My Dear Boy: Turning Sixty

Reflecting on Six Decades

I suppose for most people, except those who, as a matter of doctrine or belief, do not observe celebrations, birthdays are moments of significance marked with both reflection and revelry. I would not suggest I am given to the latter except under duress.

From yesterday into today, I have received many congratulatory messages across numerous platforms to celebrate this momentous day. Family, friends, neighbours, the church community, acquaintances, colleagues, and well-wishers have contributed in ways that have made the day exceedingly memorable.

One such endearing message came from my father, including the phrase, "My dear boy." In that simplicity of language, my father had encapsulated the span of 60 years into a single memory and recognition. [Facebook Status]

The surprise of my birth, announced by a telegram dropped through the letterbox at 7:00 AM, invited him to attend the maternity home immediately for formal matters concerning my transfer to a larger hospital for neonatal intensive care for premature births. Then the realisation that that child is now 60 must be profound.

Heartfelt Tributes and Quiet Celebration

Brian, my partner, wrote a proclamation that should, at some point, be recorded as a dramatisation of a town clerk announcing at the entrance of a city hall the significant occasion of a diamond jubilee.

The low-key event I preferred took place in the Manchester Cathedral library within a bible study group, where we had, amongst other things, a cheese platter and cupcakes. Then, in the evening, my neighbours, who had put up "Happy 60th Birthday" banners in our corridor and on my door, took me out for a meal.

As expected, I also made full use of napping time, so I missed many calls on my phone. Some I was able to return much later in the day.

Staying True to Myself

Some who would think one should have had a grand celebration or now prepare for one, but that is not what I want, need, or desire. I am not the partying type; the prospect of it is already draining my resolve, and I hope I can nip it in the bud before it gains support, currency, and momentum.

Thank you to everyone who has graciously afforded me love, recognition, consideration, and greetings for my birthday. May the joy of Christmas and the best things for the New Year be with you, your kith and kin.

Thought Picnic: In person or at keyboard, we are people

It is all about people still

There are places on the Internet where I have pitched tents and invited people to picnic with me in the Wild West frontier of the dangerous and unpredictable climes of an ethereal or Internet world that presumes to confer some anonymity where in reality, it hardly does.

The kind of abstraction that allows you to interact from your keyboard that whoever you engage is not so much human but characters you read on the screen might easily rob you of the essential qualities of humanity from basic courtesy and consideration to sympathy, maybe empathy, and a functioning expression of emotional intelligence.

That we can forget that we are dealing with other human beings can unwttingly creep upon us making us completely unaware of what we might be doing and the harm we are causing others. Now, in general, I might pass for quite old-fashioned, and to some, it might be a failing, but my demeanour is one cultivated over decades of education and example, necessary for establishing respectful relationships.

Just a greeting then begin

Just as I cannot see myself entering a room of strangers without offering a greeting before asking a question or making a statement, the same goes for what happens online, the comportment, the respect, the courtesy is no less valid if all you do is encounter people at the tap of your keyboard keys and from what you read on your monitor.

This became an issue when I engaged someone who had time and again visited a forum where on entering he simply made a demand without a greeting. For me, it was irritating and entitled with a bearing of utter disrespect, the audacity of such an attitude was an affront that it could just from its demonstration be acceptable, but not if I had anything to do with it.

Challenging the uncouth

I addressed it suggesting the immediate demand could likely be the formality in places I have never been and how it cannot be considered proper. To which he responded that no one else had complained and I was only one out of so many making an issue of it. Whilst I agreed that I alone took umbrage, you do not need a democracy or a vote to determine the need to treat others with courtesy and respect, it should be a given without any need for prevarication or argument.

The point I was making was simple, when you enter a room of strangers, whether in a live setting or online and have any requests to make, you gain their attention respectfully and courteously with a greeting, now, if that is not a reasonable premise, we might as well all be uncultured and Barbarians. My interlocutor was having none of it, I was an irritation questioning his lien to act as he will in an open forum.

