tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22166963125516748222024-02-19T18:10:20.355+02:00A Crop Of...In a world gone mad this is the Bat-Shit CapitalDavidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.comBlogger159125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-21717521538388424922020-05-16T22:12:00.000+03:002020-05-20T13:57:40.493+03:00What now? and I've tried to be gentle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqdO8mn6iZ4OzCUsZMJ6XVQsoRMUKwwysPA5zcRMioyTPpsyaNLpAMreiUX928A2uj6LG722I-wVVjsXdFBYfzAas2N27OCIJ2XTr2pJEdMw5CTt_vL77h06H-hwnM6dcKnkDT06Q4TU/s1600/freedom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqdO8mn6iZ4OzCUsZMJ6XVQsoRMUKwwysPA5zcRMioyTPpsyaNLpAMreiUX928A2uj6LG722I-wVVjsXdFBYfzAas2N27OCIJ2XTr2pJEdMw5CTt_vL77h06H-hwnM6dcKnkDT06Q4TU/s320/freedom.jpg" width="320" /></a></h3>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Now many
countries are starting to lift the lockdown measures and most of us are looking
forward to getting back to normal, whatever that was for you. The pandemic is
over in the minds of many and since we have been allowed to make plans to get
back to work, school, shopping, and even think about booking up our summer
holidays. Except it’s not. The curve has been flattened in some countries while
in others it is still heading determinedly north! The virus is still out there,
it’s just we have been in here and relatively safe. Going out there again means
square one.</span></h3>
<div>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.acropof.com/2020/03/the-prize.html" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Read my story The Prize here</a></span></h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Let’s not forget
that this all started from one, a handful of cases in Wuhan. There are at
present more than 2.5 million active cases (WHO) in the world and estimates
should be considered maybe multiples larger than that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So where do we go
from here?</span></h3>
<h4 style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There are only
two ways this will end.</span></h4>
<div>
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A vaccine is developed</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Herd immunity is achieved</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We all die</span></li>
</ol>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
</div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A Vaccine</span></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><b><i>genome sequencing, a process of decoding the virus and taking out the death part</i></b></span></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIlAgFSd9LzojMjjQxeOUeiaVxbNhVdL1dV-jVIdTnUTLaEV1rMOQrxmV9WFTQ-iOLTRKUrt-Ipa2SOQRMB5MGdGBtsrLNEGksy9eZCMJDnUKtNxUSzFFMShDpQ7G4emeRb8K_FVrpYg/s1600/scientist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="236" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIlAgFSd9LzojMjjQxeOUeiaVxbNhVdL1dV-jVIdTnUTLaEV1rMOQrxmV9WFTQ-iOLTRKUrt-Ipa2SOQRMB5MGdGBtsrLNEGksy9eZCMJDnUKtNxUSzFFMShDpQ7G4emeRb8K_FVrpYg/s200/scientist.jpg" width="141" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">some really tough maths</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Since Edward Jenner
realised that milkmaids didn’t catch small pox, we have been able to safeguard
ourselves against a whole host of viral infections. The simple principle of
vaccines is to deliberately infect someone with a very mild form of a virus to
let the body do its thing and create lovely antibodies and thus develop immunity
to the virus. The milkmaids caught cowpox, a mild form of the more aggressive smallpox,
from pustules on the cows’ udders. He basically harvested this puss and
infected others and bingo! Antibodies and immunity (Vaccine from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">vacca</i> the Latin for cow). It wasn’t
until the 1960s that this process was synthesized and now with genome
sequencing, a process of decoding the virus and taking out the death part, it‘s
a cinch! But genomes are very complicated and take some really tough number
crunching to work out. This is what is happening now and some really clever
people in tweed jackets are frantically scribbling Greek letters on blackboards
to figure it out. Thing is, no matter how smart they are and how tweed their
jackets are, it is going to take ages. The SARS vaccine took about 18 months to
reach viability and that was damn quick. The top people in the world are
working this problem from a number of different angles but it is going to take
time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Why?</span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Well, basically
because they need to make something that works and works well. If it is less
than 100% effective there will be outrage and panic (clue: No vaccines are flawless).
If, as is equally possible, it actually causes some deaths (Clue: it happens),
there will be outrage and the antivaxers and flat-earthers will have a party…
then die!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then… there is
the little matter of making and distributing the stuff when it’s done. Vaccine is
not Coca Cola, it cannot be produced by the gallons per second but we will need
similar amounts. In order for a vaccine to be effective there needs to be more
than 60% coverage and unless you hadn’t noticed there are around 7.5 billion of
us, that’s about 4.5 billion who need to be effectively immunised for the virus
to slow down and fade to black. The reason for this is more maths, the present
reproductive ratio (<b><i><span style="background: white; color: #202122; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 150%;">R</span></i></b><b><sub><span style="background: white; color: #202122; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 150%;">0</span></sub></b>) of COVID-19 is about 3, now
this varies but it is much more than 1 and that is bad. Now, if one person can
infect 3 people, and each of those three can in turn infect 3 each and so on
you get one happy shopper in a wet market reaching 5 million in 5 months WITH
lockdown measures in place. If more than half the population are immune, then 1
person, on average, will not have more than 1 person to infect. When the <b><i><span style="background: white; color: #202122; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 150%;">R</span></i></b><b><sub><span style="background: white; color: #202122; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 150%;">0 </span></sub></b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>goes
below 1, then it’s end of days for the virus are nigh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Vaccines are
effective after a couple of weeks but what about whoever discovers an effective
vaccine, will they play nicely and share or will they capitalise on the golden
goose. After all they will have spent ages scribbling Greek letters on a
blackboard and shaking test tubes. My thoughts are that they will want a big
payday for their labours. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That gives us a
timeline of about 18-22 months if, and if all goes well. To date we have over
300,000 deaths. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As epidemiologist
Mark Woolhouse at the University of Edinburgh, UK, told <i>New Scientist</i> <a href="https://www.newscientist.com/article/mg24632773-600-when-will-lockdown-end-nations-look-for-coronavirus-exit-strategies/">in
early April</a>: “I do not think waiting for a vaccine should be dignified with
the word ‘strategy’. It’s not a strategy, it’s a hope.”</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Starvation is a known killer for which sandwiches are a known vaccine</b></i></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Herd immunity</span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This works
similar to the vaccine scenario, well over 60% of the world’s population needs
to go through the virus and come out the other side with immunity. And, as we
know many do not. The mortality rate for COVID-19 is anywhere between 1% and
3.4% but many of the statistics have been cooked in different sauces. Some countries
count those who have died who have been diagnosed positive, some only those
without underlying health issues. Let’s say 2% of 60% of the world population,
that’s 90,000,000 or there about. And, as health services crumble due to a lack
of ICU beds and ventilators, it will rise. Basically those who might have been
saved will not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I’m sure Prof.
Woolhouse would agree that this is not really a strategy either. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We all die</span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Now, there is so
much talk about the economy and this always conjures images of designer-suited
traders in London or Wall Street, it is you and me. We need to earn a penny and
pay our bills, we need people to grow food and roll toilet paper and deliver it
and teach our kids and all the other stuff we used to do. Without this we will
starve. And starvation is a known killer for which sandwiches are a known
vaccine. People like you and me will need to bake the bread and make the
cheese. The economy is not Jeff Bezos and Warren Buffett, it is the life support
system that keeps us fed.</span></div>
</div>
<h3 style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, where to from
here?</span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We must get life
back on track with the knowledge that it will not be simple. Lockdown has
retarded the progress of the virus but it is still out there and so is
starvation and bankruptcy. We must find new safer ways to live our lives, we
must accept that people will die, we must brace for a whole lot of shit to
come. Around 50,000,000 died during the Spanish flu pandemic, it came in 3
phases and blew itself out in 18 months. We should be able to count on not
repeating that but bear in mind that the world’s population back then was little
more than 1.6 billion, there are 5 time more of us now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Before lockdown came in March, <a href="https://www.acropof.com/2020/03/why-coronavirus-will-be-most.html" target="_blank">I said in this article</a> why this would be the most significant event of the 21st Century, as significant as WWI was to the 20th (and not because of the death toll). I missed some bits but I stand by that more than I did then. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For the time
being this is our normal, there is no magic wand, we and our superior brains
are the only magic. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Be safe, be smart
and be humane to others around you</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-55611440388573041252020-03-22T20:16:00.002+02:002020-03-22T21:16:17.154+02:00The Prize<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33Vr-wxfwSsClO6gl13T2jCpyUjcS4xqXwrmZhLAu1Znu3QPAc7xLaZ7QH7j2zx2w8lcdqyHul4VQ1DOhE872pA-4aLUl8D5oUIbYt7MWuLd_R8_Lto6_JW6wTwXiC3M6p1MbVbtL1Wg/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="424" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33Vr-wxfwSsClO6gl13T2jCpyUjcS4xqXwrmZhLAu1Znu3QPAc7xLaZ7QH7j2zx2w8lcdqyHul4VQ1DOhE872pA-4aLUl8D5oUIbYt7MWuLd_R8_Lto6_JW6wTwXiC3M6p1MbVbtL1Wg/s320/Untitled.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<h3 style="margin: 4px 0px; text-align: left; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">It was a beautiful day, day number 1984. The sun drew lines through the branches of the trees that surrounded the apartment block. The rays fragmenting through the tape that held the glass in place, making rainbows in the dark room. Only broken by the bright orange Alibaba liveried grocery drones that criss-crossed the sky overhead. </span></h3>
<h4 style="margin: 4px 0px; text-align: left; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Nearly 2000 days ago, I closed the door for the last time. </span></h4>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I was lucky, I had a skill that easily translated to the new modular online work-space, I was a teacher and while my subject had changed from English that now had no use, I now taught social skills to those who had little memory of how we used to interact with others, how to look the webcam in the eye, how to understand the difference between web-lag and a pause waiting for an answer, how to make questions and wait for an answer, how to feign interest in others. I had been saved from the fulfilment centres, that was a one-way career, 30 days quarantine then confined to the centre.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Shortly after Lockdown and the beginning of the Days of Safety, the virus had swept through the governments in most countries and being a bunch of old self-abusing narcissists, it took them all. Amazon was the only organisation that had on-the-ground supply networks, so it was only logical that it take over running most countries. Shortly after Alibaba took over the rest and then took over Amazon.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The 2000 days of quarantine were approaching and there was talk of a celebration, we would celebrate anything these days.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The quarantine came quickly, one day we were hearing about some flu virus that was sweeping the Chinese away, I mean, who was really worried, there were billions of them, still are hundreds of millions, I guess, hard to be sure. Next thing, we are stockpiling toilet rolls. The schools were closed and the only life left to us was our online life. I had just got my first tinder account when it all started, I still have it but the geo-setting don’t exist anymore, nor the language, quarantine takes care of one and Google translate takes care of the other.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The screen flashes, I scan my eye and fill in the Amazon Wellness questions before it’s time to start my morning sessions, “intermediate social skills” his avatar springs onto the screen with a huge smile, I still haven’t seen his real face. We are working on compliments today. I had brushed my hair especially but I doubted he would notice. I sometimes have a shower for this module but it wasn’t worth the effort.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">He talks for nearly ten minutes about a game he is playing. His avatar blinks and smiles in tune with his voice. I manage to ask him how he is today, then he goes back into the game. There will be a test in 8 days but he will pass, they always do, as long as he gives me thumbs up, we’re okay. They usually give you thumbs down only if you insist on covering the course material, I let him explain his victories and conquests. I don’t even umm and ahh anymore.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">After four almost identical hours, I break for lunch. I scroll through the choices and tap. About 15 minutes later I hear the delivery drone in the corridor and my mouth waters. It stops and I hear the characteristic clunck of the delivery flap… in the next apartment. I look at the app and it flashes </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">delivered!</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> with a branded smiley. Third time this 10-day, I hit the </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">contact</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> tab then the c</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">hallenge</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> tab, not the problem tab, not the complaint tab, these are no longer words, we don’t have problems or complaints anymore just challenges and opportunities. Then the reason for challenge, then </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">delivery</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">, then my finger hovered over the greyed-out </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">unreceived</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> button. A pop-up informed me that delivery was complete with one button </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">confirm</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">, I try to back-step but the button remains </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Please confirm delivery</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> I tried to swipe it but its “Confirm” button began to pulse gently, I close the app and the </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">confirm</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> button remains. I looked for the contact button but the confirm continues to pulse. I tap it then hit the </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">contact</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> button, the call connected and a voice told me that my delivery had been confirmed, then thanked me for my order. My screen flashed with my next avatar.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">When my shift finished I watched a movie about a guy who wakes up after a pandemic has swept through the city of London, the hero finds some people who have wisely stayed at home. They hear about another house to go to and have a harrowing adventure along the way before they reach another big house where the residents have confined themselves. Everyone who leaves the house dies and our hero lives out the rest of his days in the security of the house. It was called 28 days Later, I found it in the classic films directory. I looked around my flat and felt lucky.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The next morning I confirmed delivery of my coffee and went to the window to watch the cats in the branches outside. Its sweetness came as a surprise, I was sure I hadn’t ordered sugar. I put my hand to the glass, it was warm, sure sign that warmer days were coming. The cats leaped through the branches, one had a rat in its mouth. Down at ground level I could just make out the shapes of the dogs, one jumped and grabbed a cat from the low branches before running away. A mass of others snarling and chasing it then a yelp and the mass changed direction. The cats gathered in the high branches watching helplessly as the cat was torn apart beneath a circle of wagging tails.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">My screen flashes </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">URGENT MESSAGE!</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> I tap it and read the message.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">To celebrate 2000 days of safety, Amazon Wellness will announce great prizes for some lucky subscribers click here for participation in the biggest competition ever!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I clicked, last time I won a free movie and meal for one from Wagamama.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">My screen flashes and I begin my shift.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Greetings, my teacher. You take participation in wellness competition?” I could tell from the translation that this was one of my Asian students. I began to answer but was cut short. “I win a kitchen skin for Minecraft up or down 300 days before!” He, maybe she told me of the wok he had bought to compliment it and the hours he spent cooking exotic dishes, like in the old days that his or her grandma had told him of before the virus took her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I ordered noodles for lunch but enjoyed the crispy locust that arrived.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Media platforms were awash with anticipation for the coming prizes. Each had their own idea of what they might be, a better-than-life wall screen, a virtual porn centre. One suggested a car, posting a photo of a bright red Ferrari, sitting on the bonnet was a tall old man with a smug grin on his face to ensure others understood what he was referring to. This provoked a backlash of trolling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">This man caused the virus!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">I hope those things can climb trees</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Didn’t Greta Thurnberg kill him?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Greta Thurnberg had been a great influence since the Days of Safety began and one thing was for sure, climate change had abated. The word was that Beijing air was pretty much breathable now and the weather had been much better behaved. But now I think of it, it has been hundreds of days since I saw any new announcements from her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I enjoyed the trolling but I could feel the tension growing so I plugged into tinder for some relief. I couldn’t be sure who I was connected to but I sent her a gif with flowers and a “thanks” emoji.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The sun was still high so I watched the cats for a while. A kitten shuffled along the branch that pushed against my window and I stroked it through the glass with one hand, filming it with the other. Then shared it with all my friends. Hundreds of Pings of approval followed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Day 1990 and the great prize had still not been announced, there were rumours that it was a big hoax. I checked Snopes but while it recognised this, their investigations were still inconclusive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Some said it might be a holiday in Barbados, no one knew where Barbados had been but some low-def pictures looked good. It looked good but how long would it be before the virus got you and you coughed yourself into early incineration. I think I’d be happy with a new better-than-life wall.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxL-aEzD3oW8fbL9hb4VjKBD8j_QmrlUGeIHVbZWviJkHck9WYuQQXZQ4AL7kFjlgYqJNqfrlh1GYojgvWa7rORLBDTK_0pTt8iR5FUNlrNXaVQ-NRXlJExqBzbY2WYgbydX1HMuyG0v8/s1600/nature+reclaimed+the+city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1024" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxL-aEzD3oW8fbL9hb4VjKBD8j_QmrlUGeIHVbZWviJkHck9WYuQQXZQ4AL7kFjlgYqJNqfrlh1GYojgvWa7rORLBDTK_0pTt8iR5FUNlrNXaVQ-NRXlJExqBzbY2WYgbydX1HMuyG0v8/s320/nature+reclaimed+the+city.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">1991 was a rest day, I took my wellness test and went back to bed to play LockDown IV on the Mibox.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I ordered coffee and donuts, which came exactly as I ordered. I chatted about the big prize with some of my friends, I had a couple of sessions on tinder. It was a good day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">1992 and the chat about the prize had changed. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Over four billion entrants, what’s the chances?</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> Others said that it was just a way to keep us happy, placated. I’d be happy to get my noodles when I order them!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">1993, there was an announcement from Thurnberg foundation, not Greta herself, just an anonymous spokesperson. It said that global warming was showing signs of slowing, vast areas of the Amazon had been reforested and air pollution levels were at the lowest since the time of the industrial revolution. Official figures and a full report would be ready for the 2000 celebrations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">1994,I ordered crispy locust but got chicken noodles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">1995, I got a health warning from my tinder app. The run up the the great prize must have been causing me more anxiety than I realised.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">1996 and rumours started of a new strain of the virus that had broken out in a place I’d never heard of. I couldn’t help wondering how. If we were all quarantined how had it “broken out”. The report noted that all Amazon fulfilment centres were free from infection. A spokesman for Amazon was proposing the expansion of the Fulfilment centre model as a new model for residential and industrial centres.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">1997, and China Broadcasting Corporation ran a story about maybe as little as another 1000 days and we may be able to probably begin to lift quarantine, but it was early days and further studies needed to be carried out. I got a message from the agency saying that for the celebrations, all sessions would be cancelled, a day off for everyone. I received invitations to cyber-raves, concerts even tinder was organising a free-love day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">1998, I got a message from Amazon Wellness to tell me that “As a precautionary measure” to check my logs and change my access codes. Probably hacked again. That’s why my neighbour keeps getting my food orders! I made a mental note to do it later, after my morning sessions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">1999 and my screen flashed </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">URGENT MESSAGE</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">, I opened the message and punched the sky, I had won! I danced around the room until my chest hurt then sat down. What had I won? I had no idea but this little detail was not going to cool my enthusiasm. I went to the keyboard to share my joy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“This is a very special prize,” the message read. “Any disclosure will result in immediate disqualification.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I couldn’t sleep, well I did for a while, when I dreamt that the prize was the latest tinder hardware. The connection with the other was uncanny, like really being with someone, I could feel her, see her face, touch her skin. I awoke in elation, tinged with shame.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The sun was drawing rainbow lines into my room. My screen flashed, “YOU HAVE WON, your prize is courtesy of the Anonymous Foundation!” The screen shut down, the room fell dark with the only light coming through the taped window. My front door clicked then swung open. The light in the hallway flickered then lit brightly. I ventured to the threshold and took a step into the corridor where only drones had stepped for hundreds of days. The lights in the stairwell flickered and lit, I followed their light, some way down I had to hold the banister for support, I couldn’t remember walking so far, even before the days of safety, I had never been a fan. There was a big window looking out into the courtyard where the trees had grown through the concrete, reclaiming their dominion. The dogs were spooked, running in circles, chasing each other. I continued down. The door to the building had swung open to reveal the path through the trees, beaten by the drones. I looked at my feet, I was going to leave the building and all I was wearing was my iron-man slippers. Not that I had any shoes. I leant on the door frame to catch my breath and plan my route. I could see the trees, a forest had grown through the concrete and asphalt of the road, birds chirping in their branches. I shuffled toward the road where there seemed to be a break in the canopy. I stopped, a dog was moving in the undergrowth, breaking branches under foot. It was no dog, too upright, too clothed. I called out but there was no reaction, I pulled deep down in my chest to find some volume.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“HEY!” I called.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">He, she turned. It was a man, judging by the hair around his face. He opened his mouth but I heard nothing. I shuffled toward him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“HEY!” I heard from another direction.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDooR1s-JGxfFcgqjURhe8PjCC7oUivADujSLWg-w1SmVgWPB8zd3jAMepIdSz_SwlDrGrKqpOe07Z0d1eu0DSoQK9UtXKKhcTmV5XJ6UTWkEVA8rKaBfrcFqLmD-DOzI7M6MzMYQbujc/s1600/nature+reclaimed+the+city+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="608" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDooR1s-JGxfFcgqjURhe8PjCC7oUivADujSLWg-w1SmVgWPB8zd3jAMepIdSz_SwlDrGrKqpOe07Z0d1eu0DSoQK9UtXKKhcTmV5XJ6UTWkEVA8rKaBfrcFqLmD-DOzI7M6MzMYQbujc/s400/nature+reclaimed+the+city+5.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Behind me, from my own building bodies moving. I walked toward the figure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“I won the prize!” I heard a female voice, behind me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">We gathered in the clearing in the canopy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“I won the prize!” another cried.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Me too!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“And me!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“But what is it?”</span></div>
