All inanimate objects are essentially hostile. Well, quite a few animate ones too, but that is a separate topic. I am clumsy. People generally don't know this, because I try and sit very still and not break anything.However, there comes a time in all relationships when a little movement is expected of one, and that is when the trouble starts. I also attract dramatic incident, to a degree where I am accused of "making things up". If only.I made a new friend when I lived in London.He was a lovely fellow, from Blackpool originally, and we fell upon each other gratefully at a party where everyone else was taking cocaine. I am no good at racy, stimulating drugs; and was once told that I would be very good company if slightly stunned. He was six foot seven, and felt that his life was exciting enough,containing as it did a considerable number of unusual sensations brought about by bashing his head on things.
Growing up in Blackpool had presented additional challenges, fun-fair wise.This chap was recovering from an accidental marriage at the time, and my romantic life was, as usual, a whited sepulchre full of loathsome things. So we palled up platonically and decided to hell about together. On the first meeting, in a pub in Camden, I had my handbag stolen by a dapper Nigerian man with an empty briefcase. My friend gallantly and vainly gave chase, and attempted to flag down a passing policecar. We found the briefcase,which lent me,I felt, a brisk professional air. Although I did not have any keys, or money, and was not one of the few people who then had mobile phones. The police were very nice, but kept saying "Well, can't you stay with your boyfriend?" "He isn't; I don't really know him.." didn't seem to wash, and also gave the impression that my life was full of cheap transients. I decided to cry. So they gave me and Tall Tony a lift to MY house,where they very kindly helped me to break in as far as the hall .You can get to know someone rather well when you sit on some steps with them all night. Despite this rocky start, he invited me to go and see "La Haine" with him at the Barbican. Anyone who knows this building will see the inherent dangers at once. It is huge, concrete, and possessed of endless featureless floors, and baffling sets of lifts.Even Sir Ranulph Fiennes has become hopelessly lost in the corridors, just nipping out for a wee during a screening of "The Boyfriend". Anyway, when he finally found me, it was too late to go in. Then there was a bomb scare;and we were all turfed out into a nasty bit of London.So we found a pub. Two drinks in, the pub went on fire.
The third occasion saw us meeting in a Russian restaurant near Canary Wharf. The date was 9th February 1996. I think we all know what happened next...
Tall T. saved himself from further encounters with me by going to America in pursuit of a girl.She turned out to be mad,with an even madder boyfriend, but that is not my story to tell.
Not so long ago, I had a party in Gambier Towers; it was a jolly good party with many entertaining and beautiful guests. I had stayed sober-ish due to the rigorous requirements of hostessing. After ushering out the last chorus boy, I went to my bedroom and kicked off my heels. I then noticed that there was a large young man sleeping peacefully in my bed. I had not ordered one of those. I gently woke him up,using the same techniques which I employ with the Giant Boy, i.e. cooing softly into his ear that he will be late for school,and then bellowing at him until he weeps. The Random Youth eventually allowed himself to be led down the stairs, after turning round a few times ,wandering off into other rooms, and being patiently winkled out by me. Honestly, other people find umbrellas and left-behind coats, not whole boys..
It comforts me to some extent to think how much more hazardous life would be if I tried to DO anything, like driving, which we have covered, and dancing, which I have never even considered. They made us do Country Dancing at school, but I was retired to the bench, after becoming piteously entangled in some ribbons.This sounds harmless enough,until you consider that the ribbons were attached to a Maypole and that the (far too flimsy) pole was attached to a wooden base in the grounds of Fazackerley Hospital. Well,it was when we started. Our school had elected to make the lives of some poorly people in wheelchairs that little bit worse by performing the "Ribbon Dance" at them during a garden fete much worse than death.
