Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts

Saturday 17 March 2018

Storytelling

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.


"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."

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.
Twitshot
 Storytelling is a wonderful medium of entertainment. We tell our children stories to help them sleep at night. Right? Wrong!

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.

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.

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

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.

Stories are eternal, common and unique and are written in the reader or listener. 

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.

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.

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. 

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.

So why is this?
  • Stories invite us into the lives of others. Some we relate to, others we abhor but all are fascinating.
  • Stories give us context. We understand the environment in which motivations develop.
  • Stories ask and answer the question 'Why?' We can understand why things happen because we make similar choices to the protagonists. 
  • Stories evoke empathy and take us to a place where we open our minds to new ideas.
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.

Storytelling is one of the most important skills we can develop.

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.

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.

Elon Musk is doing the same...

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.

"Would you like to organize your own event?
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.


            

Monday 13 October 2014

Episode 20: A New Day, A New Man


from under dark clouds
From Under Dark Clouds

Check out previous episodes of

From Under Dark Clouds


'From Under Dark Clouds...' is a Gonzo fictionalisation of current events in Greece. The story is seen through the eyes of our unnamed hero as he fumbles from paranoia to public office, under the mentorage of the shady Socrates.

Each episode is based on real events. Readers are invited to share their experiences for the Under Dark Clouds treatment. Many have been included in cameo roles.





See link below for contributions


I awoke with a Jimmy Saville of a hangover, that tsiporo is a sneaky bastard, like junkie burglars it breaks in when you think you're safe, turns everything upside down, goes through your draws then shits in your bed.

It had snatched a few memories but it had left me with most of what had lead to me being posted back home and bundled out of a cab.

I dragged myself out of my bed which now resembled a dog basket, I had always felt sympathy when the kids asked for a pet but the wife had maintained that we had enough with me.

Today would be a change, a new man. I pulled the sheets from the bed and searched for the washing machine , they're not small enough to hide but can be wily fuckers, for sure. I tracked it down in a small room under the stairs and sprung the portal. The offending articles fit nicely in and I decide to chance the pillows as well but they refused to go through the hole, how did the Lady mayoress do it, more to this housewifing than I had credited her for. Maybe she could do the same down at the town hall. All that remained was to hit the ignition switch, light the blue touch paper, whatever you do with these things and I would be the hero of the hour. Fuck. The dashboard was like an ambulance, all flashing lights and little draws. But this was the new me, the fixit me, the man people could rely on, the… it was me, I was truly PWNED by a domestic appliance. The house was empty so there were no witnesses to my shame except me and for once that was enough.

I went into the kitchen for some coffee, opening the can I could see that what was left was going to be tricky to get out so I poured the boiling water straight in. A realisation struck me; that's how mike manages it. I was alone in a warm house with BBC 6 music on the sound system and a hot cup of Nestlé' s hate. Where had Mike and Tasos gone to last night. We had lost the town hall plaza to the man with clubs and masks and they had nowhere else to go. They? where had Despina taken her fine young boy. Back to the basement of the town hall? I hoped, well I hoped not. I hoped I had for once come through. Socrates had the lawyers on his back, toss up who would talk to me first, him or the lady mayoress. Probably her, she wouldn't miss the chance to drag my self esteem through the cat litter; got a thing with pets today.

I smoked whatever I could find and took a hot shower, being careful to put the ashtray at the far end away from the spray, see an old dog can learn new tricks. I heard a clunk as I was brushing my teeth which would have worried me if it were not caused by the wife returning from taking the kids off to receive a sterling education at the local primary. I was, however, worried by the fact that the wife had returned from taking the kids off to the local primary. I quickly rubbed the towel around my person, the surfaces around the bath and injected it through the portal of the washing machine along with the soiled ashtray for good measure. I greeted her with a huge smile and proudly displayed my cleanliness to her; as clean and bare as the day I was born.

Funny thing, she didn't yell or scream. She smiled and held out her arms.

