BEING NICE OR NOT (ANYMORE)

I am going to give up being nice to people. Generally I am a nice person, sure I will cut you down to your ankles with a barbed comment if I feel I have to, but on balance I enjoy helping a fellow human in a moment of strife. Don’t get me wrong, I am not about to re-mortgage my house and give the money to a leading charity, I am talking about the small things here, the things that don’t take me out of my way, a door held open for someone who looks as though they might need it, a smile to a stranger who looks really forlorn but also happens to be staring intently at me, a gentle reminder that an item of clothing is about to be left on a train. Those kinds of things. I am not about to save the planet with them and I am certainly not going to change somebody’s life with this generosity of spirit, but, until now, continue to do them I have (that sounded a bit like Yoda, sorry. He was quite a nice person too. I am not saying I am nice, although I am, that is for others to decide, oh hell now I sound like a politician, they are not nice, well some of them are I am sure, but they are not known for it. I’ll stop typing for a moment)….

This is Yoda. I am a little bit taller, less old looking, and not so green in complexion

I am not seeking thanks for any of these acts, although a cheeky wink or a nod of acknowledgement is always lovely. I am pre-programmed to do these gargantuan benevolent deeds, striding the planet like a Colossus of good will, because that is how I was brought up. As most of you are I am sure.

This is Colossus (of Rhodes - if you want his full address)
Again I am not as old or green. I am actually this tall though.

This morning however, I did all of the aforementioned acts and one by one was faced with unprecedented curmudgeon. This has shaken me to my core of reasonableness. Let me take you (by the hand and lead you through the streets of London, sorry, again. I am not focusing enough today) through these bizarre events.


Episode I (train)

(Train pulls into station, man gets up sorts him self out, I do the same. I notice he has left his jacket on the shelf, he is clearly about to leave the carriage)

Me: Excuse me, hello, I think you may have left your jacket behind.
Man: No I haven’t. (barked)
Me: Oh sorry, I thought it was yours.
Man: It is mine, I haven’t left behind (he is on the platform and I am on the train, I’ll let you decide. He also barked this at me)
Me: Oh OK (puts jacket back on shelf)
Man: For fucks sake (pushes by to collect jacket, pushes by me again to alight train)


Episode II (street)

Me: (ambling along, note person walking towards me is just plain staring at me. I smile in a friendly ‘How Do You Do’ kind of way)
Streetwalker*: WHAT?! (then they suck their teeth at me, mutter something and walk on)

* I am not suggesting they were a prostitute – just someone walking along the street


Episode III (door)

Me: (sees person - I shall not genderise this moment – both hands full making way towards the door I am using. They have a small way to go, I think ‘I have got the time to be nice, I can wait. Adopts nonchalant door holding pose so as not to harass ‘person’)
Non Gender Specific Person: (Literally shouts at me) I CAN OPEN A DOOR FOR MYSELF, I AM NOT A CRIPPLED WOMAN. (darn it, let gender out of the bag)
Me: Oh.. um… I was just being nice.
NGSP: REALLY?! I DOUBT THAT. (pushed out onto street)


So. In short, you three miserable bastards that I met today have just ruined it for everyone.

HOLD THE LINE CALLER OR WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE.....

Long before the time of such TV pearls as Fonejacker appeared, there was only one true great prank caller. My wife. Her accents are myriad, she can be a child, and aged male, a deeply entrenched indigenous persona of any county, or she can be a combination of any of the former and much much more. Her knowledge of vowel and consonant use for every brogue in existence is simply baffling. Her accents do not stay tethered to this Fair Isle either, there are very few continents and their countries that she is not mistress of, except the US Boston accent, I still think my Boston is better than hers. In fact, on one occasion, as a non Spanish speaking person herself, she was able to confuse a Spaniard into thinking she was talking in an obscure Catalan dialect. We have had great amusement over the years at the expense of our extended family, calling randomly with ‘sales calls’ ‘lost zoo animals’ ‘evidence of law breaking’, the list is goes on. It did get a little too much when there came a point that I stopped accepting calls at work because I simply didn’t know if it genuinely was Tatler after a location for a shoot involving ballet dancers stood on zebras. But there was one particular moment we haven’t quite owned up to as yet. The Scottish Lady.

These are zebras. You will notice that they do not have ballet dancers on their backs.

We have a dear friend, who we shall call Eric Closet for the purpose of this story. Eric is a gay man, at the time of this occurrence a ‘not out to his parents’ gay man. He works in an industry that takes him all over the country and globe staying in rather nice hotels. On this occasion he was the North of the UK, in a hotel known well to my wife. It is basically the one you wish you could stay in as opposed to the other one which is nice, but not as special. He had finished a week long residency, things had gone well, some things had gone badly – but the crux of it was, he was pleased to be heading home to his ‘friends’. He is settled in on the train, it is a Sunday, and the train is packed. He gets a call on his mobile.