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Please subscribe to this blog if you <u>like</u> the stories I write and if you like them, <u>share</u> them with your friends and people you troll on facebook. I guess i'm going to have more time to do this for the foreseeable future. </h3>
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Be safe and stay sane!</h2>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-42124729837110927582020-03-10T13:54:00.000+02:002020-03-11T07:19:43.206+02:00Why Coronavirus will be the most Significant event of 21st Century...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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... and it's not the death toll.</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOnhvaktZ5qwQcJSbrIp8FRS8kyH3MeCWPHmdrBXi12i8oynSLugvHnVuusRomMUhsIedGujczh_bvGKn8Zi8DgE8cB3nujT0Y-_0wuV8fHBm4bP8J51lBW32FECoHzEo-td-KnPLChk/s1600/india-may-have-an-innate-natural-defence-against-coronavirus-after-all.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOnhvaktZ5qwQcJSbrIp8FRS8kyH3MeCWPHmdrBXi12i8oynSLugvHnVuusRomMUhsIedGujczh_bvGKn8Zi8DgE8cB3nujT0Y-_0wuV8fHBm4bP8J51lBW32FECoHzEo-td-KnPLChk/s320/india-may-have-an-innate-natural-defence-against-coronavirus-after-all.webp" width="320" /></a></div>
The Novel Coronavirus has hit pandemic status and, I believe, will become the most significant event in 21st century history, as significant as WWII was to the 20th century. </h3>
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Covid-19, the infection caused by the coronavirus has affected 109,632 and killed 3,802 globally according to <a href="https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/" target="_blank">latest WHO figures</a> (click the link to see the latest). But, this is not the significance of the epidemic, not even close! Did you know that seasonal influenza, the flu infects 3–5 million people each year, and that is only the number of people who seek treatment. How many times do you seek treatment for the flu? You may have known that but did you know that it claims the lives of up to 650,000 people each year from illnesses related to seasonal influenza. In fact, 79,228 people this year have died of flu-related illnesses. Nearly 1.4 million from cancer, 274,207 deaths from AIDS/HIV, 220,194 from road traffic accidents and 174,922 from suicides. Corona virus is not nearly the biggest threat to our lives today. Now, you may say that it is not, because of the draconian measures taken by China to prevent the spread of this disease and you would be partly right but it is these measures that will prove to be the most significant event of this century and we will see their impact develop in the coming years.</div>
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China has shut down most of the country to contain the infection, factories, offices, public transport and schools and with this it is learning a lot.</div>
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<span class="gk gw" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700;">Ecommerce</span></div>
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China has been leading the way in ecommerce through its cheap products sold through Alibaba, wish.com and even its growing domination of eBay listings. Cheap goods, copies of western goods and subsidised postage have given the Chinese a strong hold on ecommerce. Amazon may be the biggest ecommerce platform but no one has fully tapped the biggest growing market, China. Amazon will not be able to and it will not be long before domestic platforms do and grow far larger and dominate the market worldwide. The Chinese middle and upper economic strata have been early adopters of ecommerce but there are still hundreds of millions who have not. The quarantine measures imposed by the Chinese government have forced those who may not have been used to buying online to get connected and get a liking for one-click purchases. In 2015, the banks shut down in Greece and the number of credit and debit cards issued shot up as the lack of access to cash made card payments more appealing, card payments are now rewarded by the Greek government or punished for not, and are part of their strategy to reduce tax avoidance. A crisis raised a wave that is still rolling now. This epidemic will see the rise of a tsunami that will give Chinese platforms unprecedented leverage, worldwide.</div>
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<span class="gk gw" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700;">Home schooling</span></div>
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For nearly 2 months now Chinese children have been taking classes at home through the internet. This was a measure that was put into action no more than a week after the schools were closed. Of course, the Chinese strategy relies heavily on education, something that seems to have been lost on many western countries. They could not allow this epidemic to slow down their hot-housing of the young. They started by placing themselves as the production centre of the world which allowed them to learn how the west makes things. The amount of Chinese students in Western universities has spiked in the last ten years and they are taking all that knowledge back home. They are now learning how to educate their children at home and since the abolition of the one-child policy in 2016, this is going to be a lot of children. In the west there have been reduced birth rates for many years but many areas in East Asia and Africa would welcome solutions to their education systems. Online schooling can be cost-effective, less teachers and buildings are necessary, many elements of grading can be automated. Existing school buildings could service many times the students that they now do by becoming studios for the teachers to record and broadcast their classes to hundreds of students, labs for practical lessons used on a rota basis by thousands of students and examination centres. Of course the child-care and socialisation aspects of schools would be outsourced back to parents but China has already proved that this is a barrier that can be overcome with the right legislation.</div>
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<span class="gk gw" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700;">Working from home</span></div>
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Many of you reading this will have some days each month when you can work from home, some of you may work from home all the time. For those of you who have a couple of days here and there when you can, it may be so that you can look after the kids or save some commuting time or just work in your pyjamas. It has been predicted that we will all be working from home for many years but it still hasn’t happened for many of you. There are still many advantages to being in a collaborative environment. There are still many practical advantages to having the equipment or facilities to deal with clients, but just imagine if 30–40% more work hours could be done without leaving home.</div>
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Megacities have some huge problems when it comes to mass transit and pollution. A <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Megacity#List_of_megacities" target="_blank">megacity</a> will be familiar to fans of Judge Dredd but they are very much a reality. A megacity is defined as a city with more than 10 million inhabitants and China has 15 of them, the biggest with over 30 million and 36 of the world’s 47 are in the east. Yes, the economy has suffered and will continue for some time but lessons are being learned, not least by the workers themselves who in the beginning were eager to return to the office and have now gotten used to zero commuter times and working in their pyjamas.</div>
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Companies would relish the opportunity to reduce real estate expenses, city planners would relish the need to extend road networks, workers will appreciate the reduction of travel expenses and the country will leverage the reduced dependence on oil producers. This brings with it political benefits. Not to mention the environmental benefits which are long overdue.</div>
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China built not one but two hospitals in ten days, this is something that the west could not do. Bureaucracy, financing, compulsory land acquisition is significantly impeded by democracy. This will be the envy of many world leaders</div>
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China’s strategy is one of building infrastructure in the east, the belt and road initiative, what Peter Frankopan calls the <a href="https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/the-new-silk-roads-9781526607430/" target="_blank">New Silk Roads</a> in his book of the same name, they have invested heavily not just in their own country but in their neighbours too. They have financed projects in Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, in fact all around Asia through The Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB), and even Africa, $299 billion between 2005 and 2018, to build political alliances with the developing world in a bid to unite and influence.</div>
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This virus may just have been the catalyst that they needed.</div>
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<a href="http://www.acropof.com/2020/03/the-coronavirus-was-foretold-and-not-by.html" target="_blank">see the prophecy here</a></div>
</div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-82159160504706607062020-03-10T10:48:00.000+02:002020-03-10T13:56:54.909+02:00The Coronavirus was foretold and not by Nostradamus...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEf7cZSpICTSwDD0Gu9QS70Wf2cYzP1AVW0Te7TBXsE99SvSpNfCM0BCaPP061Z5xSjVd6HTAgEXIftNuqaKxZ05AxCrpyJg-OM2MQmc5jvDqWXQ1-AHg1lFC-L3Vb4BVw-kxnyQRX9a8/s1600/Prophecies+of+Nostradamus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="84" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEf7cZSpICTSwDD0Gu9QS70Wf2cYzP1AVW0Te7TBXsE99SvSpNfCM0BCaPP061Z5xSjVd6HTAgEXIftNuqaKxZ05AxCrpyJg-OM2MQmc5jvDqWXQ1-AHg1lFC-L3Vb4BVw-kxnyQRX9a8/s1600/Prophecies+of+Nostradamus.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Impenetrable prophecies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Why are predictions only relevant after the fact, why are
profits only recognised after they are dead? </span></h3>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">You will all be familiar with the
predictions of Nostradamus, the 16<sup>th</sup> century French seer who
published his book of prophesies, <i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; line-height: 115%;">Les
Prophéties </span></i></span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">in 1555. The book is a collection of 942 poetic quatrains, almost impenetrable
four line stanzas that when interpreted with the power of hindsight “foretell”
significant events in history and the future. The point is that his “Predictions”
are vague and so open to interpretation that they only seem to be of any value
after the event. The same cannot be said of this prediction from the 2008 book,
</span><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">End of days.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></h4>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In around 2020 a severe pneumonia-like
illness will spread throughout the globe, attacking the lungs and the bronchial
tubes and resisting all known treatments. Almost more baffling than the illness
itself will be the fact that it will suddenly vanish as quickly as it arrived,
attack again ten years later, and then disappear completely.”</i></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_U7TKqyYHZrV4eCcjVJCJAmDnly4KKnHDVx6P32EhVns13U6la1JOFsP8DGhesE9kxDI8GSfCScukvsJjBT0ZtT4KhPSRm_CroYWb98Vus0XpgzdIK-3Hn7HJXJ83d86CcYja-PFpsEs/s1600/end+of+days.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="357" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_U7TKqyYHZrV4eCcjVJCJAmDnly4KKnHDVx6P32EhVns13U6la1JOFsP8DGhesE9kxDI8GSfCScukvsJjBT0ZtT4KhPSRm_CroYWb98Vus0XpgzdIK-3Hn7HJXJ83d86CcYja-PFpsEs/s320/end+of+days.png" width="243" /></a></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This comes from Sylvia Browne’s End of Days: Predictions and
Prophecies about the End of the World, originally published in June 2008. And, I
think you’ll agree, it is pretty specific. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sylvia Browne was an American psychic and fortune teller who
gained huge notoriety for her predictions. She used her ‘gift’ to help in numerous
missing persons cases and murders. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/dwhr9K3piVI/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dwhr9K3piVI?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She was challenged by many, not least James Randi, stage
magician and scientific sceptic who offered Browne $1 million to prove her
skills under controlled conditions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of her own life, Browne predicted that she would live to the
age of 88. She died in 2013, aged 77. I <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>guess
you could say that she didn’t see that coming. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://www.acropof.com/2020/03/why-coronavirus-will-be-most.html" target="_blank">Why it will be the most significant event of the 21st Century... and it's nothing to do with the death toll. </a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-57855774033425295202018-12-02T23:19:00.000+02:002019-06-22T11:21:11.896+03:00The Story So Far... part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I had decided that a new batch of short stories needed more than a page to take them to their audience. But, deciding is only the beginning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I knew exactly what I wanted, I wanted to put on a show. I wanted to share my stories up close and personal but I just couldn't see how to fit them into a format that would work. I didn't feel that I could carry an hour and a half show. I had half-convinced some other writers to collaborate but this would make the whole process so much more complicated. Some of the would-be collaborators are in other parts of the country and all have different obligations and time constraints. This would become an enormous monster of an endeavour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I have always loved stories and literature and music so it follows that many of my favourite songs were narrative songs. When I was a kid, my Grandad used to play Johnny Cash and ‘A boy Named Sue’ fascinated me. I'm going to list some of my favourites simply because I want to say them out loud.</span><br />
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<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">‘Devil Went Down to Georgia’ The Charlie Daniels band</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hotel California by The Eagles</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Eleanor Rigby The Beatles</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">All of Bat out of Hell by Meatloaf</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I loved Ian Dury ‘My Old Man’ about his father was a fave</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jeremy by Pearl Jam</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Central Reservation by Beth Orton</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tom’s Diner by Suzanne Vega</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Stan by Eminem</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Love Vigilantes by New Order</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A Whole bunch by Amy Winehouse</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jim White, The wound that never heals, a dark tale of love and murder</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">David’s Last Summer by Pulp (I so often think it's about me)</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Wild Rose by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, another who loves to tell a good tale.</span></li>
<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 27.8px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Love Detective by Arab Strap. Again a band who liked to tell stories more than sing songs.</span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">While I'm writing this I'm remembering so many more but I really have to stop somewhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">What informed my vision was mostly the last three in this list. Pulp and in particular David’s Last Summer because it breaks out of the 3 minute pop song limitations and tells a story that could just as well be a chapter from a book. Actually most of Pulp’s songs were stories, Common People being the most successful but I could name Babies and Disco 2000 off the bat. Nick Cave tells a good tale but its strongest point is the musical mood and use of Kylie’s voice. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">You may be less familiar with the last one, Arab Strap, they are from Glasgow and although Love Detective is my favourite they tend to narratives in their songs told in Glasgow patter usually with no attempt to sing a hook. Love Detective is a seedy tale of secrets and suspicion, I love the way the beat drives the story and not the words filling the tune as in most songs. This is what I wanted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I imagined a DJ or computer based setup with loops and samples to drive the atmosphere. Behind me on the wall would be evocative images to set the scene. At last, I had a plan. This would be the show and it would hold an audience’s attention for as long as it needed. Don’t get me wrong, I've been to some incredible solo performances but I really felt the experience need some extra dimensions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">One minor problem, though. I could not find a DJ/musician. Basically, I wanted someone who would know exactly what I want and be able to realise that in a way that I would be happy with, easy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">Actually, I did have exactly the musician I needed, I just didn't realise it. I had known him for years and we had talked about music many times but a Venn diagram of our tastes would have looked like this…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">Then one day he invited me over to his place to figure out if we could work together. He had a bedroom studio with all we would need but I still wasn't sure that he could see the music in my head.</span></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-36139219292270904322018-11-29T11:27:00.000+02:002018-11-29T11:27:15.307+02:00Lover, Mother, Other<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO5usSKG-IC_LXgovfWoN1oPOQC56T7IL0wuUh-DZ2Gf3AqeJEjGNa_ikS68OkydAWW7eXlXopAacIU4-XQELiL0_PmnjANd5sejcoDKgL8iMCQZ_j-G2m1qcVipAeE_JFvnP5ALCT3PA/s1600/hands-437968_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="847" data-original-width="1280" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO5usSKG-IC_LXgovfWoN1oPOQC56T7IL0wuUh-DZ2Gf3AqeJEjGNa_ikS68OkydAWW7eXlXopAacIU4-XQELiL0_PmnjANd5sejcoDKgL8iMCQZ_j-G2m1qcVipAeE_JFvnP5ALCT3PA/s320/hands-437968_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 130%;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 130%;">I recently met a guy at a conference and he described a lady he was travelling with, incidentally one of the keynote speakers as his partner,
then clarifying ‘Life’ partner. Of course, I understood
what he meant, at least I thought I did until I ruminated on it. What did he
mean? Did he mean partner as in associate, did he mean that they had each
tendered their CVs and been selected from a number of applicants. Now, this is
not an unusual way to categorise a person with whom you have chosen to spend
your life with independent of matrimonial ceremony but this time I found it
quite jarring. Maybe it was the clarification. Maybe it was the American
accent. It struck me how uncomfortable I am with this word to describe a
romantic partner.</span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 130%;">For me </span><span style="line-height: 130%;">‘Partner’ is a business word, it conjures
images of contracts, budgets and plans, which may be part of a stable
relationship but it is sterile, devoid of warmth and emotion. I found myself
searching for a more satisfactory epithet. I was at a loss.</span><span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 130%;">There are plenty of euphemisms for wife; such as </span><span style="line-height: 130%;">‘My
better half’ or ‘her in-doors’ many are far less flattering as are the labels
for husbands, such as ‘My ole man’. Boyfriend/girlfriend which is not
heterosexual specific are pleasant but feel a little awkward when used by more
mature couples, they remain the domain of teenage apprenticeships in love and
do not tackle the matter of living together and sharing responsibilities. Fiancé
is warm, succinct and French and while it is often used by optimistic couples
who have an dream of being married, it should be used when some form of formal
engagement is in place. It is a pre-cursor of marriage and along with it
carries the religious connotations. Shame, it has all the qualities of a good
candidate but as so many others it already has its meaning well-defined.</span><span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 130%;">I like the word </span><span style="line-height: 130%;">‘Lover’ it is warm and spicy but it can no
more be disassociated with its synonym of ‘Mistress’ or extra-marital
distraction than ‘Partner’ can from business. ‘Soul-mate’ could be a good
contender, ‘mate’ is used to describe couples in the animal kingdom, which I
see as a positive but when coupled with ‘soul’ it does come across a little
tie-dyed and crystals-under-the-pillow.</span><span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 130%;">We live in a time when romantic models come in so many forms and
society it going a long way to catching up with this but language is dragging
its heels. You may think that this is not an issue but the words are pervasive
and the way we label something affects the way we think about it. Words are a
network of semantics which colour our attitudes. The use of the word </span><span style="line-height: 130%;">‘Partner’
blurs the lines between love and labour, it is part of the same attitude that
gave us ‘personal branding’ and brings business practises into the home. In an
interview with the writer Jonathan Franzen, I read that he also has issue with
this term but he chooses to call his lady a ‘Spouse equivalent’. I think this
has more to say for his feelings toward convention than the feelings for his
lady.</span><span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">So, what am I
looking for? A word, preferably a single word that encapsulates intimacy,
sharing and commitment without the endorsement of any ceremonial rite. It needs
to embrace all gender preferences. It could be borrowed from another language,
let’s face it, languages are franchising words from each other all the time and just
as fiancé serves its purpose well, we have moved on and need a secular word
that communicates a simple, natural, mature choice complicated only by the
flaws and frailty that make us human.</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-63395280879563170442018-11-04T19:50:00.001+02:002019-06-22T13:02:46.246+03:00The Story So Far... part 1 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Recently I wrote a batch of
short stories that were different, they were truer, deeper and despite being
some of the quickest stories I've ever written, they were hard. I achieved ‘flow’
this is a state that many artists crave and few reach, when it feels like you
are a conduit for something that pre-exists, somewhere. After writing them I
had to sit and recover, just imagine some flunky old medium after a séance.