She told me that she had heard of the commotion down at my Town Hall plaza initiative, yeah she called it an initiative and was proud of me for doing it then standing up to the bullies who tried to take it away from me and the poor people I was trying to help. I was so tempted to tell her that my standing lasted precisely up to the point when I was knocked down and pummelled like cookie dough but I smiled coyly instead.
She gave me a hug that hurt and invigorated me at the same time and told me that she was proud of me, again.

I grabbed my keys and ran for the door; I would make a difference and carpe fucking diem, I would do it today. She called my name and looked at my dangling nethers; I may need to get dressed first.

I formulated my plan on the Vespa heading for the town hall, by the time I arrived it was bulletproof.

Spyros, down at the supermarket had a bunch of unleased apartments, he’d refused to drop the rent when the bottom fell out of the market like a Friday-night curry and by the time he’d seen sense no-one was in the market to pay. Now that was bad enough but the government was in the process of clawing back 40 years of taxes to pay the IMF and ECB and would tax your hair if they could only find a way to count it. Result was that spyros was being taxed left right and centre on income for apartments he couldn’t let. And this was my IN. I would pull some strings through the party to get him some leeway AND take on the maintenance with Tasos and the boys, in return he would house our people for free. He gets a tax-load off his shoulders and his apartments occupied and maintained, my people get their Town Hall plaza; win, win, win. I rubbed my palms with glee.

Mike was looking no worse than usual, I guess he has age on his side, and offered me a cup of coffee as I rolled into the office. The well assembled secretary looked up sharply and firmly stated that she would attend to it, a lucky day for a new man.

When the coffee arrived I took my time enjoying the aroma then asked her for a telephone number for Spyros the supermarket. Within seconds she told me to pick up line 4, it was already ringing, I ready myself for history.

Spyros was as cheerful as ever, in other words, not at all. I reminded him of his woes and held the phone from my ear as he wailed and bleated. The well-assembled secretary rolled her eyes knowingly. He finally began to lose momentum and sighed what am I to do, not really looking for a solution but affirmation of his uniquely woeful predicament, I began my pitch. I pointed out each of his predicaments asking him whether a solution would interest him, he replied positively. I brought up the subject of maintenance on vacant apartments; he had never considered this but agreed, all the same. I went for the close. My secretary was now watching me with eyes as round as tea plates. I told him I could pull some strings with the tax situation, he asked with obvious incredulity whether this was within my power, I assured him that it was but said I would just confirm it with the experts.

“I have the power to reassess a constituent’s tax status, don’t I?” she was now looking at me with eyes like someone seeing Internet porn for the first time, her jaw clamped jerking her head from side to side. “Yes, of course I have.” He paused, told me that they would have to get out when he got a paying tenant, I agreed. My secretary was now standing very close to her head in spasmodic jerks mouthing the word NO! He asked if we could have this in writing, I laughed. This agreement was strictly under the radar any paper trail could seriously compromise him. He saw the sense in that. He asked for concessions on his supermarket, I told him not to be greedy. He paused some more and some more. He demanded a lick of paint, I agreed and so did he. The keys would be at the supermarket and they could move in that very day. I told him he would not regret it, for long and bade him good-day.

I really was a new man, I punched the sky and did a little river dance round the office. The secretary slapped my face, I think I was growing on her. What followed was a barrage, the like I had only ever experienced at the end of my wife’s tongue; I really was growing on her.

Now all I had to do was share the good news with the good and dispossessed people of the town hall.



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Saturday 4 October 2014

Episode 19: Smoke gets in my eyes

from under dark clouds

From Under Dark Clouds




From Under Dark Clouds

'From Under Dark Clouds...' is a Gonzo fictionalisation of current events in Greece as seen through the eyes of our unnamed hero as he fumbles from paranoia to public office, under the mentorage of the shady Socrates.

Each episode is based on real events. Readers are invited to share their experiences for the Under Dark Clouds treatment. Many have been included in cameo roles, can you spot them?