Unwelcomed for obduracy

Open as the forum was, it had clear rules and unwritten norms of courtesy that hinting and addressing were not getting across to our friend. Upping the stakes, I suggested I could both complain and kick him out of the forum. He was not backing down, daring me to do whatever I would and still making his case that a singular request for decorum was insignificant compared to the silent majority of the unperturbed. Yet, to do the right thing should not be a subject of election but one of enthusiastic intention with commensurate action.

And so, with the vested ability and authority I had in the forum, the said person was ejected though not banned, their card is marked. Any new return without a requisite greeting will be frostily met with ejection and without prior engagement. What saddens me is how people act against their best self-interests with obstinacy and obduracy. There is a moment to acquiesce and accept failings when pointed out, and with some humility you can earn the respect of others, but if you default to haughty determinism, you will always come off worse and be excluded from polite company.

That is old-fashioned society and I like it, everyday.

Different speeds on two feet in the park

Every little step I take

Stepping out at the break of dawn, the morning breaks with a chill and the morning dew, the weather turning as you make your way almost too far from home for you to turn around, as the need for shelter is lost to the quest to complete a quota before you resume for work.

Briskly, as you set your walking exercise, the tracker on your wrist buzzes reading your heart rate as you set out to either break personal records or just have it on the record. In the business district, you weave, and you are notified of the first kilometre.

The doorways or the nooks of large shops have sleepers, the homeless whose stories we know little of, whether they are warm enough, or will have a supply for the day and can dream of a future, we do not know. Yet, fortitude and providence does raise people from the strangest places to make a fantastic story, maybe we can angels in that journey too.

A river of curls

Reaching the edge of the city centre, you have crossed the River Irwell twice and the industrial suburb beckons for your second kilometre, though your third crossing of the river is a few hundred metres short of your third kilometre and you are well into the City of Salford.

Your fourth crossing of the river and soon after then fifth is leaves your fourth kilometre between, and the park is just in view where the circuit you walk is just about 2.2 kilometres. When you begin to make your way home by another route on a busier road, there is probably another two crossings of River Irwell and you realise this is a river that meanders through Manchester, though its course is unlikely to change in the near future.

The people of the park

The park begins to come alive as the light of day bathes it with a welcome giving you the sight of others roused to move. An elderly lady with two male companions take a walk she speaks, they nod, it is the first morning greeting, as she feeds the birds, the ducks and the geese with bread crumbs.

Further on, one man and his dog on a leash, then another man with his two dogs, one dog walking into my path whilst the other is taking him for a walk, pulling hard and demanding of motion. The lady in a hijab, sometimes walking and other times running, says good morning, we smile and she’s gone.

It’s in the family

A father pushing a perambulator combining baby-sitting with running, whether it is fun or not, the baby remains in deep slumber, as would I if I have the rocking motion of a vehicle to comfort me.

A mother brings her son to the park, he rides his bicycle as she goes for a run, then over the bridge, two kids on their scooters arrive with their dad, they make for the children’s play area, but it is still in the quiet of the day. Eschewing the cacophony that comes with music from my headphones, I take in the sounds of nature, the river rolling over rocks, the leaves rustling in the trees, the birds making different sounds a haven of the variety of life.

Another few people visit the park to run, each with a different circuit, all of different sizes and have I just recognised a face from one of those profiles of idle distraction, not that I venture a confirmation of my curiosity. The many greetings I make turn into a short conversation with a couple that walks through the park, each time noticing how different I was from the day before. It is a quick chat; I might get to know their names.

Then I return

As I leave, I have 9 kilometres in my trek and three more to go for my doorway. People walk or run, but none are doing the brisk walk I do. I can’t run and yet, I work up a good sweat that calls for my flannel at certain times.

Workmen sauntering to work are surprised at my hurried passing, I am only held back at the traffic crossings until one of them picks up a traffic cone and bellows out to me about exceeding the speed limit. I acknowledge him with a wave and 20 minutes later, I am at home.