There is something about these stories that’s different, honest (unlike the
flunky old medium). I realised that these were not my stories and they have to
be shared but I didn't want to trust them to paper. I had to share them face to
face, eye to eye.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My first attempt was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Alkapk9SlUM&t=55s" target="_blank">My Reward,which you’ll find on YouTube</a>. I had a strong idea of how I wanted to present it
but what I didn't have was the skills, equipment or even a decent place to film
it. With my phone and a darkened bedroom I produced what you’ll see if you
haven’t already. It received very strong reactions from everyone and I've
subsequently met people who've seen it and got some very encouraging feedback. The
most humbling was when I was with a friend, her phone rang and she told the
caller that she was with me. When she hung up I asked who it was and if I knew
him, “No, but he knows you!” she said. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It isn't an easy watch and the
subject is maybe not the most popular at the moment, men in power are being
vilified by the #MeToo movement and barely a day goes by without someone being accused
of some predatory act.<span style="line-height: 115%;"> I'm all for that and I know my kind and we are
a flawed species, but</span> I think that the “in power” part is more toxic than
the “men” part. You know, many of us are just trying to get on with doing the
right thing while the goal posts are dancing around the field.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Anyway, I took another of my
stories, Hungry and tried to film it with the help of a friend. It was tough, we both
have jobs and families but we worked late into the night trying to realise a
plan that wasn't that clear in my mind. And he had only really used his camera to
document his kids growing up and the odd social gathering. It is him I have to thank for the name I gave my vision. We were having a few beers after filming and he asked what the bloody hell I was trying to do. I told him that it wasn't poetry, it wasn't monologue, it wasn't theatre, it wasn't...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Yeah, yeah! Now I know what it isn't. BUT what is it?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"So, it's literature with performance," I explained. "It's Performance Literature!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My friend opened his eyes wide and exclaimed, "Oh right!" and that was it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The video for Hungry remains 85%
complete but I promise I’ll regroup with the experience I've gained and get it
done.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There was also the matter of
the music, I used a fabulously atmospheric piece for My Reward by a band called
This Will Destroy You then I received a terse message from the representatives
of the band and a red strike on YouTube. I would need to have original music. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, I had a vision, some
stories and little else. I organised a storytelling event for World
Storytelling day at a local hotel. I would invite people to tell their stories
and I would present one of mine. Now, I don’t mind telling you, I was a wreck. I
have spoken to crowds, given lectures and seminars, I even did some theatre back
in the day but this was different. These stories were different, I couldn't
fail them, the stories that is. I took a deep breathe, a big gulp of adrenaline
and did it. It wasn't all I wanted but it did make me realise what I wanted. I wanted
to do a live show.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I knew I wanted to perform
these stories, reclaim storytelling from little kids, they get enough things
already. You know storytelling is one of the most ancient forms of
communication. Once it was news, morality, entertainment. Once, storytelling
was Netflix. No! storytelling WAS the internet. I wanted a new age of
storytelling. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But, I didn't yet feel that I could
carry a whole show on my own. I spoke to other writers, one in particular I know
could carry a live performance (you know who you are!). I knew I wanted a show,
a performance, not just a reading. And, the more I knew, the more I knew
nothing! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Until it all clicked into
place, I knew exactly what it would be. And all I would need to realise this
was, well, just about everything. So, I went shopping for a musician… <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.acropof.com/2018/12/the-story-so-far-part-2.html" target="_blank"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">... Part 2 </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></a></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-23505086772630852342018-09-27T13:07:00.003+03:002018-09-27T13:07:51.134+03:00Hard Sell: From the archives <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Here's a story from the archives. It was written around the end of the 90s (I originally wrote it in Comic sans!!!) so some of you may find the cultural references go over your head. If they don't, you are in good company. It followed a period when a colleague had systematically pitched me to join AMWAY, for those of you in the prior category, it is/was much like HERBAL LIFE, A pyramid selling system that monetizes your friends. I'm sure they have another way of putting it but many of you will have had some experience with their like. Enjoy...</b></h3>
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<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8E2YmV-ylDM6LtHJ0Evh7BIVhV4K35SzqnAuOkY74OMJSAPa7iCHplRcItB9yVMqjmtDdzx5ZjihR-AbeUWIjZxsbc9EJ0Y94yVkGH4k8uMXoWHU53mJUr8c0pgM8KqiSD-xzi9eSl0o/s1600/DIRECT+SELLING+WHAT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="338" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8E2YmV-ylDM6LtHJ0Evh7BIVhV4K35SzqnAuOkY74OMJSAPa7iCHplRcItB9yVMqjmtDdzx5ZjihR-AbeUWIjZxsbc9EJ0Y94yVkGH4k8uMXoWHU53mJUr8c0pgM8KqiSD-xzi9eSl0o/s200/DIRECT+SELLING+WHAT.jpg" width="171" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I couldn’t say it had been an eventful first week at Intasat
communications but I had managed to make a lunch-mate. Paul was a likeable
bloke, a little pre-occupied with the X-files but on the whole easy to get
along with. He sat at the desk opposite me and did, well I’m not entirely sure
exactly what he did but he apologised a lot on the phone and came up with
conspiracy theories. It was one lunchtime while sitting outside on the grassy
verge of the Intasat car park listening to Paul’s theory about nano-tracking
devices being introduced into food so we can all be traced at any time, that I
first saw her. She breezed past us and her perfume infected my very being, it
wasn’t love at first sight or anything I just had to get close to her. She, of
course, didn’t notice us at all. She wafted past in a way that said that
distances between deeds were a terrible inconvenience and god help anyone who
inadvertently prolonged transfer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Paul, look” I nudged him purposely, my elbow interrupting
something about sugar-puffs. “Who the fuck is that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Who the fuck is who?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“White blouse, brown hair, arse!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Looks like Scully” Paul replied in a way that dispelled my notion
that he had been chemically castrated. “That’s Kim from retentions, she stops
unsatisfied customers disconnecting, very good she is too!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Mmm, yeah but any boyfriend, married? What’s the score”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“So the rumours go there’s no significant other but she’s only
friendly when she wants something”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Christ on a bike! She only needs to ask.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I didn’t see her again for two days. I can’t say that she
monopolised my thoughts but I had tried on several occasions to find an excuse
to pass retentions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It was one evening as I was leaving work that I actually made
contact with Kim. I was heading for the door with my jacket slung over my
shoulder she was overtaking me while putting on her sunglasses, my elbow struck
her in the left breast sliding under the shoulder-strap of her bag sending it
to the floor with a rattle and clump.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Oh you tw…” she cursed as she crouched for the bag. Then as I
fumbled an apology she looked up at me and smiled. “You’re new aren’t you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Well a week or t…” but before I had a chance to take the bull by
the horns she was gone, like a vampire in mist mode slipping through a keyhole.
I followed her out the door with no real hope of catching her. I did manage to
see her getting into her car, a little red hatchback, sporty and quite new. No
sooner had the door closed than she was speeding off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Put ya tongue away Mike” I turned to the owner of the deep,
overloud voice, as he was readying to pour his equally oversized body into a
Nissan Micra. His name was Bob or Bill or something, I saw him from time to
time at the coffee machine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“While the good lord blesses us with gifts like that, my friend,
I’ll do more than smell the roses”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“You couldn’t afford it Mike, trust me” he smiled a chubby smile
and put himself deftly into the car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Friday came around with no definite sightings. She either shot out
on the dot of five or worked late enough for me to feel sufficiently foolish
pretending not to be waiting for her in the car park. I tried, but even after a
dry spell of biblical proportion I still had some shame. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I tried to rally a ground force to lunch at the pub, just a short
walk from the office, but it was mid-month and beer money was thin on the
ground. Paul had gone to a Star-Trek convention in Birmingham, so all alone, I
decided to go to the pub, sit in the garden and sup a well-earned Guinness. It
was a warm July afternoon so I stopped at my car to fetch my sunglasses. As I
was locking the car door, farcically considering that my cars main security
feature was the fact that few people would be seen in it let alone commit a
crime for the honour, I felt a voice, yes it was almost subliminal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Don’t tell me, BMW’s in the shop” I looked up to see her, and she
was moving slower than I had seen before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“No,” I gulped “I just haven’t got one” I put on the glasses and
went to lean on the roof of the car instantly realising the folly of this,
physical contact with the outside of my car could be fatal, I jerked back
upright.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“One day, I’m sure” her hair caught the sun in an ‘is she or isn’t
she’ way “I can see it in your eyes, hunger” I knew the hunger she could see
and it had nothing to do with BMWs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yeah, one day” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Kim” she thrust a finely sculptured hand at me with all the
fluidity of a martial artist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes, Mike” I intercepted her strike catching her cool porcelain
hand. While I shook her hand I tried to look her in the eyes, I failed! Her
white open necked blouse made a feeble attempt to contain her mutinous breasts.
Her taut tanned skin clearly visible through the thin fabric of her bra. I’m
sure, in retrospect, that these observations are greatly exaggerated but I
believe that every boy has x-ray vision, he just has to look hard enough. I
must have got away with the gawp because when I looked up she smiled at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I’m going to the pub” I ventured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Oh good, have one for me” then, I was so fixated on her
undulating arse I failed to notice that she was walking away. “Something long
and cool!” she tossed at me over her shoulder then slipped into the red Golf. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That lunch time I spent in a daze, “could I really have a chance?”
I asked myself, “Why not” was the only answer I could handle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That weekend I thought of treating myself to a new suit, but a
quick look at my balance on the cash machine steered me toward a new shirt and
tie instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On Monday I had to endure Paul’s endless Trek quotes and promises
to show me the video of him being beamed-up from a paper-mache planet to a
cardboard spaceship. It was while walking to the sandwich bar, getting ever
closer to the point where I would tell Paul to “fucking Trek off!” that she
appeared again. She came up behind me, I smelt her first, visual contact merely
verifying her presence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Hi, Mike. New tie?” she took the tie and turned it label up at
the same time giving my chest a glancing touch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Mmm, nice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Where are you off to?” I asked nonchalantly, feeling confident<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Me, oh, I’m just going to get a quick sandwich then back to the
office”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Well” I began bravely “you might as well come with us”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“OK, why not” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I could not believe how easy that was. We were all walking
together and although our slow strolling pace seemed to cause her difficulties
I hadn’t said anything too stupid and even Paul had shut up. We exchanged small
talk and even a little innuendo; things were indeed going well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">As we entered the sandwich bar the proprietor’s face lit up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Kim” he sang, her face reciprocated smiling radiantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Franco, how are you?” she sang back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I am very well. And so are you I can see.” Why is it that no
matter how badly Italians speak English they always know the right things to
say. “ You will have the usual, Kim?” He instantly produced a white paper bag
and passed it to Kim over the large display counter, she responded by opening
her handbag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“No, no, Kim” he gestured by touching his lips with one stubby
finger and pointing it at her “We speak later, huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Later Franco, ciao!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Then once again like an extra on the set I was watching her
backside, leaving. I made a move for the door and stepped out with her, “Now or
never” I goaded myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“What time you finishing tonight?” I spurted out before my yellow
belly could swallow the words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Not tonight Mike” my heart sank, “Thursday, maybe” then flew
again. I was still left with the feeling that she was fitting me in for a
dental appointment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Drink?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Great!” she smiled obviously eager to depart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Dinner”, whoa there cheque book!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Maybe”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Great!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Bye” then I watched her swiftly wiggle away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I walked back into the sandwich bar; Paul was having a huge roll
constructed. When Franco had finished he turned to me, I looked through the
glass at the cooked meats and various mayonnaise-based fillings, my hunger no
longer panged. I ordered a Coke and Franco looked at me with knowing eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On the way home I saw a sign at a petrol station CAR WASH
SPECIAL-£2.50 FULL SHAMPOO I pulled in and purchased a token. The windows wound
and the aerial down I inserted my car, then through the remaining open window
the token in the slot. I quickly closed the window; the machine whirred into
life. As the rotating brushes hit the bodywork I flinched with every creak and
clatter, soap started to infiltrate the sunroof but for the most part the experience
was quite painless. I parked the car on the other side to take a look, I then
remembered what a nice blue she really was and promised myself I would do this
more often. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Thursday came, I had cleaned and ironed a tie but it just wouldn’t
look new so I put on a lesser-worn one instead. I kept a little bag for just
such occasions with a sample tube of toothpaste, a folding toothbrush, and a
sample spray of Calvin Klein that had come with a magazine, I brushed the dust
off and took it to work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I sneaked out of the office a little before five to perform my
ablutions, showed my face back in the office to casually bid my good byes. I
looked at Paul and winked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“The truth is down there!” he paraphrased predictably, then
smirked at his own wit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Make it so number one” I replied. Ok so there’s a little anorak
in all of us!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I made my way slowly down to the lobby running over and over my
opening line; she wasn’t there. Then I smelt her, she came up behind me and
touch me on the shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Hi!” she said through a smile slipping her sunglasses on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Hello, I thought you might have…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Forgotten? No how could I?”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We decided to go to the pub near the office but Kim insisted on
driving. Her Golf GTI was only a year or so old with a personal plate A11 MYN,
it had a mild smell of coconuts inside. I noticed her watching me from the
corner of her eye for some sign of approval. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Nice car” I felt this was the correct comment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Sure,” she tapped the dashboard “don’t get these on Intasat
money” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But surly she had, I thought. I was starting to feel out of my
depth but Kim put me at ease by saying that she thought it wouldn’t be long
before I started to have some of the things I desired. I felt definite
stirrings from my trouser regions, looked out at the scenery to focus my thoughts
away from exactly what I desired. We arrived at the pub and I alighted the car
carefully. When we entered the pub I made straight for the bar, ordered myself
a Guinness and a white wine spritzer for Kim. I steered us to a quiet corner.
We began by talking about work then feeling a little more comfortable I pushed
on to something closer to my motives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“You must get asked out at work all the time” my heart paused for
a reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“No!” she laughed out loud “Not many men at work have the balls,
you’ve got that” I was suddenly glad I was sitting behind a table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“You’re teasing now, I’ve seen the way men look at you” I tried to
play coy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“No, I’m serious. You asked me, most men are mice”. The light in
the pub was dim but I could see now her eyes were green, an emerald green.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“So what makes me so unmouse-like” blatant fishing but it was the
best I could do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Hunger!” I began to squirm again “Tell me Mike. What do you want,
what you really want?” I want to take you to…I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Well, I, want lots of stuff” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Nice car, big house, swimming pool” she offered “beautiful
girlfriend”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Rap it up I’ll take it home thanks shopkeeper, I thought. “Well,
who doesn’t?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes but how many actually go for it Mike” Yes I thought, I’m here
and they ain’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She proceeded to tell me about what had paid for her car and that
she planned to give up Intasat in less than two years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Network marketing Mike, it’s the way forward,” she told me how by
cutting out the fat-cat middle men there was enough profit for everyone, she
told me of how the guy who had introduced her had a six-figure income and so
could I with the right motivation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Mike you got to see the way this guy lives, gold, cars, house in
Florida” her eyes were wide and glazed,” I’m gonna do what ever it takes to get
there”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She could have been telling me about freelance dung-clearance and
I would have listened, but even so it did make a hell of a lot of sense. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When we left the pub it was still light, I wasn’t quite sure where
we were going but it was soon clear that she was taking me back to my car. We
stopped in the car park in an empty space next to my car. She leaned over, I
pursed my lips ready, she dug in the pocket behind my seat and produced a blue
box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“There’s some tapes and a book in there” then from her handbag
“here’s my number” she handed me a card, which read KIM STEVENS-SILVER
DISTRIBUTOR then under a telephone number and mobile number. I said I would
call her and didn’t try to kiss her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">As I opened my car door her window powered down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“This time next year a BMW, eh Mike?” She quipped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yeah, sure thing”, if the celibacy don’t kill me first, I
thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The next day at work I didn’t see Kim and I was glad for it I
needed to reassess the situation if indeed there was a situation. Did I have a
chance with her or was I some sort of business proposition. Was she playing
hard to get or was the playing getting hard. I couldn’t believe that all was
lost, after all she hadn’t told me I repulsed her, I simply hadn’t closed the
evening with a snog. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On Sunday with little else to do I took out the tapes and book
that Kim had given me. In the book it explained with diagrams and cartoons how
the huge supermarket chains had emasculated our manufacturing industries and by
cutting them out of the equation there would be rewards for all. It was so
vehement in its reasoning that, it said, network marketing, as it called its
methods, was the only logical way forward. I was impressed, if I recruited a
few people to sell the products and they in turn recruited others I could be
home and dry in a few years. I picked up the phone and dialled Kim’s number an
automated voice answered, I hate speaking to machines, “Kim its Mike I read the
book, gimme more” then I left my number and hung up. I looked at the mobile
number but decided that if I spoke to her and then she found the message it may
sound a bit too eager, plus I was a little worried I might catch her with a
boyfriend or something. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Later that night she called, I was a little embarrassed that she
had found me so easily. I asked her how she was and she responded with a
comment about the book. I told her that I was impressed, which I was, then she
asked me how much I wanted to be rich. I
told her I was hungry, she said hunger was what I needed to get on. She told me
that Americo had changed her life, as it would mine. There was a meeting at a
hotel nearby on Tuesday for new members and did I want to come, of course I
did, we arranged that I would drive to her house and we would go in her car.
She urged me not to talk about this at work just yet as private life should
remain private. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I didn’t see her at all on Monday but on Tuesday we had lunch
together. It was a short lunch as she had to get back to the office but it gave
us time to talk in private about the meeting that night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Mike,” she looked at her watch “ I really have to go” she got up
from the park bench where I was still sitting and gently took my tie “ you look
wonderful, remember shirt and tie tonight, very formal these people” then she
was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That night I left work full of fervour for the evening ahead. I
got home and showered, I was going to shave but I had shaved that morning and
five o’clock shadow doesn’t really mean the same day. I mixed the blue jacket
from my suit with a pair beige chinos to look like blazer and slacks; everyone
loves a sailor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Looking good and feeling lucky I set off. Kim lived in a street of
Georgian terraces most of which had been converted into flats. No sooner had I
arrived and parked behind her red golf than she was scurrying down the garden
path towards her car. She was wearing a taupe suit with a very short skirt the
shape tailored to please the eye, high-heels and glasses. Her hair was tied up
and her officiousness excited me more than ever. I got out of the car and
buttoned my jacket as I greeted her close up I sensed a trepidation that had
not been evident before. I suddenly felt empowered by her anxiety, leant
towards her and kissed her cheek low near the neck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“You look gorgeous, and smell better” I certainly was feeling
brave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Oh, thanks, you look pretty good yourself” she replied. There was
definitely a quiver in her voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We got into the car and drove purposefully to the hotel, Kim spoke
very little and when she did it was about how wonderful the people at the
Americo were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Everybody helps each other, we even applaud each others success!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“What, sort of stand up and clap and cheer?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes, Mike you wouldn’t believe how good it makes you feel. The
English are so reserved and negative”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“So, what if you do really badly do they all get up and boo and
jeer you?” I laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Only if you really deserve it!” she returned dryly serious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Something in this last comment made me uncomfortable. I looked
down at her legs, her skirt had ridden up and her panties were just visible;
all was well in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We parked in the hotel car park and got out the car. Kim adjusted
her skirt seemingly oblivious to the fact that I had for the last third of the
journey been looking at that which had preoccupied my thoughts, these last
weeks. When she was happy she turned her attention to me, straightening my tie,
which I had successfully ironed the night before. She stood back and looked at
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“You look quite handsome,” she said almost surprised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> “And you look barely
preferable to a camel’s arse too” I tested the bed with humour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“If you’re not going to take this seriously Mike, we can go home
now!” my god what a threat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We went through the main doors, passed the bar, which I made
mental note of, and on toward the function hall. We reached an area at the
hall’s entrance where two well-dressed women sat at a desk furnished with a big
book like a ledger and a cash-tin. My eye was caught by a table full of cups
and saucers at the end a white-board on an easel with a simple message TEA AND
COFFEE £1.50. I turned to see Kim with her purse open.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Two? That’s £6.00, please” one of the well-dressed women was
saying up to Kim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Kim, I didn’t realise” I dug in my pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I got it Mike,” she said firmly without turning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The moment we entered the double doors I felt like I had entered
an Osmonds reunion, there was more enamel on display than at the Electricity
board shop. A tall black guy, wearing a huge grin, thrust a firm hand in my
direction; I grabbed it and wrung it in the sentiment that it had been offered.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Hi, nice to see you!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnVX7Ou8MpWAU6M-eZtf9BNHWvUOgYWMoAQEe0dzacMzlr7N707ZtWHiaKp7Q8n5p-yVsGO8W4QiMsD3OLUFIoKKPm_erpBkU6dzqfdNpAqqrr1DVnnqcBOCb36ydndg1sbJQcNlNEaLg/s1600/AMWAY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnVX7Ou8MpWAU6M-eZtf9BNHWvUOgYWMoAQEe0dzacMzlr7N707ZtWHiaKp7Q8n5p-yVsGO8W4QiMsD3OLUFIoKKPm_erpBkU6dzqfdNpAqqrr1DVnnqcBOCb36ydndg1sbJQcNlNEaLg/s320/AMWAY.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Good evening to you too,” I replied. Then from nowhere another, I
readied my grip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Hi, nice to see you tonight”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Nice to be here” I retorted with irony; no reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One after the other I shook hands attached to grey suits with
grins. I got the feeling I was in a sequel to the “Stepford wives”. At last Kim
was there by my side, she was close enough for me to need to button my jacket. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She turned to me and whispered close to my face, “They’re great
aren’t they,” her breath was sweet and her lips momentarily so close my English
reserve waned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We took our seats forth row back and off to the left of the
speaker. I looked around and quickly calculated a rough total of over three
hundred and fifty. There was a hush and up stepped a stocky man in his late thirties,
Kim wriggled and grabbed my knee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Oh great, he’s my favourite”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Some people around us had big open notebooks others had
Dictaphones. The man introduced himself and asked who among us would like to be
our own boss, to have our own business, almost all raised their hands. He then
asked who among us had our own businesses, were their own bosses, just over a
hundred hands went up, most being the Osmond’s henchmen among us, one being
Kim. The speaker told us how six years ago he was a builder who was experiencing
a lean period during the recession then he discovered Americo. He now had a big
country house in Suffolk and he hadn’t touched a brick in over three years. He
explained how we could all start to climb the income ladder by simply paying an
£85 subscription to be able to buy Americo products and convincing our friends
and neighbours to do the same; easy! He did stress that this was not pyramid,
but net-work marketing. At one point the speaker’s wife stood up, she wore a
gaudy turquoise suit and had obviously had something done to her hair recently.
