Geordie Adventure Part 2

So Witsy and I went to our favourite cafe for a cup of tea and a sandwich. Just a brew, a snack and a chat. Perfectly normal, like we always do. Nice. Normal.

We ordered our food and then a man came around and gave us a menu saying "Here are some alternative things to order. It's all free". It became apparent upon looking at the menu that the 'dishes' on offer were in fact performances, and in fact, we had noticed some musical instruments being set up in the corner earlier. As I mentioned, we only went in for a cup of tea and a chat so we quickly chose something that seemed innocuous, something that sounded like it might be some kind of monologue that we could easily ignore.

We were just getting on with having our perfectly normal cup of tea when the first 'order' was announced. "Table 5, item 6" was an acoustic song about.....I'm sorry, I can't tell you. It was in English, yes, but it just made no sense. The only bit I understood was the chorus, for which the words were "Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm! Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm!" You'll have noticed the exclamation marks there. It was VERY enthusiastic, wide-eyed humming, and they tried to get us all to join in. The shame for them was, that this 'performance' had not been advertised so I don't think anyone was expecting to be entertained in this way. Most people were concentrating very hard on looking at their eggs and avoiding eye-contact at every possible cost. We only came in for a cup of tea. They got very much the same reaction when they sang the next song, with the lamenting chorus of "Fred had a muffin, Fred had a muffin, Fred had a muffin, but I had no hands" (honestly, I REALLY don't make this stuff up).

Next, our 'dish' was announced. Just as the announcement was made, we made a horrifying discovery. We had failed to notice until that moment that the word 'intimate' had been used to describe the performance we had chosen. Far from being something inconspicuous we could ignore, the woman came and sat AT OUR TABLE, while the whole of the rest of the cafe stared.

Now you need to know two things before I describe what she did. Firstly Witsy and I both have quite a low embarrassment threshold when it comes to this sort of thing. The words 'audience' and 'participation' when used together will always make me break out into a cold sweat and give me a bit of an upset tummy. This situation is highlighted further by the fact that I am very blonde and Witsy is very ginger, meaning that any internal experience of embarrassment is broadcast on our faces in the form of a beetroot red face.

The second thing you need to know is that the woman giving the performance was one of those people who have the bit of their brain missing that tells you that you should be embarrassed. Where most people would avoid running down the street naked shouting 'Onions!', people with this bit of their brain missing do it every Tuesday and can't understand why they keep getting arrested.

These two sorts of people are never a good mix, but the situation is surely at its worst when one of them is doing a dramatic monologue in a public place where there are Other People. She sat down at our table with a spoon and a box of ice cream and said to us in her loud, embarrassing drama-school voice "DO YOU LIKE ICE CREAM?" Witsy and I positioned our throbbing, scarlet faces behind our mugs and whimpered in unison "no" in a way that cried out 'Please don't make us participate! Please go away frightening lady!' But she didn't. She proceeded to say something which made NO sense about ice cream, while spooning it into her mouth, and thus inevitably spitting a lot of it back out at us.

Did I mention that she had blue hair?

She had blue hair, and massive glasses. So I was expected to sit in a crowded cafe while everyone looked at me, being spat at by a loud insane woman with blue hair and massive glasses without laughing was I?

I am proud to say, I ALMOST managed it. I concentrated VERY hard on not looking at Witsy, and on trying to listen to what she was saying, but every now and then it crept into my consciousness that I was in a crowded cafe being shouted at by a woman with blue hair and massive glasses, and my body did that school-assembly thing where the effort of not audibly laughing makes your whole body shake. I only did it 2 or 3 times, and only in short bursts. I think I did amazingly well. Unfortunately for the performers (and adding 97 fold to the toe-curlingness of it all) the whole thing was being filmed. I'm not sure our reaction provided the kind of footage they were looking for for their promotional material.

As soon as it was over I turned to Witsy to beg her to let us leave. Gladly, she went up to the till to pay. As she turned to return to our table she was horrified to find that her path was blocked by the next performance. The blue-haired lady was furiously hitting tables and crockery with a pair of wooden spoons while grinning. She did it in such a way that Witsy had to duck and swerve her way back to me to avoid being part of the installation. Just as we were scrambling desperately out of the door, Mrs Blue Hair had lifted up the receiver of a decorative phone on the wall and was shouting 'HELLO! HELLO! HELLO!' rhythmically into it while her companions continued to accompany her on the wooden spoons.

This ACTUALLY happened.

If you don't believe me, follow this link. She's there in all her blue glory. You'll notice from the photos that there is no-one left in the cafe.

Geordie Adventure Part 1

Question: Who is the worst person to spend two and a half hours sitting next to on a train?
Answer: The man I spent two and a half hours sitting next to on a train.

I arrived at my packed train with my ticket in my hand, walking down the aisle towards my reserved seat. G36, G37, G38 (I wonder what that disgusting slobbery noise is) G39, G40 (and that rank smell) G41, GForty...oh. THAT's the source of both the sounds and the smell. My neighbour for the next 2.5 hours was noisily eating a KFC. When I say noisily, I don't just mean a couple of slurps here and there. I mean, imagine the sound of a big dog with a cold lapping up custard. Now you're close.