See link below for contributions






mexican greek standoff
Mexican Greek standoff

It was a Mexican stand-off, we had the old, the infirm, women and even Despina’s boy. Well I say we but I mean them because I was vehemently adhering to the advice of my legal brief and remaining uninvolved. So, they had the innocents and the others had batons, helmets and shields. My dear blogees, this was the righteous against THE MAN and we, they held the trump card; the power of the press. THE MAN would not dare be caught in the act, they would not act up with the eyes of the world watching. They would, no doubt, make some noise and finally stand down and regroup. How wrong I was.


Out of frustration one of the policemen lobbed a drinks can. This must have been their way of letting off steam ‘cause soon after another couple followed. I couldn’t make out what brand it was until it fell to the floor rebounding off the rapidly closed windows. First one then the others began spouting thick smoke, I could see the photographer shooting from behind a gas mask. I stood, an innocent observer, uninvolved but not unmoved as hot tears began to stream down my cheeks. Not the tears of sadness like when I found out Santa was a fat drunk who only worked once a year (and there were no vacancies)or when I found my wife had replaced my cache of weed with oregano. I had woken to find myself in Gaza or some US state. 



This wasn’t the first time I had come up against this kind of behaviour, and I’m sure if you’re married you would have spent a night on the doorstep sobbing. After a suitable period of pain and suffering, she’ll let you back in if only to avoid the postman gossipping.     

This was their noise, their stomping on the Genesis CDs (but only the post Peter Gabriel), their threats to send the dog pound to take me away. It would pass, they would go to eat donuts. I stood upwind with a damp towel over my head. 

The sergeant pulled out his bullhorn and issued a final warning, yeah right! Then silence. Then 100 heartbeats in slow sync. Then more silence. Then a shit storm. 



Riot police vs pensioners - Thessaloniki, Greece
Riot police Vs Pensioners
The damp towel was now round my neck pulling me across the pavement, the door pulled from its hinges. I was trying to swim to the surface but only sank deeper, starving for air. Waves of flotsam and jetsam broke on my body. I braced in the knowledge that like any ride at the fair, it would end before I soiled myself. I managed to gulp enough breath to voice the words that would put an end to this maelstrom, they only needed to be heard and all this would end. I repeated them over and over, I am the mayor. Then soiled myself. 



The storm moved on but showed no sign of abating. Green uniforms were now visible at the windows, smoke seeping through the broken glass. I picked myself up to, to, to do something and fell on a leg that refused to bear my weight. The sergeant was sending orders via the bullhorn but we had brought a peashooter to a baton charge. It wasn’t long before 4 tonnes of waif, stray and pensioner littered the street outside the erstwhile Town Hall plaza. The evacuation of the building culminated with a church bazaar of belongings thrown from the open windows only missing some of those gathered below. We were beat and beaten. 



There was silence in the back of the van but not in my head. I could have done something, I should have done something; I didn’t. 


The long wait
The long wait
We were left a couple of blocks short of the police station and told we were lucky. I felt as lucky as a rabbit’s foot (dismembered from its rabbit). Mike and I found Tasos sporting a swollen eye a few blocks later. We decided to go to the hospital to get checked out. The emergency room was full to the gills with wailing, complaint and the smell of infection. After nearly two hours we decided to self-medicate; tsiporo and ice, one for the pain the other for the swelling. The three of us licked our wounds round a quiet table in the corner of a forgotten taverna. We told each other our stories over and over, swore and asked why. We drank until the pain became someone else’s. We resolved to get our own back and swore some more. We agreed that we were not afraid but I did confess to a mild apprehension at facing my wife. Socrates and maybe my lawyer. Tasos banged his fist on the table and declared a fear of no-one, adding that he was a widower and had no home to go to. Mike made no declarations so I told him that I was afraid of his coffee. 

The waiter continued to bring tsiporo until I realised that none of us could pay the bill. He threatened to call the police. Mike and Tasos ran, I fell over a sneaky table. 

If you were to ask me now, I would deny it but at the time I swear I watched my body being frisked and plundered. It was floated out onto the cold pavement and loaded into a cab. I was willing it to listen but it slumped void and vacant like a drooling pile of laundry. 

