Fizz On

Of course that's never the full story, is it?

Nothing ever really dies.

That's just a lie we tell ourselves. When it suits us.

Sometimes we live on the shoulders of giants. Sometimes on pebbles just thick enough to allow our nose to be above water.

And some days once in a while, everything lives, everything sings, everything survives and everybody wins.

Yes, of course we move.  Because that's what we do. But we don't necessarily need to move past. We don't even always have to move on. But keeping going involve some sort of change. It's how you know you're alive.

And every door that slams means you notice a new chink of light. Detail that you couldn't see before.

Your new route. Your new alternative. Your new upgrade. 

​

Hello baby.

Fizz Off

Today I am retiring my Sodastream.

I know. You thought they were all retired many years ago.

Indeed although it was not this model, we had one in our family home as children.

The bottles were glass.

The machine was beige. And levered.

It cracked and crunched into position before you got busy with the proverbial fizzy.

You earned your spurs by not adding the concentrate too soon.

You became practised at cleanup.

But altogether, it was, let's face it, a jolly good wheeze.

So much so,  that many years ago I bought one myself and I've had it ever since.

I always wondered why they were not more popular. 

"Free fizzy drinks" means not carrying shopping bags full of soon-to-be flat water from the supermarket.

It is calorie-free fizz.

I'll wager if they were built into a third tap alongside hot and cold, every posh house would have one. Possibly even in the bath.

And once you rumble that you should never use their branded concentrates, you can add anything to them.

You never need to add anything sugary.... so it is the perfect GI diet drink.

It is the perfect diet drink.

But times move on.

We grow old.

Three years ago, they discontinued my canisters.

Which means they effectively discontinued my machine.

Some business minded smart-arse with a plan, no doubt.

A couple of years ago I managed to find myself a few cylinders a little north of where I live.

The last one has just run out. (Okay, admittedly, I'm not that busy with the fizzy)

Despite the advances of the Internet and e-mail, now there are only two options available to me.

Scrap the machine.

Or buy a home-made valve which allows me to personally refill my own cylinders, possibly by cosying up to the local fire service.

Believe me, I am tempted towards the latter. (Not in a homoerotic way just because I don't like to throw things away)

But even for me that is perhaps a palaver too far.

Even for me.

So today it's goodbye Sodastream. (I'm still struggling to find a way of disposing of the cylinders but it will come to me).

Thank you for your service.

Everything dies.

Everything moves on.

Thank you.

And good night.

Bananacops

Dear Anthea

 

Many thanks for your reply on this issue which I think concerns and affects us all daily.

 

I would be happy to become an unpaid volunteer in my local branch in Newcastle Upon Tyne in the interests of the wider community.

I would be prepared to undertake assurances I will not entrap anybody into splitting.

However should they effect such a strategy unprovoked, they will be easy to identify.

A close working relationship with your senior staff will enable me to point out the culprits in real time.

I believe an aggressive strategy of timely reminders in public areas would be sufficient to end this problem within a  matter of weeks.

I look forward to your agreement on this.

 

Best regards

The Great Banana Debate

Thought I would invite Waitrose to jump into the banana debate:

Thanks for taking the time to email us.
I have read your email with great interest and we do want our customers to receive products in the best possible condition. However unfortunately we cannot stop people from breaking the up bunches. I do apologise for this, we don't have a policy for this.

If you would let me know which branch you were in I could pass your feedback on to them.

I look forward to your reply.

Kind regards

Anthea 
Waitrose Customer Service

I've volunteered as a unpaid monitor in my local branch. 

During my new role I may decide to entrap few punters to increase my conviction rate. 

On Being Succinct

Be Succint.

Going Bananas

At what point of certainty do we reach our decisions?

Consider this....one of the most personalised judgement calls we make.

When is it OK to split a bunch of bananas that you don't own?

Of all the retail products we come across, why is it OK to tear these in half?

If you are trying to buy five bread buns, we wouldn't take one out of a packet of six and leave it behind.

There is no sign saying it's OK to damage plantain-based product.

You wouldn't halve a bunch of spring onions and reattach the elastic band, would you? Would you?