She seemed to speak mostly about what she had and how good life was when you
are rich. The man stood again and proceeded to pull numbers out of nowhere, put
them together in dubious calculations and marvel us with the results. Kim
watched transfixed. I did pick out at one point something about reaching
targets to earn your bonuses but my mind began to drift toward Kim’s thighs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When the speaking finished we were invited to go and have a good
cup of coffee. Everyone began to mill about shaking each other’s hands and
smiling, I took Kim’s hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Do you fancy a drink?” I made it clear that I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yeah, ok Mike” she looked a little shocked that I should want to
leave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We went to the hotel bar and I ordered a Guinness for me, and a
white-wine spritzer for Kim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“So, what did you think? Blown away huh. I was a little taken
aback first time but now I just can’t wait for the next meeting.” Kim was now
back to her old self but some of the enigma had gone. I quite enjoyed her being
a little more open; a kind of regression seemed to have taken place. I asked
her if she was hungry, when she said she was I suggested a nice Indian
restaurant close-by. We finished our drinks and went out in to the clement
night air. At the entrance were the speaker, his wife and other assorted
grinners. The tackily attired wife was climbing into the passenger seat of a
huge dark green Mercedes, the speaker preparing to take the driver’s seat. With
my arm around Kim’s waist I clearly felt her flinch as we passed them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The mood progressed better than I could have hoped at the
restaurant. Kim asked me if I intended to subscribe to which I replied without
hesitation that I would. At the end of the meal the bill came which I duly paid
by cheque and dug for sufficient coinage to cover a respectable tip. I then
felt Kim’s hand grab my thigh very nearly reading my thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“ Hey businessman, you wanna come back to my place for some
business.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Erm, yeah corse” Kim’s approach took me unaware but more than
willing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We arrived outside her flat and half of me expected her to laugh
shouting “gotcha, you little twat!” but she didn’t, instead she lead me into
the door and up the staircase to her door and in. Boxes bordered the passageway
but the light was too dim and my vision too tunnelled to notice any details.
The bedroom smelled undoubtedly of Kim, I was nearly wetting myself with
anticipation. All I could have wished for was accelerating into my face like a
babe laden BMW, I was in danger of being run over and I didn’t give a flying
scrote. She led me into the bedroom threw me on the bed then fell on me her
clothes flying off into the ether. I could feel her swollen breasts against my
now bare chest her nipples like pebbles indenting my skin. We thrashed around
and at one point I found myself on top, my excitement in danger of running
prematurely away with me. I closed my eyes trying to think of something that
would retard my ardour, Maggie Thatcher, no, Dame Edna Everage, no! Suddenly I
had it, Mimi Mapandreou! I had waited so long for this I couldn’t let myself
flash in the pan. After the ear piercing climax we laid still, entwined and
winded. Then I gave in to the all-enveloping lethargy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The sun began to flood through the curtains, I looked over at the
clock by the bedside 6.17 it pronounced. Kim was still in my arms, I pulled her
close and she began to stir and so did my loins. 6.30 the alarm squawked, Kim
leapt from the bed naked and glorious in the sunlight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She walked toward the door, ”I’m going to take a shower,” she said
sleepily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I looked around the room, there were boxes all around marked
AMERICO MARKETING. I got up to find the kitchen; I found it at the end of the
narrow passageway also littered with Americo boxes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Coffee?” I shouted in the general direction of running water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes please” came the muffled reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">A sudden image of her lathered-up in the shower came to me; I
resisted the urge to join her. In the kitchen I filled the kettle boldly
labelled AMERICO ELECTRICS, in the cupboard I found the AMERICO CHOICE BLEND all
the containers had a similar motif. When I took the steaming cups into the
bedroom Kim was in her underwear, she smelt fresh and I wanted her again. I put
the cups down and approached her from behind and kissed her neck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Not now Mike, we gotta go to work,” she said abruptly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I’ll take a shower then”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“There’s a guest towel in the bathroom” she motioned to the
direction I had heard the running water come from.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In the bathroom I saw more Americo labels, in fact I saw little
else. I emerged from the bathroom refreshed, Kim was now fully dressed. I
dressed hurriedly and joined Kim in the lounge. She was standing in front of a
picture frame mirror adjusting her make-up. Across the top of the mirror were
the words <i>LOOK-NOBODY LOVES A LOSER </i>then
the Americo logo. I put my arms around her waist and gave her a squeeze; she
looked up at me with knowing eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“We’ll meet up after work and go through the paper work to get you
signed up “<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Ok, we’ll meet after work” I smiled smugly and sat down to finish
getting ready. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> She smiled at me as I put
my shoes on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Have you got sixty quid, Mike?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 4.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I paused a little confused “but I thought the subscription was
eighty-five”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">“Not the subscription, silly,” her smile fell momentarily. “You did
enjoy me didn’t you?”</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-2392916090281907082018-07-18T15:19:00.001+03:002018-07-21T12:27:58.524+03:00Episode 48: A Saviour is Born<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 22.7px;">You know me. You followed me around the country. You loved me on the TV when I had you in stitches with jokes about my penis. You followed me in the tabloids, you supported my charitable works. Then you didn't. I don't know why. You just stopped. Now, I have people who love me again. So much that they made me their mayor. This is my new story, </span><a href="http://www.acropof.com/p/from-under-dark-clouds.html" style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 22.7px;" target="_blank">From Under Dark Clouds</a><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 22.7px;">.</span></span></h3>
<h3>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvkXFnVrNOwc2Q0VA0ZKCfRf8AtXz5LpESrq-sYMD1zK_M2QrkZr3zFqZP1ODHMKeMtDhb5X8V4BfXwn-zcqbY68fiFMvm2S0RO30n95YuYaiPhG2XoV1178M8DdnCd9SYlZrn2U-v-E/s1600/dead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="456" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvkXFnVrNOwc2Q0VA0ZKCfRf8AtXz5LpESrq-sYMD1zK_M2QrkZr3zFqZP1ODHMKeMtDhb5X8V4BfXwn-zcqbY68fiFMvm2S0RO30n95YuYaiPhG2XoV1178M8DdnCd9SYlZrn2U-v-E/s320/dead.jpg" width="320" /></a><b style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;">Roni swung her camera round to capture the scene in the bedroom. Tears ran down her cheeks. She did celebrity exposés, this had become a war zone. The <a href="http://www.acropof.com/2016/07/episode-42-GO-HOME.html" target="_blank">Chinaman</a> had been a shock but now she was filming someone she had known in life, with the life removed. She had met her children. She had been a character in her narrative, a mother, now a cadaver.</b></h3>
</div>
<br />
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<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was calm, collected, speechless and willing to agree to anything. “I’ll go!” ping ping! Mike was signalling NO but he wasn’t here, he wasn’t here and he should have been. “I’LL GO! You won’t see us again!”</span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“NOOO!” Ares cried. He would have looked like the child at the supermarket checkout screaming for the candies were it not for his statue and suit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Wirey and Excavator took another step back, just like you do at the checkout in case someone thinks that the child is connected to you. Genuine fear in their eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“YOU WILL CONFESS!”</span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I pleaded him to let Roni go and she nodded fervent agreement. “Let her go!” I dropped my head. “let me go, please.”</span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“YOU FUCKING QUEER! YOU WILL CONFESS!”</span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am not proud. I thought I was but pride is a luxury and it had been replaced by another feeling, deep mortal fear. I confessed. I confessed. I confessed.</span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Ares got it all on his phone. He began swiping and tapping.</span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Mike! Forfucksake, do something.” I yelled into the air. There was no ping. I knew he knew where we were, I knew he could have called the police, sent someone to our location. He did nothing. Ares persisted in swiping and tapping then yelled his frustration at the device, throwing it at the wall. Splinters rained on the hard tiled floor. Roni and I would be next. We looked at each other without words, we both knew what was coming. We would not be going to the airport. Roni’s work would finish here and now as an obituary, if it were ever finished. Maybe Jude would see that it was completed. Attend the premiere with a somber face, accept the awards on Roni’s behalf, hopefully tell of his warm and inspiring relationship with me. Send his heartfelt condolences to my wife and sons. My work would be talked about, my books hit the bestseller lists again, generating some royalties for the family. This would be my punchline. I looked toward the bedroom, the door had swung closed but I could still see the disassembled secretary’s calves and feet. Her vital body flashed through my thoughts. Just a few days before, she had been warm, passionate. Just a few days before, she had been in my bed. </span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Roni kicked my shin. The men had left the room, probably to decide who would off us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When they came back in, I stared forward unblinking, tears blurred my vision, snot running down my face. Roni was terse, resolute, bold. Wirey pulled a sack over her head then mine. My tears stopped then my fear was gone. It would be quick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Purgatory was the back of a van. It was hot and dark. I could feel the presence of another body and by the smell I thought it was the lifeless body of the well-assembled secretary. Judgement day had come and we were travelling freight class.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The twists and turns threw us into each other until our heads hit the bulkhead and the doors swung open. “GET OUT!” There were only two bodies in the back of the van, one mine and to my relief the other was Roni. Alive. We were pulled from the van and pushed into the back seats of an awaiting car.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Where the fuck were you taking them?” I heard voices from outside the car. I couldn't discern the reply. “You were supposed to…” They had handed us over to others, associates? They were arguing about something.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“The Greek girl...? Malaka!” Then the seat in front of me was filled and the door closed. We sped off</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I heard the voices from up front but none of it made sense to me. “He is going to be really pissed off!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You heard?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“FUCK!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah!.. Malakas!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Malaaakas!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We had taken maybe five or six corners before a hand reached from the front and pulled the sack from my head and my gag down, my hands were still tied.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You are safe, Sir.” I didn’t feel it but we were alive. “Mike gave us your location and we saved you.” I tried to look grateful. These were not familiar faces and that was the only thing I needed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">A phone rang and the unfamiliar face in the passenger seat picked up. The voice on the other end did not wait for familiarities and greetings. It was pretty sure that it was Socrates and he was on full tilt. I heard most of what was said but could not comprehend the words. It wasn't until he hung up that my fears were confirmed. The hoods were shoved back over our heads with apology. The car stopped and we were pushed out of the car onto the road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The car screeched away leaving the bitter taste of exhaust fumes and burnt rubber. Soon there were voices and hands on me. I heard Roni squeal but no one was taking the hood off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Roni! Are you OK?” I yelled. She didn’t answer and I needed her to. “RONI!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“FUCK! Someone just stepped on me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Can you see anything?” Some arms pulled me to my feet. “RONI!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was dragged up some stairs then turned around. The hood was taken off. The sun blinded me but my arms were still tied. Roni was being manhandled up the stairs and we were both pushed through the doorway into the shade. We were safe in a police station. Safe? My arms still tied, I was marched into a room and planted on a chair. My hands were untied but I didn’t move.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Where is Roni, the girl with me. Where is she?” I demanded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“She’s OK. You need to worry about yourself!” the uniform leaning over me said. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it blowing smoke over my head. I asked for one but he just smiled. “Last one.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I was kidnapped! I was nearly fucking murdered!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You need to watch your language!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“But I, I'm the mayor!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">"I didn't vote for you." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The smoke smelt tangy and I needed some. “I demand to see the chief!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">"He didn't either."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">"Get me some smokes. I’ll pay.” I search my pockets and found a crumpled note.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Can’t run errands. We have serious police work to do... Sir.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">I reminded him of his responsibility, his duty, to protect and serve.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“We are not your police! Now tell me. Tell me how you got lost in the wrong neighbourhood.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I was kidnapped by Ares Mavrides. He was going to… he killed…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Now accusations like that are going to get you in trouble.” He left me sat at the old school desk, still engraved with adolescent graffiti and slammed the door behind him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was still getting used to being free. I wasn’t tied to the chair but I might as well have been. Something kept me there acquiescent, compliant. I needed a cigarette, a drink. I had four cold walls and a desk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Fuck this shit! I stood and walked to the door. The handle was stiff, I pushed, I shouldered the door. I was locked in, banging didn’t bring help.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I went back to the chair. there was nothing else to do, one desk, two chairs, four walls.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The door clunked and in strode Socrates, he was carrying a bottle of Irish and a plastic cup.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You’ve really put the wind up those Nazis.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was pleased to see him, I really was. He broke the seal on the bottle and poured a shot. I looked at it, it sang to me but I shunned it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Got any fags, I need to smoke.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He pointed to the ‘no smoking’ sign, “Can’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Roni? How’s Roni, I haven’t seen her since we got here.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“She’s ok.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“OK SHIT! Socrates, I’m sick of hearing OK. Where is she, what are they doing with her? Why aren’t we together?” I stood. “FUCK! Let’s get out of here, Socrates.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Calm down. We have to talk first.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I was fucking kidnapped, I want out of here!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Soon.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I want to go eat at a friendly taverna and drink.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I brought your favourite.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I eyed the plastic cup. I wanted it but I wanted not to run away, to feel, to know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I want out!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“There is a whole bunch of press outside. We need a plan.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I necked the contents of the plastic cup. Socrates filled it again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Why didn’t they ask me about…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“They don’t know.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I know I should have told them. I know I should have sent them round to where ever she was laid out on the bed. I know, I know. I wanted out and she didn’t want anymore. Not like I did.</span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Now, listen. The elections are coming and they’re coming fast. We’ve done well to get this far but you are still a novelty act—”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Socrates! Shit! I have been kidnapped and nearly killed!” I heard my own words. “Fuck, Christina!” I said her name for probably the first time, she had always been the well-assembled secretary but now she was disassembled.</span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah, yeah he went too far. I told him—” He filled my cup, I had drunk it before I decided I shouldn’t. “Eggs will get broken but—”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Eggs! She’s dead, Socrates. She’s dead and you’re using omelette metaphors?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He paused an rephrased. “Some soldiers will fall.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I didn’t know what to say but I was saying something. He wasn’t listening. He stood and went to the door and knocked. I called him. The door was held open for him and her turned, looking through me. “We need to find the hero in you.” And walked out. The key turned in the lock.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I ran to the door and pounded on it then turned to the bottle on the table. I had to stay lucid. I focused on what we had done over these months, the progress we had made but I kept returning to the one logical conclusion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I should take this all and write a book, do a show, tour. The Americans would love this. Mad goings on in uncivilised Europe, it’s just what makes them feel superior AND for once it’s a war they didn’t start! It was simple. Yes, I would go back to London, join my family and do funny again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The key turned and Socrates walked in. I told him I couldn’t do it anymore, I told him that I didn’t understand what was going on, I never had and I was going home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes! and that is exactly why you… WE need to make sure these animals don’t get in. Just imagine the blood on your hands if you give up now.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“My hands? You said I was just a novelty act!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You are and novelty is your strength.” He put a full plastic cup in my hand and grabbed my chin, forcing me to looked in his sharp eyes. “These people need you, they need your British stiff upper lip, they need your wit and huge heart. They need you. They may not know this yet but they do.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He was right. I could see the potential in these people, maybe the same potential the wife had seen in me all those years ago. They just needed a heavy but loving hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“But, Roni?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Don’t worry about her. Her career was made today.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I emptied the plastic cup and Socrates went to the door. He exchanged some words with the officer and returned. It was time to go. He glanced at the plastic cup and I emptied it. The bottle I had refused to drink was at half mast. He said we’d leave it for the officers. There was always more where that came from.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Roni was already at the station door when we arrived. I touched her arm and she tugged a smile, half a lip between her teeth. Socrates opened the door and the press sprung into life. I had done this so many times, I could do it again. I drew breath and dropped my head to put my face on. But before I could project my defiant smile, I heard my name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Roni had taken the stage and was telling the cameras and microphones of my courage, my unwavering contempt for bullies and how we may not have been there if it hadn’t been for my heroism in the face of people who should never be given power.</span></div>
<div align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">“People of Greece! I tell you now. If you don’t want this man, I will take him back home to Britain and I will not rest until he is our democratic leader!” She took my hand, folding it into a fist and held it aloft. And for the fist time in my life the press cheered me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Socrates took my other hand, smiled and held it high. And, ladies and gentlemen I swear my feet left the ground.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-3415160765672267022018-06-28T13:27:00.001+03:002018-06-28T13:59:53.553+03:00What's in a Name?...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>This is not Sparta!</i></b></td></tr>