Home, safe at last. I snivelled in my wife’s arms not giving a second thought to those who weren’t.


Fade to credits...



Images by kind permission of TeacherDude





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Wednesday 24 September 2014

Episode 18: In case of emergency, do nothing.

from under dark clouds
From Under Dark Clouds

From Under Dark Clouds

'From Under Dark Clouds...' is a Gonzo fictionalisation of current events in Greece as seen through the eyes of our unnamed hero as he fumbles from paranoia to public office, under the mentorage of the shady Socrates.

Each episode is based on real events. Readers are invited to share their experiences for the Under Dark Clouds treatment. Many have been included in cameo roles, can you spot them?




See link below for contributions


Fucked up, again!
Oops, fucked up, again! 
Once again, I was the kid in the corner of the class. Socrates hadn’t made me wear a hat or anything but he might as well. The lawyer's meter was ticking and so far the only value I could gather was that I was a fucking idiot and my wife had told me that for free. I thought Socrates had some leverage over the thieving bastard but since sloping off to Switzerland he had grown some balls and was levering back. Finally I asked him, in his two-hundred-Euros-an-hour opinion what could we do. He shrugged and said, "nothing." My dear blogees, when you pay good money for advice, take it.

I bade my leave and made for home to the wife in the hope that she would still be in a good mood before telling her about the latest developments, on second thoughts I would adhere to the costly advice of our brief and tell her nothing.

She was in good spirits and had cannelloni ready, it was a little al dente but two bottles of wine loosened it up nicely. I continued to follow the lawyer’s advice until bedtime when my dear lady wife took it instead.

The next morning, Socrates called me on the mobile. I was just about to set off for the town hall and he knew how I hated to speak while driving, well to be honest the speaking was the least of the problems, the hearing was the hard bit. I had once taken a hacksaw to my helmet to make it mobile friendly but it kept falling off. He had bought me a hands-free gizmo and had nearly killed myself finding out that it wasn’t compatible with 2-strokes.

Mike the IT guy brought me coffee, why did that man hate me so much? I tried to appeal to the well-assembled secretary but she was making busy with some papers. Mike asked me about the situation with the flats and I told him, in all confidence, that the police would come to evict them and that we could do nothing. He asked me if this was the official council lawyer or a personal brief, I replied the latter and he wafted off leaving a bad smell behind.

The phone rang, it was Socrates, the courts had issued a warrant and soon it would be in police hands. I asked what I could do and he reminded me of the lawyer’s bill and told me not to get in the way. Then he made me promise. I had to go down there, at least, and took Mike the IT guy and Tasos the janitor for support.

The Austerity Wars - on the front line in Greece
Grey Panthers? 2* 
A patrol car pulled up just as we arrived on foot and two officers got out. I asked them what their business was, the elder pulled out a piece of paper and apologised that he was just doing his job. I did nothing. He asked me to tell the residents to pack up and leave the building at once. I did some more nothing and said nothing for good measure. Just then a bus waddled up to the stop opposite and relieved itself of its contents on the pavement. The police entered the building to exercise the warrant. Another bus relieved itself at the stop from the other direction and about 4 tonnes of pensioners and waifs advanced on the town hall plaza. Mike the IT guy began waving and bouncing on his toes, I don’t recall ever seeing him quite so lively. I looked him in the eyes, which was not easy considering that they wouldn’t stay still, his face was all cheshire cat as he mouthed Facebook.

Soon the corridors and passage ways of the building were sardine-packed with all manner of derelict and dispossessed, some had found unoccupied apartments and had thrown down boxes and blankets to stake their claim.

The officers, failing to use authority to navigate the building found an open window and shouted down, “Mr. Mayor, you must do something about this, we are exercising a legal warrant to evacuate the premises.”

I asked him how much he earned. He huffed and told me that this was a very serious situation, I asked him again. He shrugged and told me around €800 a month. I asked him if he worked more than 4 hours a month. He huffed again, over 40 per week, “But please, Mr. Mayor this is no time—”

I did the maths, which wasn’t difficult and told him I could do nothing.