Here is the UK - it has a North bit. See if you can find it.

Scottish Lady: Halloo, I’m really embarrassed by this, I would never really do it normally, but I ..I..just had to call you. Sorry, is this Mr Closet?
Eric Closest: Hello. Who is this?
SL: Oh, you won’t know me. I wish you did know me (giggles coyly). This is Mr Closet isn’t it?
EC: Yes. Sorry I didn’t catch your name. (Eric is one of the politest people you will ever meet. He never gets angry. We would all have hung up by now).
SL: Oooh I am glad it is you. Your voice sounds so nice. Sorry, I’m a wee bit shy.. oh yes (giggles) my name is Shelagh. (sorry Shequeen – but it was the name she used - you are no way implicated in this whatsoever)
EC: OK, and how can I help, Shelagh? (still achingly polite)
SL: Errm… well it is just that I saw you at the Hotel… and well I thought you were well…. Very attractive.
EC: Oh. Well I am very flattered. But, well I am really sorry but how did you get my number?
SL: Oh.. well… I… ummm asked at the front desk for your name and phone number.. I know its wrong, but I think you are sooo sexy.
EC: (why at this point he hasn’t hung up we will never know – it is a testament to his niceness) You know that is really inappropriate don’t you? They really shouldn’t have given you my number. I am not particularly happy with this.
SL: I know, but I had too. I saw you so many times. I fell in love with you, I just hoped you noticed me?
EC: I don’t think I did. But I am in a relationship so this isn’t really appropriate. (he wasn’t)
SL: Oh I know you are just saying that. Anyway I don’t mind. I think you must remember me. Blonde hair, tall, good boobs?
EC: No I am very sorry I don’t. I really don’t think we should continue talking. I am… as I said, in a relationship.
SL: Well that disnae matter. I don’t mind that you are married.
EC: No, it is not that.
SL: Do you think we could maybe meet? I am sure you will find me attractive. You are a very gorgeous man… I cannae stop thinking about you.
EC: NO (starting to get a little impolite). Please, I am really sorry, I am flattered but no. I am going to end this now.
SL: Noo don’t, Eric. You dinnae mind me calling you that do you. I have gone to a lot of trouble to get your number, the least you could do is talk to me (voice turning a little bit colder a little bit more menacing)
EC: (again – why hasn’t he hung up? And by the way me and Wife are absolutely pissing ourselves that she has got this far without being rumbled) I do mind. I find it and invasion of my privacy. The Hotel should not have given you my number. I am very unhappy by this.
SL: (really quite cold voice now, threatening undertones) Well Eric. I didn’t think you would be like this. I thought you were a nice man. You won’t even give me a try? What is wrong with you. It has taken a lot of courage to call you and you treat me like this?!
EC: (why the niceness Eric? Why?) I am very sorry you feel that way. (she is a random nutter who is stalking you – hang up hang up) But it would never work out between us. (WTF?! You don’t know her why are you reasoning?)
SL: You don’t know that Eric. You said you didn’t remember me Eric. Eric I find your tone to be a little rude. You are being dismissive Eric. I don’t like to be dismissed. (I personally would be extremely worried at this point – instead I have a pillow over my face and tears running down my cheeks)
EC: For God’s sake I am GAY! (silence) (we are hurting from internalising the laughter) (I have a picture of a full carriage of Sunday travellers stopping mid-journey bustle and just looking at Eric. Parents explaining to small ones what gay is. Couples nudging each other either saying, ‘I knew it’ or ‘You’d never have guessed’. A lady or two looking crestfallen (because he is a devilishly attractive man). A man or two moving seat to get a better view).
SL: (breezy voice) Oh OK Eric. Nae mind, good bye.

(phone goes dead)


So the rest of the day, we flip between cold sweats of thinking, did we push it too far? to outbursts of hysterical giggling. Eventually Eric appears on our doorstep. We do deadpan faces. We ask him about his week, the Hotel, his trip home. He tells us the whole tale of the mad stalker. We remain stony faced and caring, muttering things like ‘terrible’, ‘invasion’, ‘what kind of a person would do that’….

This is pretty much the shame we felt.
Thanks Angel October 28, 2008 5:36 am
from curiousanimals.net - you helped me visualise my inner torment

We are on the verge of coming clean and then he tells us that he has called the Hotel and blasted them for giving his details out. They denied it, obviously, he threatened all sorts of legal action over data protection. We went a quite a bit cold here. You know that tiny icy hand on your heart feeling? We suddenly felt like the two worst people in the room….. um obviously. We hurriedly left the room together to huddle in the kitchen…
’what the bloody hell should we do? We can’t come clean now because it will make him look foolish with the Hotel.’
‘But he doesn’t have to speak to the Hotel again, he can just drop it.’
OK we would confess, before it goes any further.