Admittedly the supermarkets  do halve and reseal the occasional cucumber, at the same price as the full one. But that's just marketing. And that's their business

The fact remains that nobody has ever been known to eat a full cucumber.

But this is bananas.

Why is this OK?.

They look like a smile.

And  they are yellow.

Now in Asda today, I witnessed a horror. I was dallying over the banana section wondering if I should indulge.

An older man in front of me was pawing at three or four bunches. So much so that the time he was taking drew my attention so I gave him a Paddington stare, largely wondering when he was going to stop.

Eventually he sensed me (I was behind him). I can't prove that he sensed me but that . is my strong suspicion.

He then pulled off one banana. One! Put it back and selected put the other five in his trolley.

Now splitting a bunch of bananas is one thing but leaving a single banana behind...

What sort of a maniac would do that?

It is criminal. Inconsiderate. Madness.

I was desperate to know  his best excuse and was preparing my opening volley as he pushed his trolley away onto the carrot section.

I took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy.

But these are tough times and I reminded myself I'd faced worst.

I started to notice the mini bananas which looked intriguing  and wondered if I should indulge.

Than a lady came up  (I call her a lady ) and started pawing  and poking at the bunches of bananas. Again. Was this some sort of hidden camera show?

Three bunches. Four bunches, she prodded 

And then she picked up a bunch and split them in half. 

Right in front of me.

And do you know what you did then? Do you?

She put them back.

She both halves of the bunch she split back?

By this time I was looking around for uniformed officers. My gob had been well and truly smacked.

I stepped back. She sensed me. They all do. But I elected to watch this pantomime until it's denouement.

She picked up another couple of bunches and then eventually chose another.

She split one off. One !!!!

And put the other five on a trolley. (And went on to the carrots).

Maybe you wondered where these single bananas come from?

Maybe you thought there was a good excuse, a good reason.

No. I'm here to tell you that there are banana-separating maniacs on the loose.

My heart was racing at the injustice, the harm done.

What else could I do?

What else would anyone have done?

I phoned an ambulance, and in the absence of glyceryl trinitrate with an appropriate expiry date, went off to find the Murray Mints.

Unready Brek

Some time ago... and the memory lingers...I found myself in front of a breakfast.

On the face of it, a traditional hearty English breakfast, full of colour and compartmentalised variety.

Through sleepy eyes, I peered at the familiar sight and prepared to commence battle.

It was a battle I had faced many times. Won many victories. 

Never lost.

But things were going to be different today.

The familiar friend and foe stared at me with a happy smile sunny side up.

In retrospect, the smile was knowing. Knowing what was to come.

But at the time, it seemed a good place to start. In went the knife. Yes, all familiar terrain here.

And then confusion.

Disorientation.

Disbelief.
Noooooo.

Where is the bacon?

I thought I'd already smelled bacon but maybe it was a smell memory because unless I'm having a stroke in my visual cortex, the only conclusion I can possibly come to is this.
There is no bacon.

I let that sink in for a while.

I owe it to you to allow you to the same. But please, don't do it alone. Have someone standing by.

Let the confusion dance across your hemispheres, of what strange lore is this.
When the distress has settled, if you can, come back to me.

I had never missed an episode of The Twilight Zone but it had nothing on this.
Nothing so sinister. So scary.
So wrong.

Now, I haven't breakfasted like a champ for so many years without being able to dodge the occasional curveball. I have skills.

I've fished shell from the frying pan. I've experimented with 14 ways of frying bread. I've gone through a hash brown phase and even dallied briefly with poaching.

And I have admittedly on maybe one occasion in a thousand run out of bacon myself.

But always in those cases.

Always.

There was a sausage.

I scanned the plate. The disarray was sharpening my survival skills.

Quicker this time.

No sausage.
No. Sausage.

I scanned the exits of the building and check my pockets for items that could be deployed in self-defence as I asked the question internally ..."Well what the bloody hell is there on this plate then?".
This plate that seemed to so casual an eye as mine, just like an English breakfast.
This Trojan horse. No, not even that... Trojan lettuce.

OK, breathe...

Mushrooms. Tick.