Through the open window I heard a walkie-talkie squalk and some unintelligible yelling. Mike the IT guy was tapping at the screen of his phone.

The officers arrived at the entrance in quite a state and proceeded to undertake a full audit of the equipment hanging from their uniforms.

It wasn’t long before a dark-blue coach equipped with meshed windows pulled up at the bus stop opposite and spewed out two dozen helmets and plastic shields. Socrates was going to be livid, fortunately not with me as I had done exactly as instructed but I knew he would be mighty pissed.

They were now ordering themselves into a rank on the pavement ready to take on 4 tonnes of waifs and strays. A Vespa pulled into the narrow street of the town hall plaza and a portly man alighted from a bare-foam saddle. He removed his helmet revealing a rather red face and smiled, not one of the locals, I presumed. Just behind him a herd of cars and mopeds were strewn and their occupants heading towards us. I looked to Mike the IT guy, he shrugged and shook his head, it was Tasos the janitor who answered my unasked query, Twitter, he said. The red-faced man pulled a gas mask and a camera from his bag and turned it on the now advancing heavy brigade snap snap, then disappeared into the building, “How do? Mr. Mayor,” as he passed me. I continued doing as I was told.

police vs pensioners
Police vs Pensioners 3*
One of the paramilitaries pulled a bull horn and addressed the building. The building answered with jeers and some domestic projectiles. The sergeant repeated his demands and was once more answered with jeers, a few domestic projectiles, supplies were obviously short, and a corn field of wrinkled, liver-spotted fists. A half-eaten bread-stick struck one of the helmets sending a spray of crumbs and sesame seeds over his confederates. At the opposite end of its arc was a giggling boy, Despina’s boy, things were taking a desperate turn.

It struck me that if there was any time for the black-shirts to show their solidarity with tha pippel this was it, but they remained conspicuous in their absence.

The ranks advanced and I continued to follow legal instructions, I had no idea then, how that would change.


Images 2* & 3* by kind permission of TeacherDude


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Sunday 14 September 2014

Episode 17: No Good Deed goes Unpunished


from under dark clouds

From Under Dark Clouds

From Under Dark Clouds

'From Under Dark Clouds...' is a Gonzo fictionalisation of current events in Greece as seen through the eyes of our unnamed hero as he fumbles from paranoia to public office, under the mentorage of the shady Socrates.

Each episode is based on real events. Readers are invited to share their experiences for the Under Dark Clouds treatment. Many have been included in cameo roles, can you spot them?

See link below for contributions


I don’t mind telling you, my dear Blogees, I was feeling fine. The fair lady Mayoress had been so overcome with pride by my selfless benevolence for the good people of this town that she bestowed great and glorious benediction upon my lowly being; twice. And once more before waking the kids for school. I was first into the town hall that morning and as I sat, almost looking forward to Mike the IT guy's coffee, I wore a smile that made my head numb, although that could well have been due to forgetting to remove my helmet.


I drew up an agenda and spent the rest of the day in a series of meetings with all the staff to tell them how fabulously I thought they were doing their jobs. Some had to explain exactly what job they did, which, strangely some were unable to do. But I told them one by one how marvellous I thought they were. None of them returned the compliment but I suppose it can be difficult to applaud your mayor. Don’t worry, they’ll vote.


media circus
Why aren't they taking us seriously
At the end of play, I was eager to get home for some home-cooked fayre and some quality time with the kids, who were, by the way, also awesome. I mounted my trusty Vespa, dismounted then went back into the office to retrieve my helmet; safety first!
What greeted me on the way home could only be described as a media circus. I know it was a circus because as I rolled closer the crowd opened and I felt like the act with the baggy trousers and the collapsing car. Some of the new residents were gathered around the entrance to the new Town hall plaza. Despina’s boy looked scared and was clutching a large club to his chest although on closer inspection it could have been a bread-stick. There were cheers and excitement and reporters. With a shudder, I remembered the last run-in with these vultures but felt resolute in the fact that I was the hero of the day and they were not going to steal my thunder. As the crowd opened I spotted the local priest, stealing my thunder.

