest walks.

I go out for several cigarettes and then in through the security control with its massive queues and, again, I wonder at this need (real need) to fly everywhere so early.

I get through there and up to the gate area and head for the café for my shot of caffeine. And then a final cigarette.

On the plane, I stupidly offer the window seat to one of my colleagues, one of whom takes it up and then proceeds to sleep through most of the flight. Still, it’s not so important as I have a book. A new book; one of those supposedly for summer at the beach.

I read over half on the four-hour journey. This is not good. Obviously, I still have the problem of reading too fast. More books will need to be bought!

As we’re on the plane, I realise that I just don’t like people. In fact, I loathe them, especially in a crowded place. I’m talking people in general, making no discrimination between races, young or old, male or female. People are just bloody horrible.

We arrive. We go through passport control which is more special here. Don’t they realise that I really don’t want to be here?

“Why are you here?”

“Because I have to come and subject myself to this bloody horrible country with you bloody horrible people”

“Who are you coming to see?”

“Some of the most vile people I have ever had to deal with”

“Was it at their invitation?”

“Invitation?! If only it were so simple as something I could refuse? Believe me, I would have gratefully declined.”

Of course, the questions were real, my responses less so. A lot less so. In fact, nothing like what I have written.

I collect my case, I go straight out to have a cigarette. I go back in to get cash. I am told, by my colleague that the little fucker who is our agent here, has come to pick us up. Surprisingly, as he had indicated he wouldn’t.

Apparently, we weren’t grateful enough for this “sacrifice” but since he is a shit-stirrer, I couldn’t care less. I remember the last trip here. The trip just before Christmas when it was ‘too much trouble’ to take us anywhere!

Whilst driving to the customer, I made the mistake of asking how he was. We get the “holocaust story”. I really wish I hadn’t asked.

I spend the afternoon, sitting, bored to fuck while the engineers talk about dimensions and stuff.
I’ve already had enough!