You must know the feeling (I hope it’s not just me) when you make the kind of mistake that leaves you wondering ‘Am I losing it, or is this the kind of mistake I could have always made?’ For me this is, more or less, an annual thing. Generally I do not make, I am happy to report – I do still manage to spot them coming over the hill – the same mistake twice, but what if that all changes? What if I start to screw up more often, more catastrophically or on a repeat cycle? What if the blunder becomes the norm? What if I can no longer trust myself? I cannot face a lifetime in politics…
Don’t get me wrong here when I say ‘catastrophic’, nobody actually dies and for me, at least, the occasional ricket is, and always has been, ‘par for the course’, but each one comes with the kind of jolt that leads me to question whether it is time to distance myself completely from decision-making duties: just put the whisky in my hand and turn the chair towards the TV with the Remote inches out of reach. I do, of course, ‘get it right’ thousands of times a year, but I am aware that if these two properties were to become inversely related I would become a liability of the Liz Truss magnitude.
In a world full of questions, I question myself far more than anybody else and so, despite the paucity of my responses, I am at least sufficiently conscious of my own fallibility to view everybody else’s mistakes as such: unintentional errors – but I’ve never quite managed to view my own lapses in the same light. Cock-ups generally arise from not following my normal procedures, rushing or leap-frogging the ‘safeguards’ to which I am usually accused of being too wedded. Every now and then, for reasons I am totally unable to fathom, I see the gaping hole that lies in front of me, but walk straight into it anyway and I am forced to admit that not even BoJo or Trump could find grounds to blame anybody else on such an occasion. God has the CCTV. Conscience will be getting the full report by the morning.
I have discovered that there is only one way to react to the giant balls-up scenario and that is to hold up my hands and take it on the chin. There is no point in trying to deflect blame as everybody knows exactly where it actually lies. I own up, apologise and try, as far as is possible, to put it right. If pride is at stake, I swallow it. Contrition is great, but never promise that it will never happen again – everybody knows that it will. Such words are wasted when you’re a walking f*ck-up, but do remember that everybody messes it up from time to time: somebody must have thought that Birmingham was a good idea.
Anyway, I will now away and get back on with my life, happy in the knowledge that the next boo-boo should be some time away (unless, of course, I choose to believe the theory that bad things always come in threes) and for the time being I can do no wrong…
In which I attempt to answer some of the questions asked by my grandchildren…
Are Unicorns real? – “Yes, of course Unicorns are real. You would cry if I said ‘No’ wouldn’t you?” “Yes.” “Fine. Unicorns are real.”
Are there monsters under the bed? – “That depends on whether you intend to tell nana about the big bowl of trifle you saw me with earlier today…”
How do escalators work? – “A perfectly logical question to which, amazingly, I know the answer. Escalators are really just like a single band spinning around fixed points at the base and at the top.” “So the steps are underneath as well?” “Yes, they are.” “Why don’t the people fall off them?” “There are no people underneath them, everyone is on top.” “Even in Australia?” “Even in Australia.” “Maybe the people in Australia fall off the top…” I find this difficult to contest as I, myself, am not certain why the entire population Down Under is not prone to dizzy spells due to all the blood rushing to their heads. Also, if the water spins in the opposite direction before going down a plughole, does that mean that the bottom half of the world is spinning the other way? If that is so, how do ships ever cross the equator?
Are there rainbows in space? – “I don’t think so. There has to be rain for there to be a rainbow and there’s no rain in space…” “But Unicorns need rainbows to run along.” “I see. And you would be very sad if the Unicorns (the existence of which I have just confirmed) did not have rainbows to run along? Yes, well, of course, I overlooked the fact that science knows nothing. Of course there are rainbows in space… Yes, and princesses in glittery cloaks…”
Why is the sky blue? – “Because Mrs God wanted it to be a nice sunny yellow, but God found a job lot of (what later became) Sky Blue going cheap at the paint merchants and a man who was prepared to slap on a single coat for next to nothing.”
Why have we stopped? – “Because all the cars ahead of us have stopped.” “Why?” “Because the traffic lights are red.” “Why?” “Because we have to let some other cars out.” “Why?” “Because it is their turn.” “Why?” “Because their traffic light is green.” “Why?” “Because that’s how traffic lights work.” “Why?” “To stop us all from crashing into one another.” “Why?” “Honestly, I don’t know. I wish really that I hadn’t bothered and just crashed into the car in front, impaling myself on the steering column and… Oh look, the lights are green, we can go now.” “Why?”
Why do you grunt when you get out of the car? – “Because I am old and my muscles ache sometimes.” “Pigs grunt.” “Maybe their muscles ache too.”
Why are you so old? – “Because I was born a long, long time ago.” “Before mummy was born?” “Yes, before mummy was born. I am her daddy.” “Are you daddy’s daddy too?” “No darling, we don’t live in Caistor*.” “What’s Caistor?” “It’s a place where people live.” “Like France?” “Almost exactly like France, yes.”
When are you going to die? – “Not too soon I hope.” “Old people die don’t they?” “Well, yes, but I’m not going to die for a while. Don’t worry.” “Who will take me to school when you die?” “I hope you will be finished school before I die. I hope that you will be all grown up. Maybe you will have children yourself.” “Can I have a biscuit?” “Yes, you can have a biscuit.”
Why? – “Because…”
*A local village, famous for it.