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">So Nova Scotia gets its independence and decides to call itself The Republic of East Maine. The Walloons of Belgium break away and chose to be the Former Belgian Republic of Champagne, The Scots Upper Cumberland, China Greater Nepal, Pakistan North India. For that matter Canada would have every right to call itself America, It is on the North American continent, has shared heredity and by omitting the ‘United States of’ part could not be accused of inciting confusion. You get the picture and you’re probably laughing at my ridiculous notions but that is exactly what has been happening in the Balkans for the past 20-odd years. Since Yugoslavia fragmented, the southernmost state has been claiming right to call itself Macedonia.</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Macedonia (Macedon) was the birth place of Alexander the Great and a key part of Greek heritage. In fact, the claim over Alexander has as much to do with the dispute as the name and territories. He was born in Pella, which is still a small town in Greece. He was Hellenic, the group of ancient civilisations that shared language and culture, though at that time not a unified nation. He was tutored by Aristotle until manhood. He was what we now consider to be Greek.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The area of Macedonia has been shaved by wars and politics over the centuries and while the majority remains in modern day Greece, some is in Albania, Bulgaria and the area that claims a right to the Macedonian name, an area that the Greeks insist on calling by the name of its capital city Skopje or FYROM.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">So what’s the big deal? So many years have passed since then and it could be argued that modern Greeks have little to do with the Greeks of antiquity. But it is a big deal, to both the Greeks and the former Yugoslavians. So much so that the former Yugoslavian state named their international airport ‘Alexander the Great’, named major highways after him and in 2011 a huge statue of Alexander on a horse was erected in the centre of the capital, named Macedonia square. It is a big deal to them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The Macedonian identity and heritage means a lot to the Greeks, as the Parthenon does, as heritage means a lot to many nations it is often confused with nationalism but common heritage is imperative to all peoples, it is what bonds the residents of an area into a tribe of common goals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Families are the smallest building blocks of community, they have a name and members are easily recognisable by this name. A chance meeting of individuals with the same surname will often spark the question of shared heritage, my name is quite rare outside Ireland and when I do meet someone who shares it, I will ask about their family history. This has on occasion sparked a feeling of kinship. Names matter. People who have grown up in the same area will have connections of memories or friends or schools or places they played. We need to have bonds. We live in an age where Europeans are encouraged to identify as one people but it will not happen and if it does, it will come at great cost. The larger the geographical reach of ethnicity becomes, the more abstract it becomes. The USA has managed this well but it began with a melting pot of Europeans who were looking for a new life far from home. That said, it has taken a lot of flag waving jingoism to maintain. The American dream, Superman, The Super bowl, a common language.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Greece has had a hard time adjusting to the Eurozone architect’s dreams of a unified republic, more than most, it just wasn’t ready. Protests at the imposed austerity were regular but since the capital controls of 2015 the fight seems have left the Greeks. Now they are reemerging with zeal, the prime minister, Alex Tsipra’s capitulation to external pressures have made him a traitor to his people and the Greeks are angry again. Tsipra has sold his address to secure his mortgage with implied promises that putting this matter to bed will be favourable to a restructuring of the bailout loans from the TROIKA of creditors. The Greeks are back on the streets but I fear now as before, no one is listening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Macedonia is Greece, its culture, its history and its antecedents. It is as Greek as The Parthenon and as that it is a piece of world Heritage. It will not be long before whatever prefixes to the name Macedonia that are agreed by the each party are dropped in favour of the simpler Macedonia. Eventually, in the name of unification, the Greek and Slavic versions of the Story of Alexander may become homogenised.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">We are trained to consider the greater good, the big picture, international relations, the smooth running of trade but identity is the base on which all these must grow. Denying where we come from will only confuse where we are going. The former Yugoslavian republic realised that early on and their leaders recognised the need for history, they found a powerful if tenuous narrative for their people and have stuck doggedly to it. To reverse this now could be catastrophic for them to continue would be a lie.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">What’s in a name? Just think of when a colleague or acquaintance got yours wrong or ask a Canadian where in America he is from or a Scot if he is English, an Austrian if he is German. What’s in a name? The first thing they do in prison is take your name away, they know why and so do you.</span></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-13637108132885257832018-06-16T16:42:00.000+03:002018-06-28T14:08:36.999+03:00Contactless Cards are a Major step Forward For everyone Except Consumers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZR6rwyKlg7vFi5E7e-rRZ6zxmiclLxQNP9g-zi7JIRGNpYbNJKc3J50e4lGaJ9bMs7awUkqyKlVhr-Mucz90RNEB3a_cOuniFlu47C7saWYwwq7jHKw3dnclnTa6hA6WBsN5V9NJChuA/s1600/universal-contactless-card.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="1224" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZR6rwyKlg7vFi5E7e-rRZ6zxmiclLxQNP9g-zi7JIRGNpYbNJKc3J50e4lGaJ9bMs7awUkqyKlVhr-Mucz90RNEB3a_cOuniFlu47C7saWYwwq7jHKw3dnclnTa6hA6WBsN5V9NJChuA/s320/universal-contactless-card.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">You’re running through the London underground, you don’t have an Oyster card or time to stop and navigate the ticket vending machine or the bemused queues. You need a drink and nip into a shop but only have big notes to pay and can’t stand the jangling coins in your skinny jeans pocket. You’re wasting your life in the express queue at the supermarket waiting for everyone in front of you to rummage in their pockets for the change to pay for the 10 items or less. But, we now live in the future, a time when each of us carries a reusable coin that only needs to be tapped on a machine to complete our transactions. Welcome to the world of NFC technology, contactless cards where your entire bank balance and even your credit limit is available in your pocket just waiting to satisfy those moments when antiquated methods of payment are just oh too time consuming for our modern pace of life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The advantages of tap and go payments are just too numerous to mention. Just think of the savings to governments of minting notes and coins, according to the US Federal Reserve it costs between 4-9 cents to strike a coin and 5-13 cents to mint dollar bills. There are nearly 30 billion coins in general circulation and 40 billion notes. General adoption of cards will slowly but surely reduce this expense. Plus, unlike cash, digital card payments leave a trail that can be very useful for governments and marketers alike. Forget Facebook, nothing profiles a person like their purchases. Eventually, it is the aim of all economies to eradicate all cash currency and with it the black economy. Strikes me that it could make it difficult for MPs and senators to get their back-handers, maybe they’ve thought of that one already.</span><br />
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<h4>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The head of the Bank of England doesn't trust contactless</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">So, general adoption of our flexible friends makes so much sense, not to mention the next step which is the integration of NFC chips in our phones so we don’t even need our cards. We have come so far from Pieces of silver with our sovereign’s face stamped on it. Or have we?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The trouble with cash is that it is instantly transferable, you give it to someone and they can use it. The same goes for if they stole it. Credit and charge cards gave us a signature with which secured our cash, remember how we used to get traveller’s cheques that could be cancelled if we got pickpocketed or mugged in some far-off land. Security has been the main selling point of cards. From signatures we went to chip n pin, again we had to verify a transaction with our mark. If our cards got stolen, we could cancel them and stop anyone using our hard-earned. The bank could verify this with the signature or block it with an incorrect pin. I had my card cloned once in the UK and didn’t lose a penny despite the perpetrators going on a spending binge racking up nearly £2000 of transactions before I had even noticed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Now, contactless doesn’t have the same security, up to a certain limit per transaction if someone gets your card, they can go up the high street merrily tapping and going and with no verification, you will have a hard time proving that they are not your transactions. Basically we are back to cash. The sheer volume of small contactless transactions is too much for the banking system to process in real time so they have thousands of offline transactions that can be processed in bulk at times of lower traffic. So, it could be days after realising and cancelling your card before the real damage can be seen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">My wife recently lost her card. She realised it fairly quickly and cancelled it. When she ordered a replacement, she requested that it be non-contactless. “We can’t do that, they are all tap n’ go now.” She was told proudly. She asked if this facility could be disabled at the bank end as she never uses it. “No, we can’t do that.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“How can I be sure that someone doesn’t steal my card again and spend my money?” she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Well, they can only buy up to a limit.” The helpful bank clerk assured her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">She couldn’t tell her what the limit was, it seems to vary (and will vary in the country that you are reading this) and she couldn’t tell her how many contactless transactions could be made in a time period but she could sell her an insurance policy. She could sell her a SMS alert service that could add insult to injury by notifying her of each time she lost more money.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How to disable your contactless card</span></i></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I spoke to a bank employee who gave me very little more information apart from the fact that statistically online fraud is much higher than contactless and while there are fears of having your cards scanned while in your pocket or bag, they are quite easy to safeguard against. Apparently, an anti-NFC wallet (RFID blocking) will protect you from cyber-pickpockets although, I have read much to dispute this. Keys and other metal objects, including wrapping your cards in aluminium foil can also block the swipers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">This is an immature technology which seems to have many advantages for banks, governments and thieves and a few conveniences for us. The impetus for improved security will only come from pressure from you and I and will probably come wrapped in more intrusive data mining. In the meantime, don’t be seduced by the ease of use and the new svelte line of your trousers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">Further reading:</span></div>
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<li align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><a href="https://www.google.gr/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=3&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjJs-z9jNjbAhWEJSwKHcVICVYQFgg_MAI&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.theguardian.com%2Fmoney%2F2018%2Ffeb%2F21%2Fi-dont-use-contactless-the-woman-whose-name-is-on-british-banknotes&usg=AOvVaw0GngWjegF2jFbhDaUhWIz3"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "georgia"; text-decoration: underline;">'I don't use contactless': the woman whose name is on British banknotes</span></a><span style="color: #7d0068; font-family: "calibri"; font-weight: 400;"> - </span><span style="color: #7d0068; font-family: "georgia";">The Guardian </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>The head of the Bank of England discusses her mistrust of the technology and how demand for cash is actually increasing</i></span><br />
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<li style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 0px;"><a href="http://www.instructables.com/id/Disabling-Contacless-Payment-on-Debit-Cards/">DISABLING CONTACTLESS PAYMENT ON DEBIT CARDS</a><span style="color: #333333; text-decoration: none;"> - Instructables</span></li>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Practical instructions to disable the contactless ability of your card</span></i></span><br />
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<li style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 0px;"><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2016/10/31/technology/how-to-protect-yourself-when-using-a-contactless-card.html">Lessons From Europe on Using Contactless Cards</a><span style="color: #121212; text-decoration: none;"> - New York times</span></li>
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<span style="color: #121212; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>America, who is usually so quick to embrace new tech especially when it is ease of payment has been slow to adopt chip and pin and contactless. We Europeans are quick to judge the Yankees, maybe the joke will be on us</i></span><br />
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<li style="margin-bottom: 4px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 4px; text-indent: 0px;"><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/apr/03/being-cash-free-puts-us-at-risk-of-attack-swedes-turn-against-cashlessness">'Being cash-free puts us at risk of attack': Swedes turn against cashlessness</a><span style="color: #121212; text-decoration: none;"> – <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Guardian </span></span></li>
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<span style="color: #121212; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>The Swedes are a trusting people but there is a limit</i></span></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-49874636825924234442018-06-01T12:07:00.000+03:002018-09-30T21:20:56.132+03:00My Rebirth in Athens<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">Christ! 5am might be a good time for monks and people with serious careers but it was playing havoc with my circadian rhythms. All I had to counter it was instant coffee and a cold shower. I took them grudgingly and dragged my bag to the door. I stopped and took stock, shoes on feet, trousers fastened and shirt on back. It wouldn't be the first time I’d left a house at such an ungodly hour without one of these. Shit! Getting out of anywhere with the shirt on my back was a huge bonus in this day and age. I stepped into the lift. I would normally take the stairs, they offer a much more authentic experience of gravity, but my legs couldn't be relied on, the mutinous fuckers would love an opportunity like this to see me sprawled out on my face at the foot of the stairwell, my underwear and travel-sized toothpaste spewed on the floor.</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">My driver was familiar so I maintained an air of grateful indignation. The nightclubs had closed their doors to revellers no more than an hour before so the roads were clear and soon enough we were pulling up outside airport departures. I alighted the cramped vehicle and she didn’t. I promised to call and patted the pocket that contained no phone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">Airports before sunrise are an anthill of activity. The travellers tend to be going somewhere to do something rather than the child-dragging escapees who’ve staked their annual savings on two weeks burning their skin, drinking cheap cocktails and praying the kids don’t drown in the sea.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">No, pre-dawn flyers have to be in an office discussing things they don’t trust the phone with or gathering in hotels for conferences about stuff while dreaming of tanning their skin, drinking Tequila sunrises and praying the kids would shut up and drown already. I, dear blogees was one of the latter. The Toastmasters convention in Athens was entitled ‘Rebirth’ and I only had vague circumstantial evidence that I had experienced it the first time, birth that is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I was flying to Athens, the crucible of democracy, western philosophy and so much more at a time when my ancestors were still figuring out how to get 100 tons of stone 200 miles from Wales to stand on Salisbury plains. And, that many years later we still haven’t worked out why.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">In my seat was a young woman who was already looking nervous. She asked if I wanted her to move and I said I didn’t mind. We briefly argued about who didn’t mind the most and she stayed put. My seating was random, I had opted to save the €3 so all she had achieved was to randomise my random seating, worth €3 of anyone’s money. She was peering out the window shuffling in her seat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">“Looks a long way down, eh?” I agreed with the thought that she had not verbalised. “But you’ll hardly notice it once we get above the clouds.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">She turned and pursed her lips, I was sure I could detect a smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">The crew took their positions to show us what to do in the event that gravity interrupted them selling us perfumes and cute, anthropomorphised plushy aircraft. We wouldn’t be flying over the sea so I ignored the bit about topping up the life vest. I mean, they love showing that video of the guy landing his Airbus in the Hudson river but we all know that air travel was never intended to be survivable. You hit the sea from 35,000 feet, you’re gonna be a smoothie with foreign coins in your pocket, you hit a mountain and you are destined to be some other passenger’s brunch. No, if I feel the earth accelerate towards me, I’ll turn my ipod volume up past the recommended safe level and try to edit the boring parts out of my life flashing before me. That said, a well-pumped life vest could go someway to breaking your fall were we to clip the top of mount Olympus. Aw! Ever the optimist.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">The exhilaration of acceleration always sends a tingle up my trousers, this time it was augmented by my new travel companion’s nails in my forearm, not nearly as unpleasant as it sounds! I wondered if she’d react the same way on landing but I was too polite to request.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I opened the book I had been reading and watched the words swim around the page for a while, the instant coffee had done nothing for my concentration. Domestic flights in Europe never last long and just as I'd got settled in, the flaps on the wings started their downhill dance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">We touched down and for a moment I felt the landing gear and fuselage quarrel over direction, this sharpened my focus to the life jacket. If I was thrown from a gaping hole in the aircraft, would the inflated vest soften the impact with Terra Firma as I had previously hoped? My synapses were sparking faster than I was accustomed but I knew I wouldn’t be able to roll a cigarette and light it before the end. And anyway the no smoking lights were still lit. I reached for the duty-free bottle I’d procured before leaving the departure lounge but her nails snagged in my arm. Was this how it would all end? Thrown from a budget airline seat to be spread like jam on the toasted Athens runway and would the cramp in my legs subside for this? I would probably break her fall and be hailed a hero. At least the compensation and bolstered book sales would give my wife and kids a more comfortable life than I had managed to give them while I had been the right size and shape to fit into trousers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">Unfortunately, I was in the smokers cabin in the arrivals hall scribbling these very words when I realised none of this had actually happened. These glass-walled aquariums of shame played soothing music while extracting the smoke and advertising the sponsor’s particular brand of tobacco freedom. The rugged middle-aged model in the pictures bore no resemblance to someone who would reach for a packet and lighter before opening his eyes in the morning then hack his lungs between his first drags of the day. Modelling had never been a career option for me but in the name of honesty I made a note to self to contact Imperial Tobaccos for an audition. I reached into my bag for the bottle but it wasn’t until I was replacing the cap and putting it back that I seriously considered the folly of my actions. It was 7.30 and I still hadn’t had a decent cup of coffee, there is much to be said for keeping events in the proper sequence but saying it was a close as I got. I took one more nip before deciding that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">There was one last bag rounding the carousel when I emerged. I guessed it must be mine and took it. I headed to the first java franchise for some hard, hot and black.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I was well into my second when another flight safely touched down from the north carrying two vibrant balls of enthusiasm who were to accompany me to the conference. One of them had a plan, which was more than I had.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">On the train into town they fizzed with excitement about the upcoming events, the gala ball, the keynote speakers and soon my discomfort became palpable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I told them I’d need to dump my luggage, I could only speculate that it was mine but if people could believe that our existence was down to a huge explosion in the universe or the hand of a bearded guy who was never born, I could believe this bag between my legs was the one that contained my underwear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I called my host for the weekend. It was obvious that I’d woken her, shit! She told me to get off at Monastiraki station and head for the ancient columns. I asked again, this was Athens, the capital of ancient, I knew I would be sleeping on a park bench trading favours to be allowed to snuggle into a flea-bitten mutt for warmth… again!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">My fizzy companions got off the train. One said she’d see me soon. The other asked if I’d be ok. I doubted either.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">Things were looking up. I exited the station and just outside were some columns. I took a place in the shade and rolled a cigarette. A herd of Americans passed extolling hyperboles of awe in their metallic burr, the same that makes tourist trap scammers around the world rub their hands in glee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I finished my cigarette and ventured into the square. The stalls were hanging with hats and sunglasses and sundry tat that while professing to the contrary would never pass Greek hands until money changed hands. Many of the tourists may in fact be taking the trinkets back to where they were made.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">A tall slenderman thrust a piece of handwritten paper in my hand. I gave it straight back and looked defiantly non-American.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">“NO!” I said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">“Habla ingles?” he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I went back to the columns for safety.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">My host arrived with a smile, kissed me on both cheeks and told me I must be thirsty. I was, was it that obvious. We scurried past the made-in-China Parthenons on a chain and ducked into a bar. My watch was chiding me but I ignored it which by the second beer became easier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">We headed back into the heat and she gave me the tour of the neighbourhood. There were three supermarkets but this was her favourite. She told me to pick up a basket. I was dragging a wheelie case wearing a backpack and now trying to balance a basket that was rapidly filling with bottles and cans. I had my reservations about the cans but chose not to share them at this time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">We passed a guy sitting outside a carpet shop and my host called him by name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">“Hey! This is my English friend who’s come to write about us.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">“Are you a journalist?” he asked in perfect English.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">“Well…” I began to answer but before I could I was introduced as a great writer who had a particular interest in the sub-cultures of Athens.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">We spread our cache from the supermarket on a table that was hurried from inside the shop along with a bottle of a clear but potent liquid. We were joined by a parking attendant from a open space opposite that was infeasibly chequered with vehicles. They quizzed me about my life in Greece, most of which was answered by my host. They talked of a Greece that was the mother of wisdom in antiquity, a paradise on earth for tourism but had gone to the dogs in the modern context. The carpet salesman told me that he had a post-graduate in Greek literature but had been waiting for his call-up from the education authority to teach in high school, the parking attendant was a lawyer who never had the connections to get a foot hold in the profession, my host was a philosophy major who taught German at a private school while volunteering at a psychiatric ward. I felt like a hack but inspired by the potent clear liquid, the setting and hubris I invoked the Socratean method and Douglas Adams' 42.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">“You see, the poverty of the modern age is not answers, we have no end of them!. No, our poverty lies in our questions!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">My company nodded in sagely agreement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I drained another glass and fleetingly remembered my purpose in Athens, the convention. I remembered my promises to my fellow Toastmasters but we had begun to delve into the truth of Socrates’ existence and the potent liquid clarity had burned a path down to my deep-rooted acquiescence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I looked up and just over the rooftops, high on crag of rock stood the Parthenon, and I was convinced it was gloating.</span><!--EndFragment--><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12pt;">Next: I find a stage</span></h2>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-57406059153765897832018-03-28T23:31:00.002+03:002018-03-28T23:31:55.724+03:00Writing can be Damn lonely<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="text-indent: 22.7px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><b>Writing is something that </b></span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b>I've</b></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><b> always done. No matter what has interested me, I have always gone back to it. But, DAMN it’s lonely! Anyone who knows me will attest that I am not a wallflower, not the bookish shadow in the corner, I love people, I love attention. I have given seminars and speeches in front of hundreds of people and while my colleagues are pouring over their PowerPoints or eyeing the exit, my nerves are a beehive of excitement. Don’t get me wrong, I am nervous but for me it’s an elixir, pure adrenaline. Now I have responsibilities and a family and me and time have had a major falling out so I have to fit more of what I love into what I have left. Just last week I found the impetus to marry two of my passions.</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://www.globalstorytellingday.org/" target="_blank">World storytelling day</a> is observed on the spring equinox, this year it fell on 20th March. I found out about it the Friday before but after some reading, it turns out that it begins a week of oral literature so I had some breathing room. I found a venue at <a href="https://www.thecaravan.gr/" target="_blank">a little boutique hotel</a> in town and began rallying the troops. I set up a FB event and called on my mates at the <a href="http://www.toastmasters.org/Find-a-Club/03414254-03414254" target="_blank">Toastmasters club</a> I have been a member of for a month or so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The day arrived and me and the family made our way downtown. Now, I'm usually pretty cool about talking in front of a crowd but I noticed a drilling in my head, a stiffness in my back. I was anxious. This was my story I would tell, I had poured over the words and phrasing to get the impact I wanted. What if I fluffed my lines? what if I missed a scene? What if they didn't like it? I've gotten rejection letters for my work before, I've had readers who didn't get it, but to have to look them in the eyes while they did it… I didn't know if I could take that. This meant too much to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">This is Greece and 6 o'clock is more an advisory concept than a time. Greek time pieces have rubber hands and blurred faces so when I arrived and found just a couple of faces my heart dropped and yet it also embraced a kind of relief, I might not have to do it and I can blame others. Get off scot-free. After a half hour wait, however I had enough who had made the effort to come not to be able to back out. I launched into my preamble about <a href="http://www.acropof.com/2018/03/storytelling.html" target="_blank">the importance of storytelling</a>. More began to arrive and by the time I reached the end we had a good turnout. There was even an American lady who had wandered into our room to wait for a friend. My plan was to call on others to take the floor and share their stories before I told mine but while I looked to them, they looked to each other and it was clear that I would have to fill the void.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">“This is a story about sex, the insatiable appetite that drives us all. This is a story about love and how it hides in its shadow…</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKkIhnee9uY" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">This story is called</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">…</span></a><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKkIhnee9uY" target="_blank"> Hungry</a>.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I guess I could have picked a lighter story but I have been working on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKkIhnee9uY" target="_blank">a video</a> for this story and I wanted to hone the performance, plus I was pretty sure I would remember it well and be free enough to immerse myself in the role.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I gave it my all and despite fluffing lines and drenching the armpits of my shirt, I reached the end delivering the final lines that left most staring, silent. It was maybe the hardest thing I've done but I'm glad I did it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Eventually, I managed to coax the others up to tell their tales. If I'm honest, this was thanks to my son who was the first to volunteer. He told a wonderful story of how he had gotten away with some mischief at school. After that no one really had an excuse not to join in. Most didn't really know what to expect. Hell! I didn't but it was so good to tell and hear stories from people I knew well and many I didn't.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">We had three hours without phone twitching, no one checked-in, no one shared and calls were rejected. At the end of our allotted time in the hotel’s meeting room, we all agreed that it should be repeated. We talked of interesting and inspiring venues and even outdoors in the park on the seafront.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">What I learned that day was what I really care about. The reason I could take a stage and talk for hours was because at the end of the day, it wasn’t so important. This was important and too important not </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">to </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">do again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I am looking forward to doing it again. See you all there.</span></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-66499653260498860212018-03-17T16:21:00.000+02:002018-03-17T16:27:58.156+02:00Storytelling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
