The Buck starts here…

So… I was walking through Central London today on a quest for noodles. This story is not about my quest for noodles. I could have been on a quest for sausages, a quest for Slovakian banjo players, or just out for a stroll. It’s incidental to the main thrust of the story. But while I’m off on a tangent I think its only proper to let you know that my quest for noodles was successful & that my plate of noodles was delicious.

But anyway. Central London. As you may have gathered from calendars, newspaper mastheads etc, the month is currently August. And in Britain – August means summer. And in Central London today we had some traditional British summer weather. Yep. It was pissing down with rain.

I like rain. It’s wet. And it creates glimmer effects. And while some people are unfortunate enough to suffer adversity as a result of rain (landslides, flashfloods, dehydration etc) I’ve always been lucky. That’s not to say I haven’t ever got wet. Coz I have. More than once.

So it was raining. I can’t say with any kind of certainty what people in other countries do to shelter themselves from the rain whilst walking in it. I suppose I could guess. Or I could even do a piece of simple research on the internet. But I can’t really be arsed. And once again I appear to be going off on a tangent. This story is not about other countries or the internet. It’s about Central London on a rainy day in August. Actually, this story is really about umbrellas, and specifically umbrellas held by short people.

Ok. So In Britain when it rains people either A use an umbrella, or B wear a hood. Now clearly these are not the only alternatives. Nor are they mutually exclusive. Earlier today I witnessed my dear mother perform the umbrella/hood combo. She called it “double protection”.

So I’m walking in Central London in the rain. Alone. (That’s not particularly relevant – I’m just trying to help you set the scene in your mind) I had opted for option B. If everyone else in London had chosen the same option then this story would never be on your screen, distracting you from your spreadsheets/emails/porn. But they hadn’t. And herein lies the problem. The crux of the matter if you will. I’m about 5 foot and 10 inches. That’s my vertical height before anyone gets too excited. It is with no particular measure of pride that I can tell you that a goodly sized percentage (I have absolutely no idea how goodly sized) of people on this beautiful planet are shorter than me.

Ok. Try & picture short people. You may be one yourself in which case this will be pretty easy for you. There may be one in the room with you. Look at them. If they’re feeling particularly benevolent get them to stand up with an extended umbrellla in one hand. (Forget that utter tosh you were told as a child about this being bad luck. The reason your mother told you not do it is because she was afraid of EXACTLY what I’m gong on about – or will be if I ever get to it) I doubt anybody, anywhere who’s reading this (and has got this far – cheers for sticking with me by the way, you’re clearly a masochist for rambling tales of crap) will actually do the whole benevolent short friend with an umbrella indoors idea. Ok. never mind. I may as well just get to the bloody point.

The bloody point.

Short(er) people carrying umbrellas put taller people at risk. Why?? The damn metal spikes! Whose idea was it to put metal spikes on an implement designed to be held somewhere around eye level??? It’s total insanity!! And does this implement cure cancer or help make hydrogen into a usable energy? Nope. It protects people from the sweet loving rain that waters our gardens, fields & allotments. Now if one had full visibility in a street chock-a-block with short(er) people wielding umbrellas then things might not be so bad. A little dicey perhaps, but I think we could keep the casualty figures down in the low teens if we all stayed alert. But you’ve forgotten option B. The hood. Next time you’re wearing a hood try checking your peripheral vision. it aint exactly 20/20. Now try wearing your hood and walking in a busy city street where metal spikes are constantly coming at you from all directions. It’s not as bad as, say, wheelchair kickboxing. But its a hell of a lot worse than , say, yesterday. When the sun was shining.

“Old man look at my life,
Twenty four and there’s so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two.

Love lost, such a cost,
Give me things that don’t get lost.
Like a coin that won’t get tossed
Rolling home to you.”

These lyrics, from the Neil Young song Old Man have been floating around my head the last few days looking for a place to land. Seems like this is it.

On Thursday I recieved an email that my Father had serious heart problems and was in hospital awaiting a triple heart bypass. On Friday I flew into Heathrow & went straight to the hospital to see him. On Saturday he had his operation. All the signs are that it was a complete success. He’ll be in hospital for a few more days, and then will need to recuperate at home for a few months after that. All I can say is that we’re all really, really thankful that he’s going to be O.K.

So where does this leave me? One of the ironies of this whole situation is that immediately before I recieved that fateful email I had completed my first solo teaching practice. The lesson was about “scary things”. I was just about to email my family about how much I was enjoying being a (trainee) teacher. Instead I got some news I was not expecting.

I think a friend of mine on the course got it right when she told me that sometimes you have to bypass obstacles to achieve your goals. This is not the end for me & teaching. And it is not the end for me & Thailand. We all have unfinished business.

Hope everybody is well.

Bucky.

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