Morse Code I Presume

The lights flicker and I smile.  Oh the irony, watching the news about budget cuts and the lights dim slightly.  Then the whole house plunges into darkness. "Don't panic," I say to the kids, panicking.  Heading to the front door I fling it open and stare out into the darkness.  The children have come to the unanimous decision that I've lost the plot.  "It's a power cut" I declare, arm sweeping to emphasis my point. Think magician's assistant.  "See all the lights are out, even the street lights."  The children grudgingly agree that maybe I do know something about this, however they are reserving judgement for the moment. I think they are also secretly impressed by my graceful arm sweeping.  I know I am.

Back inside the house, I'm rummaging in the dark for a torch.  I'm surprised at how many things feel like a torch when you are groping blind and mildly panicking.  Torch?  No, mini fire extinguisher.  Torch?  No, washing liquid.  Torch?  No, the cat.  OK I made that last one up, but you get my point.

Then the lights come on.  We settle back down after all that excitement, laughing at our reactions to the blackout.  The lights go off again.  Why didn't I find the torch when power was restored? 

Because you don't need a torch in the light. 

Annoyed now, I'm happy to sit in the dark and wait it out, but kids aren't.  They need to know when the electricity is coming back.  One of them is worried that the sun won't come up tomorrow because of this.  I'm trying to explain that the sun isn't attached to the national grid, but if it was, boy I wouldn't want to get that electricity bill.

Then the lights come on again.

It's the worlds slowest morse code and I just hope they are not spelling out llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.

Answer came there none...

"Hello?"  Silence.  "Hello?" said at a slightly higher pitch. Click and background office noise floods in as a woman with a strong Indian accent says "Good morning is this *******?"  "Yes" I reply nervously thinking fast, which cr*py form have I filled in with my phone number.  I'm meticulous about ticking boxes saying 'Don't contact me unless the world is ending or I'll rip your head off and shove it down your neck.' I know they are just doing their job, so I try and not start screaming, just yet.  It might not be a sales call...

The woman launches into her spiel asking if we have Sky via cable or satellite.   "Wait, sorry, what?" I splutter.  She repeats her script.  Balls, do I have to confess to this mystery woman that I have no idea.  I just turn the darn TV on and off and hope that there is something there.  Stall.  "Are you selling me something" I ask accusingly.  Slightly ruffled she says "No, this is a (something mumbled) survey."
 "Do. You. Have. A. Satellite. Dish?"  The woman is breaking it down slowly for me, she's obviously thinking that I'm an idiot who doesn't know if there is a large dish on the side of her house.  She'll be laughing about this later with her work colleagues, eyes rolling - "yes she didn't have a clue!  I know!  I was really tempted to say, stick your head out the window love and have a look!"  Or words to that effect.

"Thank you very much for calling, but I'm really not interested" I blab hanging up fast, ignoring the protests on the other end of the line.

The next day I answer the phone.  Long pause of nothing before the background noise of a busy call centre kicks in.  "Hello, is that *********?" a man asks.  "YES!  Why are you phoning me, I told someone from your office yesterday that I'm not interested!"

"This is just a survey for (mumbles some name I don't catch) to see if you get Sky through a satellite dish or cable"  he replies, sounding confused as to why wouldn't I want to answer his harmless little questions.  It's not like he's asking what colour my underwear is.  Yet.

Oh he's smooth, I wonder if he gets given the difficult customers or our names go round in rotation.  Do they have different levels of trained staff?  First level, the people who will answer the questions; second level, the polite but not having any of it (possibly you can talk them round) and thirdly the really abusive people that you quickly remove from your lists after you've made a recording of their rant and put it onto YouTube.

I hang up.

I also hang up every time I answer the phone and someone doesn't answer straight away.  How long until they get the message?  Answer came there none...

From the Bottom of a Whisky Bottle

This is the start of one of the stories I'm working on.....

There was a loud crash in the room below my feet and an angry bellow.  With my back against the door, clutching the bottle of whisky to my chest, I reviewed my escape options.  This had been my brothers room, the only hint of him was in the blue duvet set and old wardrobe we played Narnia in.  The only exits were the small window to my left or the skylight above my head. Luckily the window, although narrow, was unlocked.  I quickly opened it and straddled the window ledge, my body half in, half out, so I could work out my escape route.  To my right, the sloping extension roof was just too far away.  "Not a chance" I cursed. The only alternative would be to drop the one storey down, but the kitchen window was directly below. Would he be able to see me dangling?  Would he rush outside?

like I just stepped out of a salon....

The woman trots across the asphalt, black, long hair swishing as she moves.  Her four inch, steel covered stiletto heels throw her weight forward, causing her back to arch and her bum to stick out.  The whole impression is of an excited pony.  Skidding to a halt she joins her friends.  Although her body is now still, movement continues with her head, as every so often it jerks to one side, in an exaggerated flick of hair. Or she'll laugh, throwing her head back with a little shake, causing her hair to shimmy across her back.  Just as a horse does to flick off the flies.

As I pass, I glance back to see her from the front.  The woman's hair is dyed blond in an inch thick section either side of her face and along her fringe.  It's in stark contrast to the black and I'm strangely reminded of a football goal post.

hair, hair, flow it, show it

At the swimming pool, while I was waiting to set off on a length,  a man stood up in the lane next to me.  It was the sudden and surprising movement that caused me to look round.  Then all I could see was the hair. 

If I'd been in a cartoon, my eyes would have popped out on stalks and my jaw hit the ground with the sound effect they use for falling anvils.  As it was, hooters started sounding off in my head and I sank further down into the water to try and make myself less visible as I stared.  From the tops of his shoulders to (what I could see through distorting water) the top of his trunks was hair.  Not unusual I know, but what was so spectacular was that the hair grew in perfect curls.  If it was longer, they would have been perfect ringlets.  His back was a carpet of little "O"s, swirling and whirling over his back.  It reminded me of those 60's carpets that some pubs still favour.

I doff my hat to the man who doesn't care what society sees as the norm.  Just so long as I don't have to touch it....

baby steps

If you saw two people sitting in a car, every day, what would you think?  It's not always the same car, and it's not always the same people but it is always the same place and time.  They obviously have to sit there for a long time as they read books, work on their computer, sew and have been known to do hobby craft things.  It was the box of bits and glue that first caught my attention as I walked past and glanced in the car window.  I mean, who sits in their car, gluing?

The man sits in the drivers seat and the woman sits in the back, diagonally opposite.  This has been going on for about six months now and yesterday was the first day that I saw the woman in full view walking down the road to the car.  She was wearing an office pass round her neck, ID section turned inwards so I couldn't see her name or the company logo and on the belt loop of her trousers,  dangled a bottle of anti-bacterial hand wash.

So if you saw two people sitting in a car, every day, what would you think?

I'm sure there is a fun short story in there, but I think in this case the truth is stranger then fiction.