When he had finished his 'meal', he got out his reading material for the journey - that winner of many a journalistic award, The Daily Star. The 'headlines' were an exclusive interview with someone from Hollyoaks who had forgotten to get dressed, and something to do with Gazza. I felt like I was falling in love with him.

Then he made a little noise. It was a noise like, how can I describe it, like someone who has just noisily eaten a KFC has got a bit of chicken stuck somewhere near the back of thier grease-coated mouths, and they wish to extract it in order to masticate it once more. A sort of wet, sucking sound. Quite short and sharp, but nevertheless able to sound indescribably repulsive even in such a short space of time. The kind of little sound that makes me physically wince. Why am I describing this sound in such detail? Because my neighbour made the sound CONTINUOUSLY for two and a half hours at about 7 second intervals. There was something about the pitch and frequency of that sound, that even having Ruby on at FULL volume (to the extent that people turned round to see where the sound was coming from) I could STILL HEAR HIM! I am not exaggerating when I say that it made me want to cry.

All the while he was doing this, he also repeatedly pulled at the material by his lifted armpit (only the one facing me) as if wishing to air it, but in fact succeeding in wafting his stink my way, and punctuating his other bodily noises with a motif of intermittent belching, just in case I had forgotten EXACTLY what the KFC had smelled like.

Just when I thought I would faint with the effort of not smashing his face against the train window, he did something which really surpassed himself. He ripped up his train ticket into little bits and....I almost can't believe this...used it as an improvised tooth pick, before discarding the pieces at OUR feet.

Honestly, I don't make this stuff up. Did I mention the journey was two and a half hours?

Searching for God Knows What

If you are one of those friends of mine who is not a Christian and who cannot understand why I would choose to believe such a thing, I would like you to read this book because it explains much better than I could, why.

I can pretty much nod to every opinion he articulates, and sometimes I did it so hard I thought my head might fall off.

He does write in an irritatingly chummy and mildly patronising way at times, especially at the beginning, but keep going with it - you'll get used to that and his content is real gold dust.

OddBabble Would Like to Announce...

...that after 17 months and 23 interviews, she finally has landed herself a permanent (well, year's contract) full-time job!

2

It's a great start to a career in counselling, and the hours fit around going to Uni and doing a placement. Basically, it fits like a glove, and I am over the moon.

A Dream Come True...Almost

As documented on a previous post, I have a bit of a soft spot for Mr Damien Rice. In my view, he should totally sack Lisa Hannigan and get me on board doing the harmonies. Since this is about as likely to happen as a piece of cheese becoming king of the universe, I settled for the next best thing; singing harmonies with a boy who looks a bit like a young Damien if you squint in the dark while looking through your fingers having drunk a litre of meths. Throw in the fact that he can sing and play like him, and my elbows start to go a bit funny. I want you to know that during this clip, I am almost beside myself with excitement. It was a bit of a disappointment to me therefore, when I watched it back and realised that I looked static and terrified, and as if I couldn't have been more bored if I was watching a documentary about forks. I apologise for this. Enjoy.

Reception Rage

Sorry, I just had to get this off my chest.

I am on a switchboard. This means that my sole raison d'etre is to find out who your call needs to be forwarded to.

Scenario #1. This is how the conversation goes in reality, about 239420785 times a day:

Phone rings.

OddBabble: Good morning, [Name of organisation]

Member of Public: Hi, my name is Philancho Peristhwali and I live at 39 Bonkybrook Avenue, but I used to live in Slipsyhips Boulevard from 1990 to 2007. My mother has thyroid issues and has been to see Doctor Randyhosen. No, sorry, Doctor Bristletit. But Doctor Bristletit wasn't able to issue a prescription for my mother, who has a thyroid problem, because she needs a new medical card. Can I give you my postcode so that you can help me to get a new one?

OddBabble: Just hold the line one moment while I put you through to someone who can help you with that.

*Click*.

This is what goes on in my head, about 239420785 times a day:

Phone rings.

OddBabble: Good morning, I feel like dying.

Member of Public: Hi, my name is....

OddBabble: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! It is of NO relevance to me WHATSOEVER what your name is, where you live, who your mother is, who you doctor is or was, what your medical history or hers is or was. SHUT UP. I know you need a medical card, so just say so. Let me put you through to someone who gives a *Click*.

Scenario #2. This is how the conversation goes in reality about 239420785 times a day:

Member of Public walks into reception.

OddBabble is on the phone enduring monologue from Scenario #1.

MoP: Hi I'm here for a meeting concerning the managers and sub-managers of the regional directors for departmental departments.

OddBabble: I'll be with you in just a moment.

This is what goes on in my head about 239420785 times a day:

Member of Public walks into reception.

OddBabble is imagining above angry retaliation while enduring above monologue from Scenario #1.

MoP: Hi I'm here....

