Hymn

Survivors

Last night Nicole Kidman and her two friends were plunged into a 300 mile crevasse that rent open the Earth.  She awoke with, dressed as a fairy godmother serving a Queen but with strange recollections of her aboriginal friend.

Alarm Call

My rage against phones on trains continues.  This morning, twenty past seven, a woman across the isle made the following call:
“Hi. You took ages getting the phone. Were you awake?...Oh sorry. It doesn’t matter then.  Bye.”

Someone, somewhere, is hurling a phone across a bedroom and screaming obscenities at the pointless inconsideration of it all. Or at least I hope they are.

Waking Nightmare

‘Time to get up, Sweetheart.’
“I’m not talking to you”
‘Why?’
“You were flirting in with a blond girl in my dream”
“!”

Onwards and Downwards

Finally.  After another three attempts today, I’ve done it.  My first one was an example of exactly what not to do.  There seemed so much to do within the time.  I panicked trying to fit it all in and completing the manoeuvres became a dangerously overriding concern.  The second was better but still not right - still too low at the end.  My mounting frustration didn’t help.  I’d just about written the day off when there was a slot on the last lift.  And did it.  Perfect-ish jump - certainly good enough to qualify.  Thank Heavens.

Dying to Deceive

I finally got to take the test this afternoon.  I was desperate to pass but knew I’d messed it up.  I left feeling utterly despondent; not because I’d failed but because I deceitfully said I’d meant to do it in that way.  Thankfully, he wasn’t so easily conned.  But I feel like a worm.

Explosion

The discovery that the perpetrators were home grown suicide bombers is the worst possible.  It’s no longer ‘Them’ and they’re no longer ‘Cowards.’  The bombs have shaken everyone. In different ways.  We’ve had the argument before, albeit in different contexts.  Again I’m nonplussed by the illogicality of the statements and passion.  And again I’ve noticed that faced with defeat by reason, the instinct is to ‘go nuclear’ - to say something so outrageous that any response will shift the whole row into another domain.  It’s a ghost of the same mentality as the bomber who, unable to win the debate, resorts to cruelty to provoke a terrible retaliation.

Owners Club

Think for a moment.  Consider a club devoted to classic sports cars.  Beards? Sweatshirts with embroidered logos? Pints of real ale?  Men in their fifties?  Dutiful but timid women?  Welcome to the local MG club.  Everyone had a passion, a twinkle in their eye and twenty years on me.  I wish I’d brought my pipe.