We were not invited back,and I wisely remained silent about the whole distressing incident the whole time I worked there as Training Manager (special responsibility;Health And Safety training). Which proves once more that those who can't, really do teach. And also that you can break a Resussi-Annie Doll, when everyone said they were unbreakable. Have you seen them? They are vile. Very disturbing indeed,especially the child one.There's a super-duper version that BREATHES;its chest rises and falls. They wouldn't let me near that one,it was too expensive. And there's another one which trains people to give injections painlessly, by emitting a thin, high-pitched shriek if you hurt it. Or DID I make that up?
Growing up in Blackpool had presented additional challenges, fun-fair wise.This chap was recovering from an accidental marriage at the time, and my romantic life was, as usual, a whited sepulchre full of loathsome things. So we palled up platonically and decided to hell about together. On the first meeting, in a pub in Camden, I had my handbag stolen by a dapper Nigerian man with an empty briefcase. My friend gallantly and vainly gave chase, and attempted to flag down a passing policecar. We found the briefcase,which lent me,I felt, a brisk professional air. Although I did not have any keys, or money, and was not one of the few people who then had mobile phones. The police were very nice, but kept saying "Well, can't you stay with your boyfriend?" "He isn't; I don't really know him.." didn't seem to wash, and also gave the impression that my life was full of cheap transients. I decided to cry. So they gave me and Tall Tony a lift to MY house,where they very kindly helped me to break in as far as the hall .You can get to know someone rather well when you sit on some steps with them all night. Despite this rocky start, he invited me to go and see "La Haine" with him at the Barbican. Anyone who knows this building will see the inherent dangers at once. It is huge, concrete, and possessed of endless featureless floors, and baffling sets of lifts.Even Sir Ranulph Fiennes has become hopelessly lost in the corridors, just nipping out for a wee during a screening of "The Boyfriend". Anyway, when he finally found me, it was too late to go in. Then there was a bomb scare;and we were all turfed out into a nasty bit of London.So we found a pub. Two drinks in, the pub went on fire.
The third occasion saw us meeting in a Russian restaurant near Canary Wharf. The date was 9th February 1996. I think we all know what happened next...
Tall T. saved himself from further encounters with me by going to America in pursuit of a girl.She turned out to be mad,with an even madder boyfriend, but that is not my story to tell.
Not so long ago, I had a party in Gambier Towers; it was a jolly good party with many entertaining and beautiful guests. I had stayed sober-ish due to the rigorous requirements of hostessing. After ushering out the last chorus boy, I went to my bedroom and kicked off my heels. I then noticed that there was a large young man sleeping peacefully in my bed. I had not ordered one of those. I gently woke him up,using the same techniques which I employ with the Giant Boy, i.e. cooing softly into his ear that he will be late for school,and then bellowing at him until he weeps. The Random Youth eventually allowed himself to be led down the stairs, after turning round a few times ,wandering off into other rooms, and being patiently winkled out by me. Honestly, other people find umbrellas and left-behind coats, not whole boys..
It comforts me to some extent to think how much more hazardous life would be if I tried to DO anything, like driving, which we have covered, and dancing, which I have never even considered. They made us do Country Dancing at school, but I was retired to the bench, after becoming piteously entangled in some ribbons.This sounds harmless enough,until you consider that the ribbons were attached to a Maypole and that the (far too flimsy) pole was attached to a wooden base in the grounds of Fazackerley Hospital. Well,it was when we started. Our school had elected to make the lives of some poorly people in wheelchairs that little bit worse by performing the "Ribbon Dance" at them during a garden fete much worse than death.
We were not invited back,and I wisely remained silent about the whole distressing incident the whole time I worked there as Training Manager (special responsibility;Health And Safety training). Which proves once more that those who can't, really do teach. And also that you can break a Resussi-Annie Doll, when everyone said they were unbreakable. Have you seen them? They are vile. Very disturbing indeed,especially the child one.There's a super-duper version that BREATHES;its chest rises and falls. They wouldn't let me near that one,it was too expensive. And there's another one which trains people to give injections painlessly, by emitting a thin, high-pitched shriek if you hurt it. Or DID I make that up?
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