World Storytelling day is coming and you may groan at yet another world 'something' day but this is one that I feel we should take greater heed to.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>"World Storytelling Day is celebrated every year on March equinox and the following week. This year it starts on Tuesday March 20. The idea is to have as many people as possible tell and listen to stories in as many languages and at as many places as possible. Doing so we promote oral storytelling all over the world. We also get a chance to build friendships across national and cultural borders in joyful ways. As if we meet around a global campfire."</b></span></blockquote>
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With it come some misconceptions. First of all, as you have seen, it is not a day it is a week and secondly, well secondly, allow me to elaborate.<br />
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Storytelling is a wonderful medium of entertainment. We tell our children stories to help them sleep at night. Right? Wrong!<br />
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Storytelling pervades our lives on such a powerful level that we just take for granted. If you are in marketing or advertising, you already know what I mean.<br />
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Storytelling is one of the most ancient human arts, in fact it is prehistoric, pre-language even. We know this because the earliest creations of man, cave art told tales of hunts, of ceremonies and a need for moments in life to be passed on to later generations. Even the most primitive cave art, the hand stencils in France, Spain, Indonesia, Borneo and many others that date back 10,000 - 40,000 years display a need to transcend lifespan with their tale of existence. So how can a bunch of hand stencils tell a story. Well, the same way six words can not only tell an entire narrative but also evoke deep emotions.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>For sale: baby shoes, never worn.</b></span></div>
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In this work by Hemingway we can understand the power of narrative... it is the reader who writes the story. I showed this to some young children and their interpretations were quite different to yours or mine, this is called schemata and it is the way we connect our own experiences with the words.</div>
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Stories are eternal, common and unique and are written in the reader or listener. </div>
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Aesop taught morals not by lecture but by stories. In fact, his "The boy who cried Wolf!" is my favourite tool for teaching the folly of lies. Plato passed Socratean philosophies through narratives of his mentor's exploits.</div>
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The Celts chose their leaders, not just by their prowess on the battlefield but by their skills to spin a yarn. A great leader, Churchill was a modern exponent of this skill, drawing on common schemata can inspire his people to achieve heroic acts.</div>
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Christ! just think, who are the most applauded writers in the English language, (and this applies to most, if not all languages) was it Isaac Newton or Charles Darwin, who wrote volumes on the most ground-breaking discoveries. No, it is Shakespeare, who wrote stories. </div>
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Then came a man called Edward Bernays, a nephew of Sigmund Freud. He turned public relations and advertising on its head when he realised that emotions sold soap, cars, insurance and even ideologies better than information. And, it wasn't long before they realised that stories were the most effective conduits for emotional response.</div>
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So why is this?</div>
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<li>Stories invite us into the lives of others. Some we relate to, others we abhor but all are fascinating.</li>
<li>Stories give us context. We understand the environment in which motivations develop.</li>
<li>Stories ask and answer the question 'Why?' We can understand why things happen because we make similar choices to the protagonists. </li>
<li>Stories evoke empathy and take us to a place where we open our minds to new ideas.</li>
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At a recent presentation I attended there were two speakers, one employed a narrative to explain how she was sceptical about some new methods and materials asking "Why should I change something that has worked so well for so long?" then proceeded to explain why she did exactly that. The audience empathised and engaged with her. The other gave us information about how it operated and pretty soon, the phones came out and facebook was being checked.<br />
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Storytelling is one of the most important skills we can develop.</div>
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Steve Jobs was not the greatest inventor or innovator, Steve Wozniak did most of the heavy lifting but we bought his story and his phones.</div>
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Stephen Hawking may have had his equals and dare I say his betters but we bought his story and his theories and many were inspired enough to go into science. Maybe even inspiring his successor.</div>
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Elon Musk is doing the same...</div>
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It is no coincidence that the best selling books of all time are by Agatha Christie and God and he must know a thing or two about inspiring mankind.</div>
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<a href="http://www.globalstorytellingday.org/" target="_blank">"<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700; text-align: left;">Would you like to organize your own event?</span></a></blockquote>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.globalstorytellingday.org/" target="_blank">It could be a cosy gathering in your kitchen or a school event with stories by pupils, teachers or professional storytellers. Or an evening at the storytelling club, library or a museum. Or a big festival or anything you and your friends can come up with!" Click to enter the World Storytelling Day site.</a></span></blockquote>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-56335006880775458402018-02-12T13:12:00.002+02:002018-02-12T14:10:25.181+02:00My Reward Video<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Generation X, The MTV generation. If you were born between the mid 60s and the early 80s, if you grew up listening to Punk, The Smiths, The Cure and Depeche Mode. You came home from school with the door-key in your pocket. This is for you. We defined teenage angst but now as we have kids of our own and The Smiths are played on BBC Radio 2, the station our parents or even Grandparents listened to, we are defining a new phenomenon, Midlife Angst.</h2>
<a href="/share" class="twitshot-tweet-button" target="_blank" data-url="http://www.acropof.com/2018/02/my-reward-video.html" data-text="My Reward - A Story About Midlife Angst">Twitshot</a>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Alkapk9SlUM/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Alkapk9SlUM?feature=player_embedded"></iframe></div>
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The soundtrack is "QUIET" by This Will Destroy You, who have graciously allowed me to use this track. I strongly urge you to check them out.</div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-56412124332054237142017-11-18T14:37:00.000+02:002017-11-18T14:37:36.711+02:00Did I tell you about when... I didn't save a life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">Have you ever thought about the time you’ll be called up to the plate, when you’ll be asked to go beyond the call of duty to help your fellow man. Maybe to save a life. More and more people these days have completed some kind of first aid training, CPR, heart massage, recovery position, but do you know how you would react if you really had to use it, if it was you standing between someone and ‘the light’. Many of you do and have made a crucial difference to the course of someone’s life. I had that opportunity once and it didn't go so well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">It was a scorching midday and I was taking a breather at Fat Yianni’s after performing my morning obligations. The ice in my frappe had all but melted and I was pondering a dip and a snooze before the evening’s rush, when I heard the panicked screams of a girl. Soon she was running past, calling for help. I stood and called her back. All I could illicit from her was that her grandma was unwell and she was in the pizzeria round the corner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I ran, almost dragged by the girl. What I found was three generations of family surrounded by bystanders, standing by. Two generations distraught and at the epicentre, the third, an old lady in her eighties laid out on the stone floor. She had had some kind of attack. She wasn’t breathing and I found no pulse. I tilted her head back and checked her airways. I tried to find out if she had choked or anything but all I could get was that she had fainted and fallen from her chair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“She was fine. She just fainted. Just fainted.” These words became a mantra, over and over to ward off the possibility of anything more sinister.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">My mind danced cartwheels trying to remember what I had learned. I looked around, maybe someone with more to offer than me would stand forward but that person had already stood forward and it was me, just me. I opened her mouth, took a breath and gave it to her. It returned like a deflating balloon. I tried again. The same. I kept at it until a friend arrived.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“You know about this stuff?” I asked. He shrugged.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I kept going. I stopped and asked if anyone had called an ambulance, you know how easy it is to forget the most basic things in these situations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I heard mumbles of “maybe” and “Did you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“No, I thought…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE!” I shouted. “NOW!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I joined my fists and began to thrust above the diaphragm, counting. I didn't know what I was counting but it seemed the right thing to do. I reached 20 thrusts and put another breath in the old lady. When I was at school, our biology teacher had procured a pair of pig lungs from the next-door abattoir. We took turns inflating them. This is what this felt like. The chest rose and fell blowing dead air into my face. I returned to the thrusting. 1-2-3-4-5-6…20 blow. Was there a blockage? Would I need to do an emergency tracheotomy? Did I need to intubate? WHY WOULD SHE NOT BREATHE?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know how many times I went through this cycle. I don’t know how many breathes I had put in but she seemed no closer to gasping than I was to giving up</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The holiday rep had arrived and was comforting the family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“WHERE IS THE FUCKING AMBULANCE?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I couldn’t tell you how long this went on but I felt futile, impotent. I turned to someone, I don’t know who and demanded, “How long had she been here?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“They came for coffee…” Then some conferring.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“How long had she been like this before I arrived?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">More conferring.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I dropped my head. She had been long gone before I arrived. I had been trying to wake the dead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The ambulance never did arrive. I think a doctor arrived. But the final nail in the coffin was when a old Datsun pick-up was brought to remove the body. The family were inconsolable. I remember telling them it was the most discreet method to move the body. I told them that she had gone with her family around her, with the sun on her face. I didn't know what else to say. They wanted to believe me but I knew I was just covering up things that just should not have been covered up.</span></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-14546122111411813612017-10-09T11:45:00.000+03:002018-03-20T08:39:52.651+02:00Did I tell you about when... I was really hungry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-weight: 600;">Have you ever been hungry? I don’t mean missed-lunch hungry, I don’t mean Hollywood-diet hungry, I mean 3rd world hungry. I have. It was November and the tourists were long gone and they’d taken all their money with them. I had put some money away for my flight home but that had quickly become a ticket on the magic bus which had become 1000 drachmas, little more than the cab fare to the next village and back and my cupboards were bare. I had bought a bag of lentils and some assorted veg and made soup, a lot of soup. Each day I would take out a bowl of soup and pour in a cup of water. The water was beginning to win out.</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Now that sounds really grim but the upside was that almost every night a car stopped outside my apartment to take me out drinking, I had been living on a diet of beer and bar nuts for about a month and I was hungry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I visited friends and left with their potato peelings. Don’t get me wrong, they would have fed me but something had kicked in, something stoic and British. I would let them feed me when I had money, I would take some beers or retsina, but now I had nothing and I couldn’t, before I was poncing, now I was begging. I couldn’t beg.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">It was that same pig-headedness that had got me in such dire straights. I had had one too many animated altercations with Fat Yianni. I refused to sell five portions of chicken stew that had been bouncing round the kitchen for days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“You couldn’t sell the ice cream in the Eskimos!” Fat Yianni spat at me. H</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">e had a big problems with mixed metaphors, but not only did I understand it, I was offended.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">And I might have risen to the bait but </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I had asked the cook for a portion the day before. She shook her head grimly and brought me souvlaki, a fact that I had yelled at him in front of a packed restaurant.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">That was late August and the end of my revenue stream. I got a little job on the scooters but there were no meals and I’d forgotten what an expense that could be. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The ladies from the kitchen would feed me when Fat Yianni was away and leave care packages on my doorstep from time to time but that ended with the tourists.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The cycle continued with the car outside taking me for beers that were given freely by the bars that I had sent tourists to all summer. I guess it was gratitude or maybe just payment for my lunatic antics that spiced up a dull off-season in Halkidiki. I didn’t care. I got beer, I got nuts, I got wasted. The same car, I think, would then drive up outside the village and dump me on the roadside. A drooling lump of Essex laundry with a grin who could continue to entertain himself on the short walk through the village, singing made-up songs to himself, before passing out in the general vicinity of his apartment. Yes, sometimes I did not get all the way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">So, one night I was zig-zagging my way home when I heard a familiar sound. Familiar but this time it had new resonance, new meaning to a man who had been sustained on spot-the-lentil soup for too long. It was the clucking of a chicken. It sounded clucking tasty. I was clucking drooling. I looked around me and vaulted the fence. Now, I was of the opinion that chickens came in buckets and were finger licking good but I had some experience of turning a living thing into satisfied tummy back when we used to visit Uncle Ted. Uncle Ted had a small holding with goats and sheep and even a cow but most importantly in my education, he had rabbits and chickens. Uncle Ted had, when I was about 13, made me wring a chuck’s neck. Now, Uncle Ted had hands like two pound of Wall’s bangers, I did not. He took the poor dumb creature by the neck with his fist inverted and swung its body over the back of his hand. The chuck’s body did most of the work. It was still twitching but it had clucked its last. Then he looked at me. I took it in my boyish hand, “SWING IT!”. I did. In fact, I did it so hard, afraid that I wouldn’t do it hard enough that one of its claws nearly took my eye out. The adrenaline pumped hard, the chicken twitched. I did it. And, I could do it again. Difference was this time I didn’t have Uncle Ted to catch the bastard and hold it for me. I picked the one that looked a little slow on its feet. Was it lame? Did I care? I leaped and slipped in chicken shit but I got it. SWING! I shoved it into my jacket and zipped up. I couldn’t vault back over the fence holding the bottom of my jacket to stop the wriggling lump from falling so I climbed gingerly. A nail snagged my nads. My quarry fell on the floor. Now, many would have you believe that chickens run around after they are decapitated, it’s true they do twitch a lot and I guess if you were to put them on the ground they might run, but they don’t. That said, this one was doing a bloody good job of escaping. Its kinfolk were clucking and flapping while it lay back on the coup side of the fence giving its last. The sun wasn’t long to peer over the horizon and the last thing I wanted was to get caught chicken rustling. I leaned over scooped it up and launched my right leg over the fence. My jeans gave a rip! and unsnarled from the nail and I was off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Back at the homestead, I pulled out the chuck and stuffed it into a saucepan. My biggest still had the remains of a soup that had sustained me so long so I went for the next down, it didn’t fit but it would have to do. I went to the balcony to suck a few lung-fulls of calm from a cigarette.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Now, what I did know was not much but I did know that plucking a cold bird is a hiding to nowhere. Those feathers need to come out warm and fast. I searched the kitchen for a plastic bag but I hadn’t bought anything for so long that I had nothing. All I could do was use my spare pillowcase and remember this was not a </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">clean </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">white bird, it stunk. I took it to the bathroom and ran it under a hot shower, some of the bits of grit hopped away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I plucked, I’m not a cluckin’ plucker, I’m a </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">cluckin’ </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">plucker’s son </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">and plucked</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> some more then stuffed it back into the pan and fell unconscious on the bed satisfied with my labours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I woke in the afternoon with chicken down in my nose. I had left the balcony door open and the breeze had got to the pillow case. I made a cup of tea, I hate tea but someone had left me a couple of boxes of Lipton bags before leaving. I had no milk or sugar but it was better than the taste of my own mouth. And I was spitting feathers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The chicken’s legs were sticking out of the pan and it still needed gutting and cooking. I had images of mum’s roast chicken but I didn’t have an oven. I dreamed of chicken schnitzel, chicken chow mien, sweat and sour then I found half a bottle of medium sweet red wine, it was a little darker than I remembered. To be frank, I didn’t remember acquiring it or drinking it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Coq au Vin!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Soon with blunt knives and brute force, I had it gut-free. I put the remains of the lentils in another pan and swished it round under the tap. Ready, Steady, Cook! It was as much as I could do not to nibble on bits of the carcase. I think the stock ended up with a Knorr cube and two parts drool, I was having problems staying objective.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">As it was boiling, I went through the cupboards adding pinches of green stuff, red stuff, I even found one of those leaves mum used to put in the bolognese, at least I thought it was.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">A knock at the door. Shit! Was it the gamekeeper? Or was it someone smelling my creation and inviting themselves for dinner. I froze. Again, a knock. I swallowed my lungs. I could hear my muscles creaking. Eventually I heard steps away from my door and I sucked in as much air as I could and nearly spat up my throat, fuck! that wine was tart!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I knew it would take an hour or so to cook but I didn’t want to leave it so I moved a chair into the chicken, I mean kitchen and tried to read. After watching the words dance around on the page, I gave up. I brushed my teeth, twice and swallowed the toothpaste. I tidied my room. I collected the feathers. The chicken boiled and boiled. I tried to nap but my stomach had turned on me, growling and griping. I couldn’t take any more. I went to the kitchen and fished out some of the meat that had turned white and brought it to my tongue, which was hanging around my knees. And ate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The meat was tough but it tasted like Christmas. The juices needed some bread but the bakers would need me to give some bread and I had no bread.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">It only took a plate full to make my stomach push against my belt, so unaccustomed to anything more than beer and peanuts, and I slept. I slept Christmas-day-in-front-of-The-Sound-of-Music sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I woke full of beans but added some more coq to them before making my way down to the village square with a scribble pad and a head full of ideas. I slipped round the back of one of the tavernas that had closed for the winter and lifted a crate of empty Amstel bottles and took them to the supermarket. Ten Drachmas a bottle plus the crate got me two full bottles and a packet of Camels.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I pitched up on a wall at the square and began scribbling, poems and lyrics mostly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">A couple of old codgers pitched up within earshot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Come on Kosta, you know you can’t count!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“No mistake. yesterday, I had twelve. This morning, I had eleven.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Malaka, It was hiding in the coup.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“I'm telling you! Bloody Albanians stole my chickens....”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Well... one.”</span><!--EndFragment--><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">"Yeah! one..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-indent: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-indent: 0px;"></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; text-indent: 22.7px;">Hey! If you liked this story, do yourself a favour and <a href="http://eepurl.com/5Psjj" style="color: dimgrey; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">SUBSCRIBE</a> to me. You'll get a free ebook and some special time with me. So, what have you got to loose? </span><a href="http://eepurl.com/5Psjj" style="color: dimgrey; font-family: calibri; text-decoration-line: none; text-indent: 22.7px;" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: red;">CLICK HERE</span></i></a></span></span></h3>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-39893842759161898062017-10-04T00:07:00.002+03:002017-10-04T00:07:36.177+03:00Did I tell you about when... I got picked up by the fuzz<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So there I was, scurrying along late and lost, as usual. It was a balmy moonlit night and I was going to pick up a friend's kid from night classes. I had circled the neighbourhood and finally found a space miles away from the music academy. Looking at my watch, it was 10.30 and getting close to the time when the kid would be looking for me and making panicked calls to his parents.