N.B. It wasn’t until I had finished this post that I realised I had used the title ‘Why?’ before, prompted, I think, by somebody who is no longer four-years old. That is why I have changed the title of this piece to ‘Why? Again’. If you wish to read the fiirst ‘Why?’, you can find it here…
When I was much, much younger, I walked around a room accompanied by a lady with a clipboard and picked out my favourite gas fire. For my efforts, I was awarded with a Mars Bar and I can confidently state that that was the very last survey in which I ever willingly took part. However, based almost entirely on the basis that Inkbiotic finds me funny (I don’t know if anybody makes expandable hat bands, but if they don’t, I will suggest it to Marks & Spencer) and after the shortest of pauses which allowed me to look up ‘metaphor’, I decided, sort of, to take this one on in the best way I can…
So, What recurring dream do you have?Do you know why? Well, I have actually discussed the subject of dreams myself in my early blog and it would have to be the one where I suddenly realise that I am naked whilst walking to school. It’s a very common dream I think. (Please tell me that it is.) The only rational explanation that I can give for having this dream is that I am asleep.
If you could choose any name for yourself, what would you choose? Sexy would be a good one wouldn’t it? Not because it would suit me (Dog-Eared would do that much better) but it would just be such fun studying the faces of school teachers, employers, bank staff as they had to greet you with ‘Hello Sexy’. It would almost be worth the humiliation of constantly having it pointed out to you that you are not. In Junior School (I’m not sure that such a thing even exists now. Ages 7-11.) I wanted to be my best mate and I would have gladly taken his name. I think that by the time you are sixty, nominative determination has well and truly kicked in and so, I fear, I am now thoroughly Colin (Child in Gaelic) and that I shall remain.
What’s the weirdest fact you know? That’s a difficult one because my head is full of them, although the weirdest thing about most of them is that I know them in the first place. My dad had a friend who was ‘addicted’ to nature programmes on the TV and he told us once that he’d seen a documentary about a snake that, when hungry, slowly ate itself. My dad pointed out that if it did that, it would simply turn itself inside out, to which Charlie (real name) simply replied ‘It’s a fact!’ Now, whilst I am prepared to bow to such logic, I am pretty certain that it is not verifiable, so I am going to offer you something that, I believe, is: if spread out, the surface area of the human lungs would cover a tennis court (and, presumably, make breathing very difficult).
What’s a secret about you that no-one would ever guess? Easy. Am I telling the truth?
Do you prefer to stride or amble? Why? Stride. The most annoying thing in the whole world is a pavement blocked by an entire family of young, fit amblers.
Name a small thing that made you smile today. Photo’s of my grandkids always hit the button. Mind you, so do photo’s of Donald Trump’s hair in the wind. And Melania’s face whenever she’s with him. And the fact that Boris Johnson might one day be our Prime Minister – no wait, that’s not a smile: it’s a nervous tic.
What made you want to write or keep a blog? I have always written. I used to write for numerous humour magazines that no longer exist (worryingly, I appear to be the only thing that they had in common). Initially my blogs were basically magazine articles on a single, unified theme. Slowly they have evolved (although I do still like to throw in the odd old-school ‘skit’ from time to time.) Over the time that my blog has been going, I think that I have become a little more reflective and have probably revealed more about myself than anyone would ever want to know. You are my psychoanalyst! Get your notebooks out, we could be here for some time.
What was your best decision ever? Well, my wife reads this from time to time – if there’s nothing on the telly – so, I have to say that except for getting married it would be growing a beard. I have a very fair skin and, pre-beard, it was always sore. After shaving, I resembled an inside out pig. Now, I no longer feel sore, although I do still look like an inside out pig, just with a beard.
What could have gone wrong today, but didn’t? My life is a minefield: I could have ricked my neck getting out of bed; stubbed my toe getting into the shower; washed my hair with bleach-based toilet cleaner; put both contact lenses into the same eye; fallen down the stairs or, worst of all, put my pants on back to front – all of which are in my armoury, but none of which I have actually done today. I haven’t tripped over a kerb, crashed my shin against a coffee table, dribbled my lunch down my shirt nor my coffee down my trousers. Also, I haven’t spent the last hour staring blankly at the computer screen wondering what I was going to say.
For a week you can have any job you want and be good and successful at it, what do you choose? When I was young I used to read a comic strip called The Perishers and it had a character called Marlon. He could never decide whether he wanted to be a world-famous brain surgeon or a man that went down sewers in big wellies. I feel a bit the same and, despite the lure of Chief Taster at Cadbury, I have decided to think big. I would be Prime Minister of the UK of course. In my lifetime, I don’t remember anybody else ever doing that job successfully for a week. Of course, without the guarantee of success, it would be the last job on Earth I would ever want. Imagine being the person who believes they know better than everybody else. Imagine the people you would have to spend your days with. However, time it right and you could eradicate poverty, sort out the education and health services and totally outlaw savoury ice-cream. Why is that even a thing? It is for people who have lost all joy from their lives. Ice-cream has to be sweet. It should be drizzled in syrup and covered in sprinkles. It should have a Flake. It should form rivulets along the sides of the cornet and a puddle in your crotch. It should leave your fingers sticky for a minimum of twenty-four hours. It should not taste of snail and anchovy.
What’s the most inexplicable thing that’s ever happened to you? I cannot begin to explain… Honestly, the most inexplicable thing that ever really happens to me is that people put up with me. I would love to tell you that I have seen a ghost or met an alien, but I have not. I have, however, seen the future so, don’t worry, you will forgive me in time…
As for blogs I would recommend, well, Inkbiotic is my daily ‘go to’ and – I have had this independently verified – the best thing since sliced bread. I also love Tony Self’s The Self-Talk Show, which is a scattergun of mad ideas and V’s MILLENNIALLIFECRISIS which poses all sorts of questions and offers all sorts of insights, but there are many others.
P.S. The questions answered by Inkbiotic were posed by Land Manatee (who I am just about to check out) but I have just inadvertently brought up a photo of a real manatee. Now, all I know about this creature is that it is what the ancient mariners believed to be a mermaid. Well, I cannot tell you how these guys were passing their time, but something was making them blind…
Getting On 