This blog covers the subject of the blog I lost yesterday; I do not know if it is as good as the original but getting it out of my system means I can go on to other things.

Blog - A lost blog inspiration

In 2018, begin to write a better story of your life

Bidding 2017 a farewell

As we countdown the final hours of the year 2017, I have wondered about writing the obligatory year in review blog, but I seem to have covered most of that in my blog 10 days ago which marked my birthday.

It would appear I have not been as prolific in blogging this year and it has not been for the want of people, events, attitudes, ideas and subjects to write about, I guess I have been preoccupied with other issues and by that left this medium untended for long periods of time.

Whilst recognising that, I am making no resolutions or promises about blogging, though I hope to maintain the blog better in the fifteenth year of my writing and to celebrate that day, I hope to invite people to write for my blog in commemoration.

For all the turbulence 2017 presented me, I am grateful for all the opportunities that came my way and for the difficulties whilst tough simply pass on with the passage of time, toughening me up and giving me new stories to write about.

2018 may present new challenges and well as amazing opportunities, I am hopeful and expectant of wonderful and beautiful things to come in my personal and professional life.

To all my friends, acquaintances, readers and detractors, I wish you a wonderful and prosperous New Year, full of your wildest dreams coming true beyond anything you could have ever imagined or expected and in that, I hope you will come to tell your hair-raising stories to the world.

We are all story people, in 2018, begin to write a better story of your life.

Happy New Year!

Thought Picnic: Knowingly breaking the rules

An Englishman in Scotland

With respect to my new odyssey up in the beautiful climes of Scotland, I must confess, every day has been brilliant, bright and beautiful in Edinburgh, I am beginning to disbelieve my new colleagues who have constantly suggested the weather would change in 15 minutes. Maybe there is a different clock mechanism working in the country of our cousins up north, because going by English time, that 15 minutes of changeable weather has been running for almost 5 days.

Considering what they say about the weather in Manchester, Edinburgh could as well be in summer already, however, I guess by the time I return next week, I might arrive at a rude awakening.

I updated my LinkedIn profile with sketchy details of my new role and soon after congratulations and best wishes came flooding in. Contacts from way back asking after my health and welfare amongst other things. Good thoughts and prayers, news and anecdotes coming in that you can only feel liked and loved.

The workplace relationships we rarely cultivate

We forget we have an amazing community in the workplace, people we interact with, day-in-day-out, we probably spend more productive time with people at the workplace than anywhere else, it makes me wonder why some people end up being nasty to other colleagues. You step away and conclude a dark soul would never be a spring of laughter or humour, they are harbingers of ill will, stress, and discontent, wielding power without either a sense of responsibility or humanity. In the end, they will not be remembered fondly or happily, they are the scions of perdition.

Yet, in the little notes we exchange of reconnection, friendship and reminiscences, you are heartened that your friends are doing well, living well and happily well.

Breaking rules properly

One such remembering a working relationship over 14 years ago commented on some influence I had on him to the effect that I apparently said, “Learn the rules well so you can break them properly.”

Now, I cannot remember saying that, but on reading it bad to myself, they do sound like something I would have said, both seriously and in jest. I would not consider myself a rule breaker per se, I could be quite conformist, yet, in knowing the rules well, you have every opportunity to test its breaking points and dare to experience the daring-do of living free of constraints.

In another way, a lack of understanding of the rules of doing things, of engagement, of conduct and many other things not only symbolises incompetence, that incompetence is compounded by ineptitude presaging absolute chaos and worse.

As I have been reminded, I should keep this in mind. As an Englishman, I was looking forward to the Early May Bank Holiday on the 1^st of May. Alas, it is not that strictly observed where I work in Scotland, so no long weekend for me, I’m back in Edinburgh on Sunday. Finally, I did not know TransPennine Express trains offered wireless connectivity in motion, I noticed someone else connecting and so I got to post this blog.