</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was in full scamper when I heard the farty toot of a police horn, I looked round in curiosity. It was <a href="http://lemerg.com/836333.html" target="_blank">Papaki</a> squad, two bikes loaded with four officers locked and loaded. Who were they after? I doubted they were going to ask for directions but maybe I might have seen some suspicious type running away from a crime scene. One of the pillions was standing and they tooted again. I stopped in a who-me? stance. The standing officer alighted and approached, was this really happening?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He told me they just wanted to do a little check; blood pressure? customer satisfaction? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He asked me if I live in the area, I told him I didn't. I told him to make it quick as I was going to pick up a kid from classes. He told me it would take 2 minutes, so I played ball. Word to the wise, Greeks baring gifts can and usually is very pleasant, Greeks talking minutes is tears en route.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was asked if I was carrying anything illegal, I said I really hoped not as this wouldn't be the best time. He deadpanned the same question again until I told him that I was not carrying.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He asked me to turn out my pockets and normally I would have told him to turn out his first but instead I turned out my pockets and everything was carefully scrutinised. It was about this point when I realised what was really happening. No just cause, no suspicious behaviour, just a 40-something late and lost.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I raised my arms and accepted a full body frisk. One minute I'm doing my bit for community relations, next I have my nuts in a copper's palm. Thankfully he had gentle hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Once they had satisfied themselves that I was no immediate threat to society they asked me if I was from round here, I told them again where I lived, not my address, just the area. He looked at me and asked the question again. I knew the question he wanted to ask, my accent had set off alarm bells. He persisted with variations of the are-you-local question without directly mentioning ethnicity. I told him that I'm British and he corrected me saying Greek-British, I told him English-British, BBC-British, Marks and Spencer British... British! Then the short one next to him started demanding papers. Now, I rarely carry ID as such, credit cards maybe but if you've ever lost your passport or driving licence you’ll understand that the risk of a night in the cell is worth all the hassle and cost of getting it replaced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I told shorty that I took them on holiday abroad and I didn't realise that I would need to prove my identity crossing the municipal line. Shorty tells me that I <i>am</i> abroad and had to prove my legal status in the country. Yes, this really is happening. I told him that I'm a Greek tax-payer and European citizen. He asks me again if I had any ID, I tell him again that I was under the assumption that I was free to move around as I would be in Britain, yes I know this was taunting but by this time I had had enough of their bullshit. He told me that they would have to take me down the station if I wanted to continue (read: keep it up, sonny!) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I offered my hands ready for cuffing. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"If you are going to, get it over with..." </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">They had two bikes and two pillions, how they would get me there was anyone’s guess.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Finally, shorty told me that due to having to pick up the kid they would let me off… Let me off for doing nothing, stopped with no just cause and after discovering no illegals on me; how fucking gracious!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I told them how grateful I was for their kindness and wished them a good evening, whatever that may entail.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As I shuffled off, I slowed my pace to a gentle mince in order to furtively readjust the two kilo bag of coke and various fire arms I had previously shoved up my arse... Nah, not really!</span><br />
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-500381501293176282017-09-23T12:27:00.004+03:002017-09-23T12:27:49.050+03:00Did I tell you about when... I went to a party half-cocked<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">12.30, I’d just finished work and I was on a mission. Word had reached me of a major party at the hotel where I had stayed when I first arrived and It wasn't going to happen without me. I had borrowed a 50 Vespa and I was on my way. Gerakina beach was some fifty kilometres away and with a top speed of about sixty, I would have to be patient. Very patient.</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The road stretched out ahead of me and at sixty kilometres an hour it stretches a lot. I went through a village set on the main road which was still bustling with tourists and locals alike but after that I knew I had a lot of road that went through nowhere in particular so I settled in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Vespas have a distinctive buzz, you know vespa means wasp in Italian, of course you did, well after twenty minutes that can become quite hypnotic. I've ridden the length and breadth of the UK on a Vespa, Exmouth, Skegness, Isle of Wight but always with a lot of company and always at more than 60kph.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The road ahead stretched and stretched and faded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The handlebars were snapped out of my hands and my legs flung in the air. I awoke with rocks and a dense patch of nature ahead. No time for coffee! I grabbed control and pulled the levers hard. I was only a couple of metres from the road but only a couple of metres from the edge that would have had me swimming home or worse. Fortunately, both wheels were pointing at the ground and my feet planted firmly in the dust.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I dismounted, sat on one of the boulders I had so nearly painted with my face and sucked the calm from a camel cigarette. Ok, I know smoking isn't good for my health but it tended to hover so low on my list of activities that I lit another with the first.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The second leg of my journey was filled with singing and wide open eye exercises to ensure my family would not have to fork out for one of those little shrines by the road and a mangled 50 Vespa.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">It was around two when I indicated the right into the Gerakina resort and it did cross my mind that the party may have begun to wane by my arrival. No chance. The bar was heaving. I rolled in, hugging, cheek-kissing and high-fiving to the bar and got straight down to business. There was Michaili who I’d rented my first scooter from and who had given me my first left-hacker to drive, Tina the lovely barmaid and Tim. Tim had arrived in Greece the same day as me but he was working for Thomson holidays as a rep. He spoke in a northern tainted RP accent and clearly hadn't got out much before getting here, I had taken him under my wing which probably wasn't a good thing, I was fully expecting his parents’ lawyers to be contacting mine when he got back to Lincolnshire in the autumn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I’ll tell you some day how I came to be in Greece and while love has a lot to do with it, it’s not how most think it is. For now, me and life were having a torrid affair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Now, among the throng was Pasqual, Tim’s boss and head rep for the area. He had been working in the industry for years and had seen most of the world, in little blue shorts and a logo’d polo shirt but he’d been around and had tales to tell. We had a laugh and joke until he asked me what my plans were for the night, I obviously wouldn't be taking the Vespa the fifty kilometres home, not anytime soon. I told him that I didn't have any plans but I was sure Tim could put me up. Tim kicked me in the ankle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“He most certainly will not!” was Pasqual’s curt answer. Whereupon he went into a diatribe about going off half-cocked and without making appropriate arrangements. Damn! I never did anything half-cocked! As for the arrangements, he had a good point. I think he was still going on when I left him to revisit the bar. Tim came and scalded me for getting him in shit. I told him not to worry and his boss would never know. Tim was making significant progress but was still decidedly risk-averse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">So, I had nowhere to stay. This bombshell had me upended so I danced to Happy Mondays on a table with Amanda, the new kiddies rep who had transferred from Corfu, or some such island.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">By the time the sun began to yawn over the horizon there were just a few of us sitting in the bar. Tim had slipped off, possibly to avoid having to say no to me. Pasqual had waited for Tim to leave but was now gone, Michaili was still as chilled as always but still in full effect. Tina the lovely barmaid had been relieved by the owner, much to my disappointment so I was sitting with Amanda, who was just as lovely. She asked me where I was staying. She wasn't familiar with my village so I explained where it was and how far.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“How did you get here?” she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I pointed at the diminutive scooter sitting outside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“You came on that? Yor mental!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Chicken oriental!” I replied.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">She asked when I was going back and if I would be sticking around for a while.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I shook my head, “Gotta get back tomorrow, today. At some point.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">She reached her hand across the table and I took it, I'm nothing if not polite. “You could stay with me but I share.” I concealed my disappointment. “But, but I might have something.” She stood suddenly. “Come on!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The hotel was quiet, apart from some Germans laying their towels on the sunloungers. She smiled at the guy on reception and led me by the hand. Eventually we reached a door and she tried the handle, it opened. She raised a finger to her lips. She didn’t give me much time to survey my surrounding but I got the impression that it was some kind of store room. It had no windows so I went to turn on the light. She stopped me, whispering ‘no’ into my ear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">We bounced around the room, bumping into furniture. There was a big soft pile of something that was probably towels in plastic bags which suited our needs for a while then another stack of something harder. As my eyes became accustomed to the dark I spotted a pile of mattresses. I told her breathlessly to wait while I pulled one down onto the floor. We continued. I thought we were being quite quiet but to be honest I couldn’t be sure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Finally, we were finished and laid out on the single mattress when she leapt to her feet swearing in a loud whisper.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh shit! Oh my god!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“What’s up?” I knew she had work but surely we hadn’t lost complete sense of time. She continued swearing and pulling her clothes from around the room pulling on my t-shirt in her panic. I asked again. She said it was nothing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Not to be dissuaded. “You late for work?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“I got my period! Satisfied?” Then slipped out of the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I grabbed half an hour sleep then slipped out myself, looking both ways before exiting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">In a cafe across the road I had two strong coffees, a spinach pie and the rest of the camels in my box before kicking the Vespa into life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">As I left the resort I nearly had a head-on with a police car that was in a hurry for something. I looked over my shoulder to check that he didn't turn. I wasn't wearing a helmet and although they rarely pulled anyone for such transgressions in those days, it did happen if they were in a bad mood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I broke the return journey into manageable legs punctuated by coffee and camels. I laughed at myself, I had a couple of spots of blood on my trousers and even my t-shirt. Poor girl, she must have been mortified. I resolved to call her when I got back to reassure her that it was no biggy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I didn't call, we had no mobiles then and I didn't know her surname. I could have sent a message through Natasha, the Thompson girl in my village but I got distracted and forgot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">A few weeks later Tim was transferred to my village. We went out for drinks which he insisted on paying for in lieu of letting me down that night. I told him it was fine but he felt in my debt. I had been helping him with some of the apartment owners, his Greek had not progressed as fast as mine. He had exhausted his tales of difficult holidaymakers when his eyes lit up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“You know, the police made us give them all our lists!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“When?” I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Must have been after the party.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Why?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“There was a murder at the hotel! One of the rooms was covered in blood.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“My round,” I offered…</span></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-77341459259456147142017-09-19T21:12:00.000+03:002017-09-22T01:31:53.558+03:00Did I tell you about when... I was late for work<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt;">It was a beautiful summer morning as usual, well this is Greece and if there is one thing reliable in this country, it's the weather. Come to think of it, it IS the one and only thing. I awoke strangely refreshed. I say strangely because I had got to bed around four the previous night but this was a comparatively early night. It must have been mid-July and I had been partying since May, burning the candle at both ends was too benign an idiom for it. I was burning a Molotov at both ends and that nothing had exploded yet was outrageous fortune.</span></h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5DDGoXMwnJgEas27FT51Ik1MZWJPmN5G7qN7hQOb2K1Vp79wx1-J0yO1mmiCVJUypPlOMds0ZFvxv0Y5P5CVgNzemY56Npdgb-YR-YdNVA0UO4RYUSwsGMm8bOXhpnAJ3x92wevdyeBc/s1600/late+for+work.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-indent: 0px;"><img alt="late for work" border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5DDGoXMwnJgEas27FT51Ik1MZWJPmN5G7qN7hQOb2K1Vp79wx1-J0yO1mmiCVJUypPlOMds0ZFvxv0Y5P5CVgNzemY56Npdgb-YR-YdNVA0UO4RYUSwsGMm8bOXhpnAJ3x92wevdyeBc/s320/late+for+work.jpg" title="late for work" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I took a cold shower to rinse off the night and headed down through the village to work. Work was the nice restaurant where I waited tables for Fat Yianni, the classiest place in town. Although my work ethic was thoroughly Anglican, my play ethic was even more dedicated. I slept no more than two hours a night and lived the other twenty two like tomorrow was just a vicious rumour. Of course, I would get forty winks on the beach in the afternoon but most of those winks were to just about anything in a bikini.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I sauntered through the village well aware of the fact that I would be ten or fifteen minutes late but me and Fat Yianni had an understanding, he knew I was awesome and I knew he wasn't paying me what I deserved. He had confessed one drunken night that he had never seen anyone extract tips or sell ‘specials’ like me. I had no fears about my job yet I executed my obligations with diligence and aplomb.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Hangover was a pretty standard state but I had the constitution of Keith Richards and when it was showtime, I performed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Nearing the village centre, I passed the first taverna and the owner was standing outside watching the world go by and swinging his worry-beads. I smiled and waved a kalimera. He grimaced and swung his hand in a chopping motion, this meant that you were in trouble, the cutting motion was a certain part of one’s anatomy that were for the chop. Christ! I was quarter of an hour late, tops!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I passed the souvenir shop and offered a warm morning greeting, she swung her head and tutted. When the same thing happened at the next taverna, I realised that Fat Yianni was in a foul mood and I would be getting it for some reason when I got in. I could handle the old bastard and our rows were legendary in the village but he would not do without me and he knew that I knew that as well as he.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">When I arrived, maybe twenty minutes late, the restaurant was empty and I made quick work of readying it for brunch service. The girls were busy in the kitchen and I did my best to jolly them up. I'm a great believer in investing in a convivial work atmosphere. If you work in a miserable place, maybe you are the reason for it. I worked in a wonderful environment. The girls were reluctant to talk to me and no amount of horseplay would loosen them up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Fat Yianni arrived in a tempest and I resolved to give him space to get his first frappe coffee with Bailys instead of milk down him before I engaged him. He planted himself behind the bar and followed me with his black gaze. His fat head was swinging, punctuated by swear words. I had already played out the game in my head. He would start griping, I would placate him until I reposted vehemently enough to provoke a full-on altercation, storm out and join some friends who had said they were going water-skiing. Whereupon I would return for evening service sell all the specials and leftovers and harvest a wad of tips then go down to the strip where I would party myself spastic and all would be forgotten.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Where you yesterday, koufala?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Game on. I ignored him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Malaka! Where you yesterday?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“I was on the strip, mostly Bubbles bar. You?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“I am here, doing yourself work, hamoura!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“You couldn't do my work if your life depended on it, you muppet! I do the business, you collect the money!” I was readying myself for water-skiing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“We banged your door. We shout you. You no answer!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Yianni, what are you on? Go back to your frappe, I got work to do!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“WHERE YOU WERE, STUPID ENGLISH! WE GO YOUR HOUSE… MANY TIMES”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Listen, you stupider Greek, I was here until that table of Greeks left at, what was it, 12.30? Then I went down Bubbles. And, now I'm here!” </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The villagers were right, he was worse than usual. I may have to forgo my evening tips to win out this time. He was like Mussolini on his period!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">His big moon face cracked a smile. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“David. What day it is?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“Listen Yianni, I'm off!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“DAVID. WHAT DAY IT IS?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">“You fuckin' muppet! It’s Tue—”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I snatched the rip-a-day calender to shove in his fat face. It read Wednesday 18th July…</span><!--EndFragment--><br />
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-75100518528986917632017-09-14T01:07:00.002+03:002017-09-27T14:50:43.336+03:00Did I tell you about when... I went hitch-hiking II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeY_UFXFLPe1tmaRv8Vk4s9yY9JhoMBpbhROdLVAOWCzWQZ-AWD82JT5LqM34imQZ8cQ00j0J32VnG-nMWNcE9hyr8faPKmdNMd9U5qdLBQ_ImOV7MlyO9jyTUKng5M-qzdwX0eHR3Ux0/s1600/road-1536748_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img alt="Hitch-hiking" border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeY_UFXFLPe1tmaRv8Vk4s9yY9JhoMBpbhROdLVAOWCzWQZ-AWD82JT5LqM34imQZ8cQ00j0J32VnG-nMWNcE9hyr8faPKmdNMd9U5qdLBQ_ImOV7MlyO9jyTUKng5M-qzdwX0eHR3Ux0/s320/road-1536748_1920.jpg" title="Hitch-hiking" width="320" /></a></div>
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">Anyone who thinks buses are an unreliable form of transport should try thumbing the</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">i</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">r way through the mountains between the port of Patras and just about anywhere. It was getting late and the sun was sipping cocoa. Many hitchers stay in one place where they are most likely to get a lift, often with a cardboard sign. I like to walk, while I'm heading in the right direction, I'm making progress. Even if I'm in the wrong place, I 'spose that speaks volumes about me but maybe I'm just stupid and impatient.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri";"> </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A car passed and lit its indicators and my heart did a little dance. I ran to the waiting car just for it to speed off. Ha fucking ha.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was starting to climb into the mountains, into the worst possible place to get a lift when Pasquale eased his huge truck into the side of the road. I knew he was called Pasquale because he said the word with a tombstone smile several times. The truck wore Italian plates and Pasquale spoke neither English nor Greek, I remembered a few words of Italian but they were of no use. I patted my chest and said David. Pasquale was carrying steel rods. I don’t know where and I didn't know that they wouldn't get there, not then. All I knew was that I had a lift.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Pasquale was working the gears hard but I was surprised at how nimble the huge vehicle was climbing the up into the wooded mountain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Behind him was a cupboard full of snacks. He offered me some crisps and fizzy pop. Inflight meal. I was blessed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So, we were winding through the narrow pass. I watched the sheer drops from my window, reassuring myself that Pasquale, a professional driver knew exactly what he was doing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">His hand had moved from the gearstick as the road levelled and was now working his shrivelled knob which he had stealthily slipped from his trousers. Fuck! It was dark outside, god knows how far from anywhere. I made the concerted decision to ignore it and hope it went back where it belonged.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Wanky, wanky!” So, Pasquale had been a little coy about his mastery of English. But what he didn't understand was that when one is being ignored, one should stop playing with one’s cock to avoid any unnecessary faux pas or transgressions of etiquette.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Being British, I was well schooled in how to politely diffuse such situations. “Put it away.” I said in an even tone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Wanky, wanky!” Pasquale was Italian and never had the privilege of an education in the country whose main export is manners and civility. Plus, he was the driver and I was the passenger in the middle of the mountains where the headlights were doing their best to penetrate the blackness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I galvanised my tone and repeated, “Put it away!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The cock was now back safely behind his fly and I clenched praying for the next town to arrive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I watched the tyres skim the edge of the road sprinkling stones down the sheer face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now, while London cabbies have famously enlarged hippocampi, the same cannot be said for Italian lorry drivers and it wasn't long before he had forgotten my request. Pasquale’s cock was out again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Wanky, wanky?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now, I failed to mention that while British to the core, I was raised in Essex, where a subculture of English restraint exists. I sung my fist across the cab and it landed square in his right eye.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“PUT YOUR FUCKING COCK AWAY!” Shit! I would drive this thing if I had to. My fist was now a grip on his collar and I had twisted to bring my right into play if circumstances demanded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">His cock disappeared in a nervous shuffle. I hoped it got stuck in his fly!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now, the atmosphere in the cab was a little terse with Pasquale’s romantic advances rebuked. We've all faced rejection from time to time and it’s no fun.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I watched the edge of the road swing back and forth, the tyres kicking more stones over. He was clearly impatient to get me home, his expectations of a kiss at the door and a nightcap dashed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A sweeping left leaned the cab over so that the tyres were momentarily out of sight. I caught my breath. The next right brought them back into view. I watched the cliff edge drop to an abyss then replaced by the door of the truck as the cab swung from side to side. I could clearly make out the letters of the livery. Then the wheels disappeared again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They did not reappear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The wheels had gone under and stayed under. The side of the mountain was coming but it was taking its time. Salt and vinegar crisps, Fanta, dust and moans filled the cab as we slid down. Down into the forest.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We hit the trees hard and the windscreen cracked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It took a moment to confirm that I was still alive but I was. Pasquale was moaning his own name. He hadn't fallen on me, maybe his seatbelt, I wasn't wearing mine. I couldn't tell you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My kitbag was between my legs but the footwell had compressed so I had to remove my shoe to retrieve my foot. I put my shoes back on and braced myself against my seat and kicked out the windscreen. It fell and I heard it tumble down into the trees. I pulled myself out and stood on the side pillar of the truck’s windscreen. The cab had snagged on some trees, pines I think but the trailer was hanging.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Pasquale reached out a hand. “Pasquale urrrgh!” The same hand that had been teasing his cock. The same cock that had got me in this situation in the first place. I braced against the window frame and threw a front-kick into his head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I grabbed my kitbag and started to scramble up the steep slope. I could make out a car and two figures at the road.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“YOU OK?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My right ankle was getting heavy and blood was coming from a deep cut on my right forearm but all things considered, I was good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Yeah. I'm fine!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When I got to the top I found I had more blood over my left cheek but it wiped off easily, it was only Pasquale’s.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The police turned up followed by an ambulance. An officer took me aside and asked me what had happened.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now my Greek was not great but I knew the word for masturbation, don’t ask me how. Trouble is that it gets used for everything in this country. I explained that the driver was, well, pulling his pud and this may have explained his lack of due care and attention but that translates as <i>he was fucking about.</i> I tried to rephrase with added gestures. The officer nodded in false comprehension, “Yeah, he’s a wanker!” I finally gave up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Pasquale was sitting in the ambulance, chianti pouring from his head. I was ushered to join him. Pasquale freaked, waving his arms about. His black eye and busted nose were indirectly related to the accident but related nonetheless. I went in the squad car.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was taken to the hospital first where my examination consisted of being asked to pull down my trousers and left in an empty room for half an hour. The doctor returned, asked me if I was OK and told me to hoist them back up. The irony of ending my evening with my trousers round my ankles despite my efforts was not lost on me, oh well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The police were waiting outside. They took me for coffee down at the station and asked me to tell my story, tell my story! How were they to know? About two hours, four cups of coffee, a packet of the officers fags and a couple of ouzos later (I drank, the officers being on duty) they had written a vastly abridged version in Greek and asked me to sign it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So now it’s about midnight and they want me out of town nearly as much as Pasquale. They take me down to the bus stop but the bus had left some ten minutes earlier. The officer waves wildly and we jump back in the car. He hits the road hard and we speed down the windy roads at a cracking pace. But, being professional drivers, I trusted in his experience…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span><br />