As we stepped back into our front room – Eric was accepting a free weekend from the Hotel as compensation. We kept quiet.


Hope you enjoyed the weekend Eric. XX

THE NHS OR HOW MY FAMILY WAS SAVED

Mothers Day made me think, just for a short while mind - as the rest of the day was spent trying to ‘look’ as though I was doing extra to prevent my wife from having to do too much. But think I did.

Everybody in this wonderful country of ours will have been touched by the greatness of the NHS, either directly or indirectly. It has been there for us all, trips to the GP for run of the mill ailments, dashes to A&E for… well Accidents and Emergencies, and routine hospital appointments for those routine medical treatments. Sadly it would appear that in a few years time we may all wake up and not have this gigantic safety net to our lives. I could go into reasons why this is happening but they seem pretty well documented all over the interweb. I guess the crux of my point here is that more or less we all get our money’s worth. I know that a machine as gargantuan as the NHS will have its weak points, this is to be expected, and yes it should strive to be a smooth running, lean 100% success rate entity. This is unrealistic I think. But as far as I can tell it does pretty darn well.

The ideological changes that are proposed seem to be akin to looking at a large clock that, on occasion, runs a little slow. Instead of giving it a good oil and a tighten here and there, more commonly known as a full service on regular occasions, it has been decided that we should just tear out some old bits and stick in some new potentially incompatible parts. Parts that won’t come with a warranty, parts that are not designed to work in sympathy with the larger model, parts that will require their own regular system of checking, parts that will be unable to communicate with the rest of the machine. I would like to be proven incorrect.

My own experiences with the NHS are many, some good, some not so good. It is worth mentioning here that the not so good were still pretty good and that if you are not getting the information/service you feel you should be, you need to be vocal about it, people have a tendency to moan to family and friends, when a little polite moan to the manager does wonders. The NHS cannot improve if they don’t know what they are doing wrong.

But let’s concentrate on the good. The frontline cuts that are happening could have prevented me from having a wife and two children. There are 30 maternity wards undergoing or at risk from closure along with many A&E dpeartments, let alone what is happening to PCTs, the least that should happen is that A&Es are kept open to cope with the potential disasters that the PCT chaos will cause.

Several years ago my wife was rushed to hospital with placental abruption. Sooo much blood! She was rushed into emergency surgery where our doctor… hang on I have to add this point…our doctor had been Saddam Hussein’s obstetrician and had been smuggled out of Iraq with her two children in suitcases because her and her husband had refused to bend to his will and were going to be sentenced to death…(this is a longer story, I have simplified it). Anyway, there we are, wife haemorrhaging like a crazy bleeding thing and Ginger getting more and more distressed, our Doctor starts barking orders at people to move just a little bit quicker in order to save both mother and child. Ginger is born at 29 weeks weighing 1lbs 15oz. There had been a knot in the umbilical cord hence she was so small. Off Ginger went to intensive care for 10 weeks, we learnt to be parents by changing her little body through holes in her ice cream tub (incubator). There were ups and downs, we were zombies for most of the time. Occasional light relief came in doing little voices for her when the Doctors did their rounds, and then there was the competition for space in the freezer for pumped breast milk. You would walk onto the ward in the morning and there would be 10 women pumping their boobs for all it was worth, labelling it up and jamming it in the only spaces left in the freezer… a mammary, sorry memory that will never leave me. If anyone wants to help out a NICU/PICU ward ask them if they need a new freezer, I bet they say yes. All the care was second to none, from absolutely everyone involved. And on top of the care was the advice, in particular from one nurse, as we were stood crying over Ginger’s tub, ‘Why are you crying? Who is that going to help? She needs parents not people crying, pull yourselves together and get on with it.’ Advice doesn’t get more useful than this. Ginger is growing up (way too quickly), my wife survived and we now have a second child, Blondie.

So all in all the NHS did us proud. There will be others in the same position as us in the near future, but they won’t have the same joyful outcome because their maternity ward won’t exist, they won’t have Doctors available, or an accountant will have decided that those lives are not profitable enough to save because they will involve spending more money than they are prepared to allocate in that quarter.


So what does the NHS need? In my humble opinion, it needs oiling, it needs regular check-ups. It doesn’t need replacement parts that may never be delivered, leaving a hole that will never be filled and that will put lives at risk.

And to think after all this, all Ginger and Blondie bought their mother was a tin coffee pot.
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