Essential Snobbery 101: Revisting the age of respectful address and proper communication

Fathering odds

As one's age begins to reach significant numbers, you begin to realise some changes in how you are viewed and addressed.

In my case, I guess my style of formal dressing has made me stand out to be respected and accorded courtesies in ways that could be rather inconvenient for some.

The other day, I was out to a Nigerian restaurant in a Manchester suburb with a colleague from work who is, well, two-thirds my age, whilst I stepped away from our table, the restaurateur asked him if I was his father.

Chaps on the lip

Apparently, she surmised that my dressing put me in an age bracket to be his dad, and with that, some banter mixed with mirth ensued, yet it was a bit revealing. Where some people are suspicious of being addressed as ‘Sir’, it does not really bother me; yet, there are places where I expect to be addressed properly.

I remember calling a repair service, a few weeks ago, and the receptionist calling back to ask if I was the ‘chap’ – the effrontery – you wonder where they get such uncultured people from; I do not think I paused to correct her by saying I was indeed, the ‘gentleman’, with emphasis, ‘that called earlier’.

A mugshot to pose for

Then, the descent into familiarity with strangers, people addressing me as mate, whilst it might be customary for certain people to do that, I take exception to being called mate because the first image that comes to mind of ‘mate’ is more of a cellmate than a schoolmate. That Australians have ‘mate’ as a standard form of address is no attempt to point to elements of interesting history.

However, as an information technology consultant, I get many calls from recruitment consultants, and you can imagine, any recruiter who addresses me as ‘mate’ has lost me from the get-go; we will not be doing business based on that call. Certain standards of address and decorum have to be kept, and in my case, when abused or infringed, demanded – I have no qualms about such old-fashioned views.

Back to basic English-speaking

Recently, the attempt to keep standards of communication up has gone to dating forums where you get messages that leave you in near-shock. You are hailed with ‘Hey!’ and then this, ‘Wruu2’. At first, I pretended not to understand it, then I decided I should start as I meant to go. So, I responded with, “Hello, Can we try English, please?” and the response was, “Sorry, I meant, ‘what are you up to?’” It makes you wonder how technology and the ease of communication have taken us back to the equivalent of when smoke signals were the best technology of the time.

Obviously, you then realise that since many in my age range are already parents and even grandparents, ‘uncle’ and even ‘daddy’ are expected forms of address one has to accommodate without quibble. The lesson or moral of the tale being, whilst a few of us might well be old-fashioned, we do not intend to go out of fashion. Until we are gone, some things will just have to be right and proper.

At 48, my health is the greatest present of all

O for a thousand tongues to sing (YouTube)
Words by Charles Wesley [Hymnal][Wikipedia]

Reflection

No day goes by without some reflection and introspection as to how and why I am still here and what a miracle it constantly is to be someone who at diagnosis had only 5 weeks to live in the worst-case scenario and yet is at his 5^th birthday since then. [21^st December]

Such is the magnitude of what gives me the reason to be thankful and full of gratitude to God, to friends, to family, to neighbours, to strangers and even those who have passed from life or acquaintance for without these life would have been meaningless.

Health

Yet, I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, buffeted from all sides by adversity, by lack, by penury and by incapacity, but I am unbowed. For the night cannot go on for so long without the dawning of the day, the wonder of the warmth of sunlight and the infusion of life into things that once seemed dead. That is the overwhelming power of hope, of that, I have plenty and more to spare.

Besides, in the midst of what is materially little, I have for myself, the greatest birthday gift that I have come to cherish the more each birthday since 2009, my health. My health is strength, my health is wealth, my health is peace, my health is expectation, my health is desire, my health is adventure, my health is renewal, my health is love and my health is good.

Pursuits

I am a wonder that I exist to express the miracle of the gift I have, that I have never fully put to use, talent that abounds in the realisation of knowing myself better. Moreover, I am less afraid to engage in the pursuit of happiness, of love, of joy and of that someone to have and to hold, yet somewhere and yet unknown.

