I'm a pretty organised sort of person. OK, truthfully, I'm EXTREMELY organised. Getting everything in order takes up much of my day and you can bet that when I finally slide 6 foot under, I'll have spent months arranging the smoothest, seamless disposal event possible.
The dark side of this is extreme intolerance of anything less than perfectly organised and run, most particularly when I've done the management thereof. Self-leniency is not in my lexicon.
The universe devilishly decided to challenge my equilibrium on Wednesday and turned a simple, 2 stop train journey to meet up with a friend into frenzied, ulcer-causing chaos.
My day went like this:
- Arrive at Leighton Buzzard station in good time for the 10h24 train to Berkhampsted. Purchase ticket.
- Study the route map and note that the correct train leaves from Platform 4.
- Exit the ticket office onto the platform and see a train pulling in several platforms away.
- Assume this is a train leaving a few minutes earlier which I had thought I may be too late for; thank my stars that I can catch it and leap up the stairs and across the bridge like a lumbering buffalo. Throw myself onto the train as the doors shut.
- Collapse on the seat, steaming gently under 3 layers, woolly hat, scarf and sheepskin gloves.
- Stare idly out of the window as we stop at Bletchley, I know I'm getting off at the second stop.
- Shake my head and slap my cheek in disbelief as we approach the second stop: "We are approaching Milton Keynes Central where this train terminates."
- Heart pounding, I grab my bag and flee from the iron monster, dashing up the steps to the ticket barrier.
- Pausing to find my ticket, neatly tucked into my mobile phone cover. My mobile phone. My mobile... NOOOO!
- Feverish handbag empty returned nil results - no phone.
- Stuttering with shock, I gulp my sorry story to the official at the barrier. My phone. And ticket. "That train is here for another 18 minutes," he said. "Go down and pick up your phone." One piece of good news, anyway.
- Flying back down the steps, I punched the door open button unsuccessfully. Four conductors approached, intent on sorting this wild woman out. Hearing the story, they unlocked the carriage and returned my phone while I babbled away about my awful day - I was meant to be in Berkhampsted, miles away in the opposite direction.
- Roaring back to the ticket barrier, I asked the official about getting back on track. "The train you just came in on is leaving in 9 minutes. Get back on it and it'll take you where you want to go." For heaven's sake!
- Back down on the platform, shakily lowering myself onto a platform bench, panting, I looked up as one of the helpful conductors came over. "Sit tight, love, we're shortening this train then will pull up to the platform. Hop on and you'll be in Berkhampstead in 20 minutes." I could have hugged him!
All that remained was to let my friend know I was running late, and why.
She understood, claiming to do this all the time. Her kind assurance worked so well that on the journey I gave myself a stern talking to and decided to forgive myself for a bit of silly carelessness with no harm done. Groundbreaking stuff for me, I tell you.
Happily united with my friend, we trotted off to our first stop - Berkhampsted Castle ruins, beautifully covered in snow. I pull out my camera, ready to change the settings to accommodate the pristine whiteness.
Why is the memory card indicator flashing? The memory card. NO! This is not happening to me! Without the memory card, snugly at home in my laptop where I'd left it after downloading photos, my Nikon is useless. Will this chapter of mishaps end?
Fortunately, phones have cameras and we were so happily nattering away that photography took a backseat anyway.
Kindly and understanding my friend may be, but she insisted on seeing me off on the correct train later, reminding me that it was only two stops and not to fall asleep and miss mine! Her faith in my train catching abilities isn't 100%.
PS: for the record, the platform closest to the ticket office and station building at Leighton Buzzard is platform 4. Platform 1 is the furthest platform away. Which wally arranged that numbering system?!
And thus far (touching all sorts of wood here) I have never, ever lost a phone or left anything on a train, plane or automobile. It was just one of those days.
My first daytime flight between Africa and Europe was a revelation. Why oh why have I trudged this route on the horrendous night flights for so long? Never again, say I.
To be able to see the giant, sinuous rivers snaking away far below, putting life into perspective was breathtaking. The massive emerald stripe off to the right blazing verdantly in the hazy cinnamon earth was the Nile, mother of life to so much on the continent. How thrilling to enjoy this birds-eye view of Africa!