Despina had invited him to bless their new home. He was waving bushels and books and each of the residents were receiving lots of symbolism. I parked up and tried to observe from a safe distance.
After the main blessing, he took the forum and began to tell the reporters and the gathered crowd about the extent of my christian charity, by that time he had pulled me close and was referring to me as a vessel of the Orthodox God’s grace. I was unaware that there was an unorthodox God, I always assumed that it was his game and he made the rules; go figure. He continued to praise the faith in God’s great plan for these Christian sons and daughters and that their prayers would always be answered, so long as they stayed true to the chosen path, a fate that could not be expected by those who had strayed from the flock of our lord. I began to feel a little uncomfortable, I don’t mind telling you, dear Bloggees. He began to describe some of the less desirable fates that could be expected by those who had weakness of will and sullied faith. Had he read my file?

dante laughed his head off
Dante laughed his head off
His speech was definitely rousing and caused some stir amongst the crowd, not least with some of the black shirts with the minimalist haircuts who had filtered into the crowd. He drew breath and smiled down at me, who he had released from his hug but continued to hold by the shirt sleeve. Christ! (sorry!), he had heavy hands; the work of the lord must be one hell (sorry, again!) of a workout. I readied myself for my turn, when I undoubtedly would be expected to talk about my most Christian service to the community.
His breath was exhaled with more words; I continued to smile and nod like some comical sidekick. Finally, the forum was mine; his holiness left and so did the crowd.
All that was left was the press but I puffed up my chest for an official address. Meetings, signing stuff and public addresses, it’s what mayors do best! I began to tell the gathered, such as they were, that this was the least that we could do in lieu of the great service provided by the good —. Yes, all the new residents were employees of the town council. Yes, they had all been made homeless, for a variety of reasons. No, they would not have the accommodation deducted from their salaries and I could give no substance to the rumour that they had not been paid by the council in nearly a year.
I made to continue my address— . Yes, I was aware that the property belonged to the previous mayor and yes, he would have to take the credit for this philanthropy.
The crowd dispersed along with my smile and I walked away with the priest, vessel of God’s will, eh? He looked at me with sagely eyes and patted my shoulder. “The lord works in mysterious ways, my son.” He repeated the words very mysterious with a gentle shake of his head and a sympathetic gaze.
I expressed my appreciation for his kind words and that I did feel rather good about what I’d achieved with this place, not pride or anything sinful, of course, just helpful and good, but not righteous, but all things considered that maybe he had been a little strong on the atheists and —.
“Were all those horrid things a metaphor or could I really expect…”
keep calm
Oxymoron?
“You, my son, have done well and have nothing to fear from the wrath of the lord.” I deflated with relief. “But, my child, you are in a world of shit if your predecessor discovers what you are doing with his building.” He smiled, took his heavy hand from my shoulder and left.

Just then my phone rang, it was Socrates. He was furious. He had spent the last two hours with our lawyer. I made a mental calculation of the cost, those bastards are expensive! Maybe he could give us a wholesale rate, considering the amount of work we had given him since my foray into the world of politics. He told me of the calls back and forth to Switzerland and the way our lawyer had physically soiled himself when he discovered who was representing the plaintiff. Then, I finally fell in….

…the ex-mayor had found out I had subleased his property. 






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Saturday 21 June 2014

Episode 15: When the lights go out


from under dark clouds

From Under Dark Clouds

From Under Dark Clouds

'From Under Dark Clouds...' is a Gonzo fictionalisation of current events in Greece as seen through the eyes of our unnamed hero as he fumbles from paranoia to public office, under the mentorage of the shady Socrates.


I set about my duties at my makeshift mayoral desk full of ideas but without a clue, dear blogees. What on earth does a mayor do, I googled it. After reading Wikipedia and how stuff works dot com, I slumped back in my chair totally discombobulated.  I called Socrates and put the question to him, his answer was thorough, included some choice vocabulary and I’m pretty sure included bullet points, he asked if I understood, I said no. He told me to call a meeting. Two minutes later, I called him back. A meeting with whom?

