Category: Sorrow

Avatar Best Laid Plans – Update

Every man has a dream.

Unfortunately it seems as though every dream comes with a cost and a price tag. Yes, both.

Not too long ago I stole someone else’s dreams. I wanted to have coast to coast goats in order to satisfy the need for goats. The world was crying out for goats and nobody was delivering them. Who was I to deny the world their dreams whilst satisfying my own at the same time?

So it happened. I wheeled out the goats and in one long, glorious line they stretched from Blackpool in the West to Scarborough in the East. It resembled something akin to Hadrian’s Wall, except with goats. It was like the Great Wall of China, but with goats instead of walls. And so the people came together and decided to name my wonderful wall of goats. It’s just a shame that they didn’t think to put more effort into it; Goat Wall.

The Goat Wall was an immediate success, even if Joey Essex did travel up and tried to cut it with a huge pair of novelty scissors. Fanatics took to patting the heads of each and every goat in the Goat Wall. Postcard enthusiasts took pictures and start selling photos of the Goat Wall several minutes before it had even opened, much was their frenzy. Members of the mailing list were picked at random and given signed photos of the most popular goats. It was exactly the kind of support the Goat Wall needed to get up and running.

That was it though. It seemed as though I had overestimated the need for goats and no matter what I did, even selling tickets from door to door like a common bed-wetter, the bright spark that once fuelled my dreams was dabbled with mascarpone. Even if I wanted coast-to-coast goats nobody else did. So now they stand, once titans in their field, now reduced to squabbling amongst themselves for the last blade of grass. I want to keep them but I’m sending them away to the farthest parts of the globe in the hope that maybe the world will appreciate them more than Great Britain. Maybe Global Goats is the way forward, and thus my dream morphs into something else. Maybe this time next year Global Goats will be one of the eight wonders of the world…

Avatar Mild Frustration (a short play)

A young man, not feeling too great, has a nice face, decides to try to attend to his illness by calling his doctors. It’s Monday morning.

Man: Hello, I’d like to make an appointment.
Receptionist: Right what we normally do is not make an appointment but ask the doctor to call you instead.
Man: Oh right.
Receptionist: I’ve got your details so let me see when the next telephone appointment is instead… there’s one free at 9.10am on Wednesday.
Man: Wednesday. In two days time.
Receptionist: Do you need to see anyone as a matter of urgency?
Man: No, I guess it can wait another two days.
Receptionist: Great well the doctor will call you at 9.10am on Wednesday.
Man: Great. Thanks.

Cut to Wednesday morning. The young man leaves his desk and goes to a quiet room to await the doctor’s call. The times is around 9:09am.

Man (thinks): Let’s give him a window of five minutes. I can’t leave my desk for too long, so five minutes is sufficient waiting time before dismissing this as the joke that it seems to be turning into.

The time ticks away. 9:10am. 9:11am. 9:12am. 9:13am. 9:14am.

Man (thinks): I’m sure he’s just about to call.

9:15am.

Man (thinks): Well that was a waste of time. I better haul ass back to work.

The young man returns to his desk. The work phones are busy so he carries on answering the various enquiries and assisting where necessary. at 9:21am, in the middle of a conversation with a client, his phone starts to vibrate.

Man (thinks): Ah great. Great timing. Wonderful. If only I could express my dissatisfaction with this level of service with the client I’m currently talking to. I wonder if their surgery is an inept as this.

Voicemail. When work gets quiet the young man listens to the message.

Doctor: Hi Mr McIver, I’m sorry I’m a little later than arranged, if you still need to speak to me give me a call at the surgery.

Man (thinks): What? He didn’t even leave a direct number? I have to call the general number? Of course I still need to speak to him; I would’ve cancelled the appointment if I was flippin’ better!

Work gets busy again. There is not a time to return the call. Around 10:25 his mobile starts to vibrate again, same number, clearly the doctor trying again but he can’t stop to answer it due to work commitments. Ten minutes later, with a small break to his name, he steals away into a room and calls the general number. No voicemail the second time around.