Kilometre after kilometre, the Sahara desert unfolded under my seat. The sheer size of desert and river, seen from 33 000 feet, was a jolting reminder of how small we humans are. How brash and conceited our dreams and plans. There, laid out in easy simplicity by nature, is a construction
the size and complexity of which man couldn't hope to replicate. Millions upon millions of creatures, plants and minerals combine to create an environmental metropolis buzzing in synchronicity.
Over the Mediterranean we flew. Neat cross-stitched quilts of well-watered colour, roads, Monopoly houses, farms and factories. Snow-capped mountains standing guard. How orderly and different from Africa Europe is! That ice-blue ribbon of water must be the Rhine. Or the Rhone. Geography isn't my strong suit.
Finally the savage ache in my breast, gouged on takeoff as my body ripped away from it's African mooring, eased to a fizzle of nervous excitement. Even at this ripe middle age, I continue to lead life back to front. It's usual to do the au pair in Europe thing as a young adult, post-school or uni. Not at my age! But then, straitjacketed into a responsible, sensible, box which I didn't fight against when I should have, all the adventures and rebellious experiences I've had began in my mid 30's. Sad, little grey person I am. Was.
Better late than never, I say. One life, endpoint unknown, live it with relish and abandon using every sense we have. Except common sense, that's just plain boring!
One clear benefit of enjoying a dissolute middle age is the enjoyment of things which would have been overlooked by youth.
I can't imagine an 18-year-old gazing out of the window of seat 32J in awe of the mighty rivers and desert. Such wonder is taken for granted if noticed at all, whereas the miracle of every grain of sand and drop of water lands gently on my sun-freckled, mature skin.
How I appreciate the magnificent beauty beneath the wings of the plane even as I flex my own, ready for the next chapter in the rollicking unravelling of my life.
A few months ago I was given a real flashback to childhood - a paper straw. Oh, this one bore little resemblance to the pale yellow and white striped paper straws of my youth. This straw was the Kim Kardashian of straws - a piece of sparkly gold bling popped into a fruit crush.
And yet...
What annoying feature of paper straws had I forgotten, only to find that bling or not, millennium paper straws are no different?
The business end of a straw, the bit delivering delicious mango freeze to my tastebuds, became soggy and firmly sealed after a few minutes. I was forced to finish drinking directly out of the glass amid memories of this same battle fought decades ago. No wonder we seized upon plastic straws with relish!
The experience was related later over a lazy glass of wine with a friend in the packaging industry. An interesting source of info about recycled packaging and the environmental hazards of our overpackaged world, she agreed that the paper straw just wasn't cutting it.
Wham, her significant other arrived proudly bearing a white card tube - his company's latest development in the straw industry. Our debate heated up like an Olympic standard table tennis match with only one conclusion - why not accept the end of the straw completely?
Think about it - as fully functional humans from the age of about 4 years onwards do we really need a straw at all? How many millions of dollars in terms of cost and brainpower is being spent to find an environmentally acceptable, practical replacement for the dreadful pollutant plastic straw? Paper and card, I'm afraid, in my opinion just don't cut it. Yes, we could carry our collapsable keyring straws around with us but it won't take long, like the shopping bag, for that to fall away and for us to not have said straw with us when needed. I guess restaurants, already investing in cutlery and teaspoons, could invest in dishwasher safe metal tubes for customers to use but why can't we just drink directly out of the glass, can or bottle? Why exactly do we need a straw (besides the obvious needs of hospital patients and very young children at times)?
"Milkshakes!" Andrew proclaimed proudly, relieved to find a reason for his hard research into paper straws. "You can't drink milkshakes without a straw." Well, yes you can, Andrew, and it is possible to wipe the frothy moustache off your face too!
The corset, gravy boats, payphones, computer floppy discs, photographic film development, landline phones, dial-up internet are all examples of everyday items that have fallen into obsolescence, why not the straw? It's such an easy thing to do without and surely research and development budgets and time have better things to do?