I managed to get representatives from the police, fire service, the education authority, a handful of utilities and Tasos, the janitor. 

bored meeting
Bored meeting
The electricity people said that since the central government had decided to collect a new tax hike through the electricity bills, people had stopped paying at such a rate that they couldn't keep up with the disconnection procedures. I asked him what the procedures were and how zealously he had been pursuing them.

“I assure you, Mr. Mayor, that we are doing everything in our power,” he paused and his chest puffed a little. “We have even shut down the power to some schools and citizens advice bureaus.”

 I enquired as to how successful this strategy had been.

“Over 80% of householders in arrears are now on remedial repayment plans,” he announced.

“And the schools?”

His reply was by way of pursed lips and a downward look, “a harder nut to crack.”
I asked who was liable for these arrears and he found a piece of dirt under his pinky nail. Tasos, the janitor was the only to speak, “You are, sir.”   

“Great, then reconnect immediately! We’ll settle up,” the accountant chap, who had remained quiet in the corner with his laptop, coughed, looked at the screen and gently swung his head, the well-assembled secretary looked over the accountants shoulder and made another gesture but I got briefly distracted.     

I told him to reconnect all public services and I would be over within the week to make arrangements. The electric man said he would be able to reconnect after terms had been arranged. Socrates, who had slipped in unnoticed and kept his silence, broke it, “The mayor said he would make arrangements within the week.” He looked at the electric man the way he had looked at me when I was in prison. The electric man made a note in a book and Socrates repeated himself. He pulled out his phone, said “within the week” emphatically and excused himself.

The lady from the education authority asked if the teachers, who had been unpaid for some months now could expect the same attention. I assured her that everyone would be dealt with in due course and Socrates smiled, almost.   

The water board man was predicting another summer of cuts due to the pre-crisis building boom in the area and the lack of funds to update the network. I asked why the network had not been upgraded in accordance with the building permission applications before the building boom. His reply was something about not having access to such information and went quiet.

The fire brigade had been forced to let a number of buildings burn due to a broken down engine and some dry hydrants. The boys down the station had managed to botch up the engine with some spares from a decommissioned engine but they had come across a number of hydrants with no supply. The water board man fiddled with his phone while the fire chief spat this last comment in his direction.      

I called the meeting to a close citing a very busy afternoon and everyone gladly left.
“We are so fucked!”

“We too must endure and persevere, and then courage will not laugh at our faintheartedness in searching for courage; which after all may, very likely, be endurance,” was Socrates' reply.

I looked back at him and repeated, “We are so fucked!”

I needed to clear my head so I headed into the streets to get some air. It was market day and the streets were closed to traffic, replaced with stalls full of produce and old women with wheely baskets. A group of shaven-head heavies were talking to a stall holder. As I approached I could see that they were performing some kind of check, the stall-holder had handed over his licence and the pit-bulls were examining it. They nodded and moved on. It occurred to me to confront them but my face still hurt too much. At the end of the row of stalls I found an Asian looking man picking broken plastic toys from the floor, his make-shift stall in crumbs around him. I asked what he was doing and he answered, without turning round, that he was picking up and leaving. When he did turn I recognised the face; it was like the face that had greeted me in the mirror the previous day. He was shaking with fear, grabbed what he could and ran.
       
It was late in the day when I arrived back at the town hall. Many had left for the day but I managed to find Tasos, the janitor. I called him and broached the subject of our infestation. He looked confused. In the basement, I reminded him and he shuffled uneasily. I asked to take a look down there to see what could be done. He told me that it wasn't very pleasant down there and maybe I should just let him deal with it.  

If I was to have any hope of dealing with the prefecture, I would first have to get my own house in order. What I found in the basement would take more than Rentokill to solve; my house would need some serious order. 

Some bedrooms would be a start.
   





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From Under Dark Clouds

The Century of DIY