Receptionist: Hello.
Man: Hi, could I speak to Dr *******? I think I just missed a call from him.
Receptionist: Oh right. Let me see if he’s available… (brief pause) I’m sorry he doesn’t appear to be in his room. The only thing I can do is arrange another telephone appointment for him to try to call you again.
Man: You know what, I’m feeling so much better, so much much better I don’t know why I bothered calling…

Cue a series of head shakes and excessive tutting. The young man decides to visit the walk-in centre at the end of the week, because even though it will mean sitting in a room for two hours or more waiting to be seen this process makes more sense than the series of hoops he has to try to jump through just to speak to a doctor at his own surgery.

The End.

Avatar Things on my Desk: Unloved Sauces

Today I looked round my desk and was faced with a sight that is all too common in modern Britain.

The grim truth is that we all take too many sachets of sauce from the cafe or canteen, we just do. Whether its some sort of instinctive nesting impulse or just the fact that we can get something for free so we do. The untold story though is what happens to all of these unwanted sauces once they are taken from the  relative comfort of the canteen stainless steel container. Do they ever make their way home? No, for once they have been removed they somehow become dirty. Nobody has opened them, nobody has licked them, but they can never go back, they are alone. Destined to see out their expiry dates in the back of an office drawer, or become a ticking time bomb in the pocket of someone who never checks their pockets before doing the washing.

Spare a thought for the unloved sauces.

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Avatar Ode to a Face on a Spoon

Yes! I’ve finally gotten around to uploading my unfinished symphony to follow on the wooden spoon theme from June. If you could call it a theme.

It was mentioned once, and I have mentioned it again, so the theme has been continued.

Anyway, due to phenomenal demand (please, everyone calm down) here is my lovely unfinished song:

I was a little bit lonely
So I drew a face on a spoon
A wood spoon, a happy face,
Whistling a happy tune
I drew some bushy eyebrows
With the littlest of fuss
I also added a scar on his cheek
To look a little dangerous

Face on a spoon (not on a stick)
Face on a spoon (not on a stick)
Face on a spoon (now that’s a trick)
Face on a spoon, and not on a stick

One day I’ll finish it and I will earn a million pounds exactly.

Avatar Ode to a Broken Spoon

Some months ago, while stirring a particularly stiff risotto – which, really, needed more liquid as it was far too solid in that state – I applied too much pressure and snapped the wooden spoon in half.

It’s only now, with the passage of time, that I feel able to begin to come to terms with this tragic event and to put some of my feelings into words.

I have now written a poem about this incident. I’m sure you understand how difficult this is for me and I’d be incredibly grateful to have your support.

Broken wooden spoon

Wooden spoon, wooden spoon
Hardwood utensil
For my cookery a boon
In rice-filled pan
You tried your best
But perished when you faced the test

Your shaft bore the scars
Of previous mistreatment
Of singes and overheating
At my behest

I feel
I regret
I cry
To the moon
For you
For you
My spoon

Avatar Missing a Bean

I was all set. All on track to get my full bean on the Bean Counter for May. Three in the bag, one post still to make on the 31st to bring me up to the requisite number. Had my topic lined up and everything.

All on track, that is, until I got a text to say that there was a free screening of Labyrinth, the David Bowie goblin king spectacular, in a park near me and did I want to go? Well of course I wanted to go, and go I did, forgetting all about my post and my perilously low post count for May.

I’m not telling you I didn’t enjoy Labyrinth. I did. I enjoyed every moment of it. I cheered along with the crowd whenever Bowie’s leggings were on screen (seriously, he might as well be naked from the waist down) and waved my arms in the air through the voodoo song. I shouted “double yellow lorry” at an appropriate moment. It was great. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it at all.

I’m just saying that waking up this morning and realising that another pea would be permanently added to my record on the Beans has soured it for me, just a little bit. That’s all.