Egg previously ticked.

Baked beans. Always missed if absent...but on closer look, are they not taking a little too much space? (And, you guessed it, not Beans with Sausages). 

I don't think any more of my pain needs explaining. 

But things were about to get 100 times worse..

There... staring at me, as though it owned the place, as though it had any right being there at all was..and I'd like to spare you this because I like you... but we are too far in.
Spinach!

It was spinach sitting there.

Wilted. But not from shame.

This was a fully confirmed vegetarian breakfast, disguising its lies. Wolf.. in some sort of clothing. Not sheep's and certainly not pigs'.

What else could I do at this point?

What else could anybody have done?

I phoned the police.

And Justice For Some

Why don't we get an understanding of each?

Why do we all end up as poor judges of character, despite our best efforts?

Why do we not spot the Rolfs?

What is the problem with the people we are supposed to look up to  - those in power, or worse... In entertainment.

We know the politicians got there by beating and cheating. We know they justify theri journey by the end point oh and "wanting to help people". Please.... 

This is a very thin narrative that occupies the place where integrity should sit.

And those entertainers... Who is it that impresses you? Ken Barlow, Chris Evans, 

I endured a Russell Brand rant on Rolf today.He got to talk about what it was to be kind to each other, preaching to us about the right way to join in with society of the commune.

Russell Brand! The person who phoned oldy Andrew Sachs and left a message saying he'd fucked his granddaughter. And still hasn't shown remorse. 

We are supposed to take on what is to be decent from him!! Help me!

We don't get an understanding of each other because we don't work hard enough at it.

If you expect certain feelings to sit in exactly the same location in somebody else's brain as in yours, and....activated in exactly the same circumstances, I'm afraid you are making a mistake.

And of course as soon as you can decide you got no hold on that person...or maybe just hold no truck with them then you can relax back in your brain that knows so well how thigns are and should be. Put on your brain slippers and live inside your own delusions. Bolster your blockades and barriers with broader strokes and thicker lines. Prevent understanding.

You can do this over a lifetime. 

It's a disinterest - an uninterest, maybe an anti-interest - a lack of willingness to try to understand somebody else. 

It's incredibly complicated. We don't understand our own brains, certainties, desires. Trying to extend those uncertainties to somebody else is tricky, except at the simplest levels. 

You might understand what drink they might have from the bar for example. But you know what. Today they might have something different.

They might try a different decision on for size.

Old politicians and entertainers have philandered for years. It was funny beacsue it was a funny work. Paddy Pantsdown!! David Mellor in a Chelsea shirt! But it is betrayal and now increasingly it involves what we describe as rape or paedophilia. 

It's not funny anymore - they have abused people around them in every way possible.

The lovable entertainers have taken advantage of their position because they could.

And we let them.

They all thought themselves untouchable because they were. Then time passed.

In many of these cases their principal mistake was living too long.

Who knew that it would be improvements in medicine that brought justice.

More so than the law.

Gravity Free

Connect 4 things in a row - that's Connect 4

Connect 3 things in a row -  that's Noughts & Crosses.

With added anti-grav.

Rubik's Revenge

It took me 8 weeks to do my first Rubik 4x4 cube.

(I had to learn to do the 3x3 blindfolded to force my abilities).

It took me 1 day to do it twice.

Do you think there's hope for me??

(Don't answer that!)

First...and above all things

Everything delivers something.

Brings.

It!

In the same way that everyone might bring something to queer the pitch (don't know what that means - just liked it)

Most things have something going on.

That something may be not very much.

Most people offer something in some way.. regardless of any parameter you can measure.

Some things even have nothing going on. Nonethings.

And some things have less than nothing. 

And now we are... so soon...drowning.

In medicine (for all its faults) offering less than nothing (like a tablet that gives you only side effects)... that has a name. 

Sometimes the name is 'ego'.

Or 'incompetence'.

Negligence.

The real name is NonNocere - Do no harm.

I could be talking about anything - relationships, packets of garden seeds, lottery tickets, theatre... but I am actually (today) thinking of psychological therapies.

Harm is a daily stock in trade to some of those complacent counsellors.