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-57381134979233373952017-09-10T11:44:00.000+03:002017-09-22T01:32:28.444+03:00Did I tell you about when... I went hitch-hiking<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhY3_L53PFEwfPGTrds87U4yANHNFmI6SFAaBPA7xNCUx2zh-E54bPCWlMnEi2Am5cHEq-bnEAS0k0isnshtxGPxV0qdN5l8LxjbqpcL2XUPtkGdPhblPTp-svRmWc28rJm5wpzdK7Lo/s1600/the_hitcher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="the hitcher" border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="1024" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhY3_L53PFEwfPGTrds87U4yANHNFmI6SFAaBPA7xNCUx2zh-E54bPCWlMnEi2Am5cHEq-bnEAS0k0isnshtxGPxV0qdN5l8LxjbqpcL2XUPtkGdPhblPTp-svRmWc28rJm5wpzdK7Lo/s320/the_hitcher.jpg" title="the hitcher" width="320" /></a></div>
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">I think Rutger Hauer put the final nail in the coffin for hitch-hiking in the English speaking world. Anyone who saw The Hitcher would think more than twice about picking up any stranger from the roadside and most of us were already reluctant to stick out a thumb on the highway. In Greece in the 90s it was still fairly common practice. Young men on leave from their national service would wear uniform to garner sympathy. I would regularly village hop by thumb. So, when someone suggested hitching the six-hundred kilometres down to Zakynthos to see my grandparents, it struck me as a perfectly reasonable idea.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I loaded a kitbag, which was actually my kick-bag with the stuffing taken out and hit the highway south. A friend from the village gave me my first leg and dropped me at the toll gates out of the Thessaloniki. It was midsummer and the Greek sun takes no prisoners. My thumb was exhausted and I was nearly at the point of jumping the first bus back when a rickety Zestava pulled over. He was a middle-aged guy in a similar condition to his car but he was going my way and could take me some two-hundred kilometres down the line. Result!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">My Greek at that time was pretty rudimentary at the time and he spoke with an impenetrable accent so conversation did not flow. What I did gather was that he was a policeman heading down to arrest a pretty heinous criminal. Dialogue soon dried up after him asking me to repeat everything twice and me trying to guess what he was saying through the clatter of the old car and his accent. I got the impression that he wasn’t the most amiable companion in any language so I decided instead to settle in for the remaining hour and a half trying not to nark him too much. The car was too small for any more friction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The sun was high and piercing the windscreen so I opened the window. Clunk! It wound down a few inches then fell into the door. So much for not narking him. He was leaning across me trying to pull it back up, swerving across the lanes and snorting like a bull when he finally gave up. His destination would take me nearly half of my way and as it was a fairly big city, it would be a good place to get another lift.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">My sunglasses were not enough to stop my retinas burning so I reached for the sunshade and flipped it down. A bunch of papers took flight like a flock of seagull through a jet engine and shot straight out of the window. Screeetch! My driver hit the brakes so hard I hit the windscreen. I barely had a chance to ask if they were important when he leapt from the car. He was dancing around in the breeze trying to grab the airborne pages. I watched as the slipstream from a passing truck flung them over a hedge into a field. He had stopped dancing for the paper and was now just dancing mad. His impenetrable accent was now simple expletives and they were aimed at me, my mother and my whole nation. He wanted to hurt me. Fortunately I stood a whole head taller than him and broad enough to deter any physical attack. But, he really wanted to hurt me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">In his ranting he told me what the papers were and I went back to make a more concerted effort to retrieve them. He went back to the car and drove off then stopped. I thought he had reconsidered his impetuousness, leaving me stranded on the side of the highway. He opened the passenger door so I ran toward it. My kitbag fell out onto the verge and he spun dust in my face allowing the acceleration to close the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Now flying across the neighbouring fields was the arrest warrant for a very heinous criminal.</span><!--EndFragment--><br />
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-90739506446729184302017-09-08T16:53:00.002+03:002017-09-22T01:32:42.610+03:00Did I tell you about when... I got run over<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;">Off to the beach, Yay! This is Greece, so nothing odd there except that we were in the grip of capital controls. Mr. Schauble and his Eurogroup were rapping naughty Mr. Varoufakis’ knuckles by shutting down our banks. My adopted home was in a state of panic. The cash machines would allow only €40 to be withdrawn each day and everybody wanted their money out. There was a slow but persistent run on the banks and queueing at the ATM had begun to dominate everybody’s day. So we went to splash in the sea and top up our tans.</span></div>
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">It was a bright and pleasant morning, bollocks it was! Greek summer had kicked in and we felt like spicy KFC wings. People often say that I must have gotten used to the heat but I ask you this, do chickens get used to roasting? We loaded the car with inflatable toys and umbrellas like a bargain bucket for kids and headed for the coast.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">We dived and splashed and drank frappe until finally, we were baked and ready to head home for austerity pie. On route we passed through a busy high street so I decided to stop and empty my accounts some more. I had four accounts at different banks and flip-flopped around the various machines, waiting in line to add to the trot on the banks. Eventually, I had taken my daily allowance from each of the machines and as I was wearing beach shorts, I had the cash and cards in my hand and a fog in my head, how much longer could we stand living in this teenager’s bedroom of a country? Surely we could earn enough back in my native Britain to not have to go through this and still be able to visit her beaches frequently enough. And, what about the kids, shouldn’t we take them somewhere where they would have a future. I swung my head checking the traffic, my cards and cash gripped firmly in my fist. I stepped off the curb. I heard the screech of brakes. The cracking of plastic and glass. I saw a car pass me. The horror in the passenger’s eyes. I spun. The tyres stopped squealing. I was sat on my arse in the middle of the road with one flip-flop. My wife ran across the road her mouth making wide vowels. I told her to take the</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> cash and cards still firmly in my grasp. Yes, I really am that tight!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The passenger ran over in a sea of apologies, the driver still clinging to the wheel probably fearing the next few years in a Greek jail. He asked if I was alright and I told him to pull me to my feet. I limped to the other side of the street and started pacing. The driver joined us and by the look on his face he had already imagined dropping the soap. My foot was heavy but in no great pain, the pain in my left arm that had been holding the cash was seeping through the adrenaline. My wife checked me over for damage. Nothing apart from my elbow and foot. The car had gone over my right foot, my elbow had struck the windscreen, breaking it, my body had shattered the door mirror. My mind was racing over every frame of the scene. I continued pacing, ignoring the pleas to sit down. My foot was getting heavier, I didn’t want it to seize.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">We exchanged contact details with the driver and he promised to take care of any expenses, a promise he held. Then we went home, my wife asking me over and over if I wanted to go to the hospital.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Later she and my mate convinced me to go. Say what you like about Greek hospitals but they keep the sick off the streets. I had Vangelis’ Midnight Express theme ringing in my ears. Vangelis is Greek, I wondered if he’d visited many hospitals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The doctors were more concerned about me reporting the incident. I told them the car was Italian and I was British, no contest really. Fortunately, I had no breaks just a swollen foot. Same foot, incidentally as in the truck accident. My football career was over before it had even started. But, hey, I only have two so I guess it would always be 50/50.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">As I left the hospital, I bumped into my youngest’s godmother. She was on crutches, she had broken her fibula tripping up a curb.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I prefer not to think about what could have happened. What did happen was that I got hit by a car and came off better. What did happen was that I was reminded of the tightrope we walk, one slip and the planet will hit you hard. Down will come up and bitch slap you out of existence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">But this was not my time.</span><!--EndFragment--><br />
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-19856801704180756662017-08-10T20:31:00.000+03:002017-08-10T20:39:01.144+03:00Bring back national service<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;"><b>If you’re British, you would have to speak to your grandfather to have any chance of learning anything about National Service. The last healthy young men received their call-up papers in 1960. National Service was introduced in many countries after the wars as a legacy of conscription. It was a simple solution to keeping the borders safe and protecting the democracy of the nation. The bonus was that it also instilled discipline and obedience into many who, as impressionable young men, had been through the military process. Another bonus is that many who served together developed the bonds and camaraderie only possible with people who have had a difficult and defining experience together. Some European nations still have a mandatory period of national service although its number has reduced significantly. Greece, for example, still has 9 months, reduced from 2 years over the last fifteen years. However, the only threats to Greece’s democracy has come from within, civil wars and a coup d’etat. The biggest threat to most western nations’ democracy comes from ignorance and complacency, again from within. Now, it strikes me that National Service should be reintroduced but this time not military but governmental.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">In my previous article </span><a href="http://www.acropof.com/2017/07/are-you-qualified-for-democracy.html"><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">ARE YOU QUALIFIED FOR DEMOCRACY</span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;"> I discussed the idea that the nation gets the government it deserves. However, we cannot hope to get any better without informed decision and democratic engagement. This cannot happen unless the government invests in the people. Many would, quite rightly, argue that this would not serve the agenda of the political classes and that the persistent dumbing-down to a point where people vote more fervently for x-factor than the nation’s government is part of the plan. I think that in order for any country to be truly democratic, the people need to have some idea about the choices they are making and the effects that they have. Just having the right to put your cross on a ballot does not constitute democracy. To that end, I think that the secondary school curriculum should include a government and politics course and all 18-22 year-olds (I feel the 15-17 year old age group of the </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="http://https://www.gov.uk/government/get-involved/take-part/national-citizen-service"></a><a href="http://https//www.gov.uk/government/get-involved/take-part/national-citizen-service"><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">‘National Citizen Service’</span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;"> scheme would is too young and could have the opposite effect if mandatory) should do a period of no less than 6 months in the service of the country taking roles in local and national government as well as political parties. I am not talking about community service, I do not suggest that the nation’s young be put to work in parks and maintenance departments </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="http://https://yougov.co.uk/news/2011/08/31/national-citizen-service/"></a><a href="http://https//yougov.co.uk/news/2011/08/31/national-citizen-service/"><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">(something that has been suggested before with great support)</span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">, what I suggest is putting them into the places (in something like an intern role) where budgets are balanced, decisions made, policies pondered. This would give everyone an insight into how the country is run and motivate the young to take more interest in why it doesn't run as well as it could do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 18pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 600;">Party politics</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">Now, who wouldn’t want to spend 6 months hanging out with Jacob Rees-Mogg, taking notes for Boris Johnson, mucking in with Jeremy Corbyn or working with any up-and-coming candidate or back-bencher. Maybe not, but working with political parties in fund raising, campaigning and administration would help conscripts to understand how the system works, its machinations and manoeuvres. They may choose which party they wish to work with. I think the parties would vie to be chosen as it would be an opportunity to convert young voters, also if any party tried to avoid taking conscripts, they would be seen in a very bad light by the electorate. It may be a good idea to get a balance of working with different ends of the political spectrum in order to obtain a more balanced impression but this may prove complicated. That said, the overall effect across the nation should provide this balance. Of course, working with the parties may strengthen the affiliations of some who had a tendency to their beliefs to begin with, while seeing behind the curtain may cause others to change their opinions. I also believe that having a steady stream of civilians going through the offices would cause them to change their ways. In a way it would be like Big Brother in reverse, the people would be watching, and no doubt tweeting, about the things they saw. This would keep them on their toes, maybe even keep them in touch with the people they are supposed to serve.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">Some may become so disillusioned by the state of party politics that they begin to set up their own. Lets face it, some of the parties are so focused on their own survival and internal bickering that they really do deserve to be allowed to be put out of our misery. If it cannot be fixed or is so resistant to change, they should be just allowed to die.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 18pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 600;">National government</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">Whitehall may not be able to accommodate many conscripts but spending time in the house of commons and its backrooms would definitely show the young how the country is run. Of course, it would be a pain in the arse for many MPs and civil servants but they have chosen to serve the country and serve they should. Having daily contact with real people may help to keep them grounded to the issues they have sworn and campaigned and been elected to do. Putting TV cameras in parliament was supposed to reign in the carnival of government and it did to a certain extent, I’m sure having voters in their midst would keep them on track. Of course, let’s not be naive, politics and government is not as simple as having a good idea, a compelling argument and a just cause. There are thousands of those and only limited resources. Conscripts will learn negotiation and compromise, skills that would benefit them in all careers and benefit many industries, just imagine having a huge pool of experienced, talented political negotiators to call on during issues within the EU, maybe Brexit would never have been necessary.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 18pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 600;">Local </span><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 18pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 600;">g</span><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 18pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 600;">overnment</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">From local MP through town councillors to the people on the front line, seeing how their town is run would give the conscripts an insight into the difficulties of the community. It is easy to throw stones at the council for not patching roads, fixing fences or maintaining schools that the pupils work so hard to destroy but compromises need to be made, even with best of intentions of the best of public servants. Solutions may be offered that have not yet been explored. And, maybe, just maybe more young would learn that working together for what they would like (a better place to live) is better than destructive protest. I’m sure that a more proactive input from the young could solve many of the problems communities face everyday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 18pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 600;">Difficulties</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">Now, of course there will be some huge problems to overcome. First and foremost is the little fact that the UK has over four million people between the ages of 18 and 22, most countries would have similar proportions of the population to deal with. Places would need to be found to occupy the conscripts. We could not have them running around in the House of commons tagging the walls of Westminster but each conscript would serve maybe six months so once the initiative got rolling it would be around four-hundred thousand for each session, eight-hundred thousand per twelve months, considerably less than the number of unemployed. Another issue would be getting appropriate people into the right departments, not everyone is suited to academic administration while others lack the practicality to assist in other departments. I am not talking IQ or schooling but some kind of assessment would be necessary, that said I think most would be surprised at how capable many kids who the school system has written off could be. Now the BIG one, cost. This would be a new financial burden on the national economy and no doubt costly but it seems to me that so much money is spent on patching up problems caused by the breakdown in communities, so much money wasted dealing with the ramifications of a despondent society that this would be a proactive investment, hopefully stopping some problems before they become problems.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 18pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 600;">Disclaimer</span><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 600;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">This is an embryonic idea, an idealistic proposal and not to be taken as a blue print but what I do know for certain is that something needs to be done. Not more patching up, not more dumbing down. A nation’s most valuable resource is its people and none more valuable than its young. Governments are elected by little more than half of the electorate in most countries and of those who do vote the majority are 40plus and their choices driven by unreliable media campaigns (also discussed in </span><a href="http://www.acropof.com/2017/07/are-you-qualified-for-democracy.html"><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">ARE YOU QUALIFIED FOR DEMOCRACY</span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">).</span><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;"> In the Brexit referendum, which attracted a significantly larger turnout than general elections, constituencies with proportionally larger young populations faired the worst, with Oxford and Cambridge notable exceptions (draw your own conclusions there). We could just make voting mandatory but that would not address the matter of engagement, people would vote ‘whatever’ or spoil their ballot. This is not democracy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">A </span><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 600;">YouTube</span><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;"> video I watched recently said, “Harley Davidson, as American as low voter turnout…” funny until you see what those who did turnout chose and what the only viable opposition was. Time for change, I feel, before it is way too late!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 12pt;">… I await your comments below</span><!--EndFragment--></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216696312551674822.post-32396149239921219432017-08-09T20:19:00.000+03:002017-08-09T20:32:04.553+03:00Satirists Protest Politicians' comedic genius<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No Joke</td></tr>
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">London’s police were overwhelmed yesterday by the biggest demonstration the capital has seen in decades as the NUSSaGPT (National Union of satirists, spoofers and General Piss Takers) protested against their loss of livelihood in the present political climate for what a spokesman said “It is high time politicians went back to their jobs and left the comedy to us!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Charlie Brooker who had flown in especially for the march from silicon valley, home of Netflix, addressed a rally in Trafalgar square. He smugly reminded the crowd, on three separate occasions, that he had preempted Prime Minister David Cameron’s ‘Cock in pig’ episode but lamented that for lesser satirists “Times are lean” going on to groan that “Things have got so dire, I’ve had to go and take the piss out of Americans for a living”.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A packet of Hobnobs, yesterday</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Frankie Boyle and Johnny Vegas delivered the petition to 10 Downing street which was brusquely accepted by Prime Minister Teresa May. Fortunately, foreign secretary, Boris Johnson was on hand and popped his head out to offer tea and hobnobs. Boyle told him to fuck off but he and Vegas agreed to split the Hobnobs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Erudite chairman, Armando Ianucci in an interview with our own roving reporter opined, “We satirists endeavour to eek out a living in a political environment so burgeoning with comedic genius like Nigel Farage, Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg that we don’t stand a chance. We all thought things would die down after Cameron but they are going from strength to strength, even Jeremy Corbyn, an eccentric chemistry teacher from Chippenham is playing the straight man. Enough is enough!” He went on to say that after ‘The thick of it’ was cancelled he too had to cross the Atlantic for work adding, “Even Stewart Lee was reduced to doing material about going to Tescos Extra for a Twix.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Ian Hislop and Paul Merton were unavailable for comment but insiders tell us that the next ten episodes of ‘Have I Got News For You’ have been filmed already with a string of back-benchers and that German bloke who can’t speak English.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">The metropolitan police chief said the demonstration went unhindered by comedic incident adding that his police dog had no nose.</span><!--EndFragment--></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08667181915901582783noreply@blogger.com0