Sick bed
So, a very good evening from the recently-risen-from-my-deathbed Lifestyle Support Guru, pleased to have made it through a whole day without having to return to bed at least twice during the day since Friday. Having rather overdone the Random Thoughts post last week – I got a bit carried away! – I hope to help you with a couple of shorter lessons in life in this post, passing on my recent experiences as a MARTYR and as a TRANSPORT MANAGER.
Firstly, being a MARTYR can be difficult and some of us can achieve this with greater ease than others (myself, for example), but it CAN be done with practice. To be a MARTYR, you need to practise self-sacrifice and thinking of others and this is exactly what I did, dear followers – I sacrificed a LUNCH on Saturday!
restaurant for lunch
Those of you most familiar with my habits and preferences will know that this counts as almost the MOST COMPLETE SACRIFICE I could make! But how could I inflict my sorry self on the proposed companion and, more importantly, on the lovely little Italian restaurant and its lovely food? (Actually, thinking about it, the proposed companion has never shown such consideration when suffering with his sinuses or ear problems, so I shall remember that for the future… )
As further evidence of my MARTYRDOM, I even sacrificed a dental appointment!
So, you will now be wondering how I have gained my experience as a TRANSPORT MANAGER, especially if I have been suffering. This actually relates to the earlier MARTYRDOM when I decided that, instead of returning to my sickbed for a third time yesterday, I would meet some friends for a planned meal and a cinema visit. Following the film – during which I learned that Van Gogh can be pronounced ‘Van Go, Van Goff, Van Cough or Van Choch (like the Welsh ‘ch’ sound); why not just stick with Vincent? – I went to catch my bus. The bus stop has one of those
Bus stop
electronic signs telling you when the next bus is due and where it’s going. A youngish (30? 35?) man came and studied this sign for a minute or two then turned and asked me if I knew when the next bus would be going to Mansfield. He then explained that he was dyslexic and thought the sign had said in 40 minutes. ‘Yes’, I said, ‘that’s right.’ and he walked off, muttering. ‘That’s not dyslexia,’ I thought, ‘that’s not being able to tell the time.’
Immediately following this, an elderly (older then me!) woman asked me if I knew which bus she should get to South Normanton. Do I look like a walking bus timetable? ‘Sorry’, I replied, ‘I don’t, but there’s a printed timetable just two yards away.’ At this point, a young hoodie who had been standing in the bus shelter intervened and, having consulted said timetable, told her that the bus would be along in another 30 minutes. And I had been convinced he was a potential MUGGER, dear followers, and so was hanging on to my handbag for dear life!
So, there you have it, believers and non-believers – life as a MARTYR and a TRANSPORT MANAGER is just grist to the mill for the LSG: all in a day’s work.
Sleep well (and see if you can work out when I should and shouldn’t have used ‘So’ at the beginning of a sentence. Tee hee!).
Lunch tomorrow!!!