OddBabble: ARE YOU BLIND? I am holding a phone receiver to my face. Has it occured to you that there might be a reason for this? It is because I am in a phone call. PHONE, CALLLLLL. So shut up and wait. When I have finished I will pretend I care about your STUPID meeting, but I do NOT care and would like to be dead right now. I wish the same to you.

Scenario #3; Scarily close to many actual conversations:

MoP: The meeting I have come to attend is not on the schedule sheet.

OddBabble says: Oh dear. Would you like me to call someone for you?

OddBabble thinks: That is a statement. It is not a request for help, nor even an acknowledgment that I am a human being. What exactly was it that gave you the impression that I have any desire to help a rude man who fires axiomatic statements at me?

MoP: Yes.

OddBabble says: OK, do you have the name of someone I could contact?

OddBabble thinks: OK, there are two things missing here. The first is the word please. This is a word that people use as a suffix to a sentence in order to communicate that they appreciate they are asking something of someone that they do not have to give, and that they acknowledge the humanity of the person with whom they are speaking. The second thing missing is the name of a person to call. You see, I cannot read your mind and nor do I wish to. You are clearly a moron. The irony is that you think I am a moron, which is why you are speaking to me as if I am some blonde receptionist, just because I am a blonde receptionist.

MoP: No.

OddBabble Says: I need to know a name really, otherwise I can't help you.

OddBabble thinks: OK bye then. BYE. FROG OFF! Why are you still here? Why are you looking at me as if you expect me help you? Do you not understand how little I care?

MoP: Hold on let me think....Dave.

OddBabble says: OK. Do you have a surname?

OddBabble thinks: HOLD ON LET ME THINK? Is this the first time it has occured to you to do that? You would prefer to just stand there staring at me while I do all the running, rather than bother to come up with, what is that you say, DAVE? Do you seriously expect me to suddenly say, "oh Dave! Well why didn't you say?! Thanks so much for your accurate, precise and helpful information!"

MoP: No.

OddBabble says: Right, there are quite a few Dave's in this building! Do you perhaps have the name written down somewhere?

OddBabble thinks: Serioulsy, do you want me to murder you?

MoP: He works for the NHS.

OddBabble says: OK. Do you know what department?

OddBabble thinks: What exactly do you think you have just walked into, if it is not a 4 storey building full of people, all of whom fit the description you have just blessed me with?

MoP: No.

OddBabble says: OK, I'm not sure how I can help you then.

OddBabble thinks: I may actually cry.

MoP: But I need to get to my meeting.

OddBabble says: Right, yes. Do you have any other names of someone I could contact?

OddBabble thinks: Oh why didn't you say so?! You see, I thought this was all just for FUN!! Now I will reveal to you the information that I have been foolishly keeping a secret from you all this time!!

And so it goes on until the MoP realises he got the wrong building/day/receptionist.

What I Have Learned So Far...

...on my esteemed MSc Course.

Humanistic/Person-Centred Counselling:

Counsellor: Hi Bob, welcome to our session. This time is yours, use it for whatever you need.

Client: Thanks. I'm feeling really low at the moment.

Counsellor: Mmmm.

Client: Yeah, I'm just feeling pretty sad a lot really.

Counsellor: Mmmm. You're feeling sad.

Client: That's right.

Counsellor: Mmmm. It's OK to feel sad Bob. Let's explore how it feels right now for you to be feeling sad right now.Etc. etc.

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy:

Counsellor: Hi. What's the problem?

Client: Um, I'm feeling really low at the moment.

Counsellor: On a scale of 1 to 10, exactly how low would you say you were feeling?

Client: Um, I guess, a 9?

Counsellor: Right. By the end of the week I want you to get that down to an 8. Here is an exercise: Next time you find yourself feeling sad, give yourself a little slap and say "PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER BOB!".

Client: Um...

Counsellor: Trust me, this stuff really works.

Client: But I...

Counsellor: Sorry, times up.

Psychodynamic psychotherapy:

Counsellor: Hi Bob, I notice you chose to wear blue today. Interesting.

Client: Well, it's funny you should say that. I'm feeling quite blue.

Counsellor: Interesting.

Client: Yes, I'm really quite unhappy.

Counsellor: I notice you used the word unhappy there.

Client: Yes.

Counsellor: It's interesting you should choose that word, or rather, that that word should choose you. You see, the word 'unhappy' is an anagram of the word pypahun.

Client: I'm sorry, I'm not sure I follow...

Counsellor: Pypahun is an ancient word from yore, which has many meanings, but principally it describes someone who wishes to have sex with a family member.

Client: Oh...

Counsellor: It's clear from the way you are sitting that you have been fantasizing about your mother.

Client: Oh!

Counsellor: You are telling me you are unhappy but really you are communicating through the transference and countertransference, a repressed sexual desire which is linked to the way that your father looked at you when you were being potty trained...etc. etc.

*Disclaimer:May I point out that I am using the tool of caricature, and I am not trying to discredit my own future profession (well, maybe the psychodynamic bit). I would also like to point out that in my previous post I was using the tool of comedic licence, and I am not in fact late every day. This is just in case any potential employers, or reference writers, or lecturers should stumble across any of this. That is all.