But, I must celebrate and celebrate I must, giving thanks, for a life so ordinary yet extraordinary, for each day is a blessing and each year the working of kindness, mercy, grace, love and prosperity beyond my wildest dreams favour undeserved, yet available in undiminished and abundant provision and goodwill.

Wow!

To my friends, far and near, seen and virtual, lasting and fleeting, thank you - say a prayer, make a wish, drink to my health, send a message on Twitter, Facebook, email, Skype, a comment on this blog or join me if you can, somewhere in London, to celebrate this day.

For this day and beyond, let there be laughter, let there be fulfilment, let there be dreams come true, let there be wonder to behold, let there be courage to do and let there be stories to be told by no one but ourselves, to ourselves and to others of the wonderful gift of life we all share and enjoy.

Wow! I am Akin and I am 48.

Decade Blogs

As this falls within the time of my celebrating a Decade of Blogging, I have listed below, all the birthday blogs I have written since I started blogging. 2009 is probably one of the ones that gives everything perspective. Enjoy!

2012 - My own history began on the 21st of December, 1965

2011 - The day after 46 with gratitude

2010 - Having a sense of fun at 45

2009 - 44 Reasons to give thanks – A must read.

2008 - Four before three, I am 43 today!

2007 - Six Sevens are ...

2006 - Two Score & One - on the shortest day

2005 - Life begins again with 40 refreshing breaths

2004 - 39 Steps

2003 - Birthdays - A lot more people were involved

Blog - To Celebrate My Decade of Blogging

My Compendium of Birthday Greetings

Just before time

I published a blog for my birthday and scheduled it to go live at 5 minutes past midnight, what I did not realise was it set in the Central European time zone.

Friends from India about 5 time zones to the East had started sending in birthday greetings once it was midnight in India.

In any case, I could not ignore the deluge of greetings, that were coming in from about 23:05 my time but before long I was overwhelmed, I could not handle the lot and just responding with “Thanks” was becoming too monotonous for my liking.

Storify the lot

By the time I had received phone calls, text messages, Facebook statuses, emails and Twitter messages, I was probably coasting to 500 messages.

The Twitter ones needed collating and how better to do that than to Storify the lot?

So, in gratitude to all and everyone who sent me greetings on Twitter, messages for good health, for strength and even such effusive praise that I cannot at my very best measure up to the least of the encomiums – the Storify is to cherish, document, and savour the wonderful things said to me.

Please enjoy My Compendium of Birthday Greetings.

My friend, a man, a brother and much more - Happy Birthday

This friend is different

No story told of me will ever be complete without including him. Any life story without friends is a story that has not even begun.

Then amongst friends there is one; different, separate, unusual – holding a place that words have yet to be found to describe, it is more than sight, more than hearing, it is of hearts that people wonder why and can never understand.

It is not for others to understand, but it is for us to cherish and for me to celebrate, honour and declare – my secrets; he knows, my fears; he shares, he stands tall amongst all men and with him we know we have each other’s ears and minds.

Nature would not have allowed him to be my big-brother, by happenstance he could have been my half-brother, by the wonders of science today, maybe even my twin-brother but any which way he sticks closer than a brother in a covenant of a life of shared and varied experiences.

Adventurous at heart, daring at times that I am just blown away, caring that even with the distance his voice is like a hug in times when one is needed – and those times have been many over a period of almost 28 years.

Today marks another milestone, another one of my birthday card blogs to those who matter too much to me to ever be silent about it.

Once again – Happy Birthday, my dearest friend – may wonderful amazing things fill your days with beauty that makes you gasp, freshness that makes you smile and a naughty tickling that makes you laugh that your ribs almost ache. You are loved beyond what I can dare to express.

Happy Birthday and many happy returns.

