Yes, I know the title is rather spectacular. Keep reading - it will all make sense in the end.
An email arrived late yesterday from the head mistress of the middle school, with a simple title - “SPORTS DAY IS CANCELLED”. It was hardly surprising, given the torrential rain in recent days and weeks - I imagine the school field resembles something akin to the Somme. Hardly conducive to little people running and jumping all over it.
So - I booked the day off work - what to do? Given the ridiculous quantity of untaken holiday I seem to have accumulated, I chose to remain absent. I’m sure the office will get along quite well without me - even if that pretty young thing I passed in reception the other day (and who apparently accepted the job) is visiting the office to show her face today. I noticed warning was given yesterday; no doubt the single guys will dress a little smarter today.
I’ve seen it all now. There is a man and woman playing cards in the window of Starbucks, on the couches. An old lady is sat five yards from them, staring at them - she obviously wants to sit at the couches. Too funny. In the opposite corner, a girl is being shown how to do something on a laptop by a classic hipster guy with deliberately scruffy hair. She is smart, and pretty. He is slouching in a worn t-shirt and running shoes that should have been thrown away some time ago.
Some people appear to be able to sit in a coffee shop and do nothing. They sit, and stare into space, occasionally sipping their drink. I wonder how they do that? If I wasn’t writing this on the netbook, I would be writing in my notebook, catching up with the social networks, or on my way out of the door. I don’t do “nothing” well.
While out at the weekend with the children, my mobile phone battery ran flat (I forgot to charge it the night before). Our eldest laughed, and warned with wide eyes that the world had just ended.
I have a shopping list in my back pocket. My mission for the day off. If I am run over by a bus, and the list consulted as evidence of what I am up to, I wonder what a detective might make of it;
String (not synthetic / nylon) Torch and batteries Cricket Stumps Bottle of Sambuca Bicycle Pedals A home-brew ethanol powered rocket with pedals and a headlight ? (somehow I don’t think Sambuca is quite combustible enough to provide thrust). The real explanation is much more mundane; our eldest is off to Girl Guide camp next week, so she needs various “things”. Before your mind starts racing, the cricket stumps are to stand wellington boots on, the pedals are to fix my bike, and the Sambuca is for a teacher that’s leaving the school at the end of the week.
In-between writing this garbage, I’m trying to find out if my co-workers are going for lunch in town. One of the ladies in the office is leaving, and I’m kind of shocked that nothing is being done to mark the occasion. She has been there longer than me (so, longer than Methusela). She used to sit opposite me, fire rubber bands at me, and poke me when she walked past (she still does that). If nothing is done to mark her departure, it will be pretty sad.
It’s heading towards 11am. I should really think about setting off to build the rocket with pedals.