Holiday Snaps: Where everybody knows my name

Knowing me, knowing you

It is almost an embarrassment of familiarity, the greetings, the handshakes, the kisses, the hugs, the banter; I am in the hotel equivalent of the comedy series, Cheers, I am where everybody knows my name according to the signature tune of the show.

The bellboy who took in my bags from the taxi, started the now familiar greeting; “Welcome to your second home”; just then two of the directors were outside and the warmth of feeling even made the typical 20° Centigrade average for December feel even warmer.

At the reception, it was like I was being expected, I had only booked the holiday just about 36 hours before and everything had been smoothed out, there as a new face that had to adapt to the situation, the question – Who is this man? Going through his mind as he aped the motions hoping to be just at ease as the others.

My room or another

I had arrived early, they gave me two options; whilst I am a single guest, I am always given a double room, my usual room was not really, yes, I do have a usual room but a few doors down I could check the room to see if it was to my liking before having it arranged.

In fact, I did not mind either way, I could wait a few hours for my usual room or take the one that was available – in the end; I took the available room and settled in fine.

Tap water is not potable in Gran Canaria, so I shopped for bottled water and other drinks then relaxed in the lobby where there is wireless fidelity access, a smart way to get people out of their rooms to socialise with other guests who cannot afford to be offline for long.

A long walk to the beach buffeted by strong winds was good exercise but I had to be back by six for dinner, the late session was fully booked so I had to make do with an early dinner.

We meet for fun

People came down in their best, ball gowns and men in wear almost formal for Ascot but without the hats, I did a Nigerian number with a fully embroidered top and a cap to match, a feast for the reluctant paparazzi.

Just before dinner most of the staff including the caterers and chefs lined up at the bar with lit sparklers offering New Year’s greetings in 8 languages to great applause.

The dinner was grand buffet but one could not resist the artistic genius of the fruit carvers, you just had to get the camera out; filled and sated to soporific ascendancy, I thought I’ll have a nap to get up at 10:00 PM for the New Year’s Eve entertainment which from German and Roman Catholic provenance is called the feast of Saint Sylvester but it was well after 11 before I took my seat at the venue.

We rang in the New Year with grapes for each toll of the bell towards midnight, a Spanish tradition and then went outside to watch the spectacular fireworks put on by the hotel ending with a slow burning Feliz 2011.

The rest of the night is a blur … it would not be written about. as to why it could not stay anywhere else on Gran Canaria, it is my 7^th time at this hotel and they are always glad you came.

This is the theme song from Cheers and I am sure you will know that feeling too.

Happy New Year!

Arrival Hall

Collecting the arrivals

Playing hostess not necessarily with the mostest can be exhilarating, the preparation that showcases your homes like it has never been for years in memory and the cleaner is invited twice in one week to shift the dust to other surfaces and stuff stray objects into malformed boxes.

The most important part is collecting your guests from their port of entry, the bus station is hardly sophisticated, the train station is tolerable but the airport is another place entirely.

You may not be sure of the expected arrival time of a bus, that of the train is set except where there are delays, strangely, I have waited for trains at the end of a seeming 6-hour long journey only to learnt 5 minutes before its arrival that it had been cancelled – it beggars belief.

The Arrivals Hall

Going to the airport suddenly seems like the most organised arrangement, you know the flight number, the expected arrival time and the signboards indicate if it has arrived or not – the waiting time is mostly expended in the baggage reclaim – that function is still not computerised, you need brawn to get your chattels off the cargo hold.

Now, I have met many at airports but Schiphol is a completely different experience, raucous it is rather than civilised, it is a party atmosphere and never reserved.It is a Dutch peculiarity, I have decided.

Family and friend groups, as many as 10 could be there to meet their quarry with colourful balloons, banners, cameras and kids running around, you will think it was a circus.

The passenger arrives and as the doors open, a tumult of joy and noise ensues, enough camera flashes to induce unwarranted discomfort and here I was thinking we were welcoming an entourage from Bombay – on closer inspection they were native Northern Europeans returning from an orgy of sun worship having sacrificed their natural tone for a possible skirmish with melanoma.

The love

I see the lady wait for her man and as she sees him, tears well up, a rush to a hug as she sweeps him off his feet – yes, I got the gender positioning right. Full labial smackers rather than the customary Dutch three kisses then other members of the welcoming party get theirs, but you see whose relationship is deepest.

Absence could make the heart grow the fodder of sadness but the expectation and arrival shows that absence does make the heart grow fonder still.

Where the relationship is familial, it appears the matriarch gets the first show of deep affection before anyone else, however, when that relationship skips one generation, one has a wry smile as grandson runs up to grandparent and this conversation ensues to the exclusion of the parents.

My life in a soppy universe

In those situations, one does wonder about that parallel universe, the one I woke up in a few months ago with a wife and 2 kids – dreams so sublime are nightmares in disguise because the thinking part of me wondered when wife and kids happened to me without me knowing or participating – the cold sweat, the palpitations and the sudden jolt into the comfort of reality.

The couples are young still, they are all still having children but some did not let the placenta drop before they were on to the next, they cope but it cannot be fun, if it were my situation.

My guests arrive, handshakes and hugs, after a drink we are back at my boudoir – need to turn down the sheets, it is almost bedtime.

Hotel life: Faced with scary mornings

The company of tables

I was down for breakfast and my inability to remember faces got the better of me. Guests get allocated a table for dinner for the duration of their stay in the hotel.

Being alone I have always required that I be put on a table adjacent to others so that I could strike up conversation and hopefully have my dinner with a modicum of social significance rather than rushing through a 3-course meal in less than 30 minutes.

The maitre ‘d always seems to get it very right, I usually get sat next to English speaking guests and I also have the choice of moving tables or having an earlier sitting for dinner. This could be 18:00hrs instead of 20:00hrs, I prefer the later sitting.

Cannot see it all

The retired couple is from Yorkshire, Skipton in fact which seems to have a reputation that could make my face go bright red – the Women’s Institute there is breaking new ground at least that is where the Calendar Girls [1] are from, the demure ladies who have posed for calendars with strategically place home goods to cover their obvious nudity.

This break with traditional country wife imagery was to raise money for leukemia research and the calendars have raised upwards of 2 million pounds.

However, it highlights the fact that you can never know what goes on in these places and when you do, do prepare to be shocked if you have feeble sensibilities.

Having good company

Robert and Vera are quite likeable though I have not been able to glean enough about them, I know that Vera has been a secretary in education and in the car industry, she appeared to have enjoyed what she did, in fact, I suggested that secretaries are usually the lifeblood of a business even though they are not accorded that much recognition for their services.

A few days ago, Vera seemed to choke on a her steak that she was almost violently sick, I was quite concerned but in what could only be evident when observed Robert was immediately by her side ready to do everything to make her comfortable and better.

He had immediately passed her his napkin, but then from observation he was almost more chivalrous than a knight, it was touching but isn’t that was long marriages are supposed to do?

A morning of terror

Anyway, like I said at the beginning of the blog, I saw this lady sat reading a paper which I should have first checked was English before becoming too forward in my enthusiasm to be friendly.

I thought it was Vera so made to say Good morning, and persisted till she acknowledged my presence, it was then that I realised it was not Vera but I had to follow through the awkward situation I had put myself in.

I was not prepared for the response, she was first startled, she jumped in what was certainly not mock terror and was too late to gather herself to respond and suddenly I felt like a gold-digger with an interest in a sugar mummy – I could not have been more embarrassed as I made for my seat sorry for the fact that the lady must have had some experiences in her life that probably should be left untold.

Single older women in luxury hotels, well, I just have to be very, very careful, I cannot be responsible for situations that could create serious emergencies – that is hotel life, for you.

Sources

[1] Calendar Girls - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia