Speedy Gone-mad-ez

Despite being admittedly one of the most impatient and hurried individuals you will probably ever meet, I have to say that there is one concept that even my mind will never comprehend....SPEEDY BOARDING. Really, did anyone ever get to a country quicker because they boarded the plane five minutes faster than everyone else? Granted, my brain is not famed for its great mathematical logic, or rationality, but even I can work out that if you're first to get on a plane....surely er... you're last off ?? So really the money spent on boarding speedily is really the difference between waiting in a boarding lounge, and waiting ...on the actual plane. And might I add, it is often preferable to choose one's own seats- if you board almost last you get to avoid the sort of 'fellow passengers' that you don't really want to attract (you know the ones I mean- Chatty McChatty, Invasive of Personal Space, Serious Personal Hygiene Issues etc etc) and if you're really lucky you may get to choose the privelege of leaving a whole seat beside you and the next person. Now THAT I would gladly part with a tenner for. 'Personal Space-y Boarding'- yup I'd buy into that no problem!

Last week I had a typically irritating boarding experience. From the second the gate number went on to the board, with no announcement even made, the sheep-like queue had formed. My inherent laziness usually prevents me for standing up for longer than necessary so I was able to observe the above with a mixture of humour and annoyance. The latter dominated in this case as the announcement was made for people travelling with children, disabilities etc, and you would have needed a miraculous healing or transformation of buggy into monster truck to get past the crowd to anywhere near the gate in the 2-second gap given. When we got downstairs it was the boarding group system with different 'lanes' where the speedy boarders stand closest, then boarding group A and so on. At the moment if you check in online with a certain orange-themed, non-difficult airline that will remain nameless (OK not so much!) you automatically go to boarding group A. I heard the stewardess telling the guy behing me that they still allocated the same number of people to boarding group A on arrival at the airport as well as they used to before the online booking function. Ergo (I may not have a mathematical brain but I'm still down with the lingo!) those in group A were squashed in a disturbing personal-space-invading manner while the 8 people (I exagerrate not!) in group B had the pick of all the space and chairs in their wee section. Not only that, but the barriers dividing the groups didn't go right up to the top so by the time I reached there, those Group B bandits couldn't be seen for dust. Indignancy tried to take over but I did ask myself the question whether I would have done the same. Probably, let's be honest.

An equally annoying situation always arises while disembarking. Even before the plane doors are open I can usually feel the people beside me bristling keenly (I always sit on the aisle) and veering towards me with the strong non-verbal signals that they would like me to leave and stop jamming their way out, even though the aisle is full and people haven't even started moving yet. The man beside me last week was so bristly and veer-y that I got flustered and tried to make a quick bid for freedom in between speedily disembarking exiters (a bit like the way I hate when it when a slow moving vehicle pulls out at a leisurely pace when I'm clearly coming along at ample speed and I have to slow right down... one of the most irrititaing things ever in my encyclopaedia-sized book of annoying things!). In my panicked lunge to be upstanding and avoid the man now breathing down my neck, I hadn't noticed my scarf was caught up in my seatbelt so there was a moment of almost strangulation, an abrupt and embarrassing re-sitting and a sudden fussing of other passengers to allow me to leave in front of them . 'More haste, less speed', as my mother always says. Quite.

In one of the text books I use with my more advanced students there's an article about 'hurry sickness' and the detrimental effect always being in a rush has on our health. It always makes me feel a little concerned, as if my driving frustrations indicate, I definitely have some of the symptoms lurking not so far beneath the surface. Since the start of '09 I have decided to have a minimum of one night in per week, I even write it into my diary now so that I keep it free. This has been a surprisingly wonderful thing, and I'm worried that I'm starting to like my newly prescribed down time a little too much, but it does make such a difference to my state of mind at work! I guess I can start to worry when I throw the diary out altogether and become a total down-time junkie. Meanwhile let's take some time out and revisit a snippet of time-related poetry from TS Eliot's 'The Love Song of J. ALfred Prufrock' (and I'll try not to be too freaked out by the fact that this was my A-Level text OVER A DECADE ago!)

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street

Rubbing its back upon the window panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions

Before the taking of a toast and tea...

..In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all-

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons...

(on that note, if I work out that I have averaged 4 cups of coffee a day for the past ten years, that would be approximately 14600 heaped spoons of coffee consumed since I did my A level on this poem....pretty scary thought! Time for a cuppa anyone??)

I don't have no time for no monkey business

There are three key questions that I most frequently find myself being asked in a small talk context :
#1.'How's the love life'?

#2. 'How's work?'

#3. 'How's the house going?'

Recently I've noticed that I've found myself struggling to answer #3 with anything more than a helpless shrug or a couple of conversation-killing statements such as 'It's just a base', or 'Yeah it's still there'... or giving the statistics on the latest rodent death toll.

Don't get me wrong, I always appreciate it when people make an effort to connect with me, almost especially so when they have no specific conversation to make, as it shows their willingness to be friendly and take an interest in me. Similarly, when I see people on their own , or foundering in a group context, I would hope for them to make the same concession when I try to strike up a conversation with them. I always hope that even though the initial interaction may be clumsy or cliched, or involve me making an unfunny joke or random comment, they will overlook it and see the message is meant to be that I want to be friendly and inclusive. For this reason, I would always rather people ask me a predictable question than overlook and ignore me. (However, the obligatory exception to this rule was definitely the time a Chinese student saw fit to bridge a conversational gap with the question, 'Deborah, why you so faaaat?' In this case being ignored and left to my own devices would have been FAR preferable!) Please forgive this long disclaimer that has caused a serious diversion from what I wanted to say in the first place. Now excuse me while I go back to my first line to try and remember this blog was actually meant to be about.... (feel free to do same!)

Oh yes, so it always kind of makes me founder a little when people ask me 'How's the house going?' This question, I have noticed, is increasingly trumping the previous top two in my small talk interactions. Usually I am grateful when people avoid question #1, (see first paragraph) especially when I don't know them that well and I fear they are looking at me with judgement or disdain, or worse still, about to offer a 'Helpful Suggestion'. (however, conversely, if too many people avoid question #1 it does make me start to panic slightly and think 'Have I reached the stage where people have just stopped asking? Do they know something I don't about some invisible deadline I have accidentally passed?) Question #2 used to be a safer option, when I was enjoying my job, and the worst people would get would be an enthusiastic babble about all the different things I do. Lately it has been more of a rant-and-moan fest, so it is perhaps understandable why people are aiming for the house question as safe chatting territory.

At the risk of causing everyone I know to avoid trying to speak to me altogether (please don't do that!) I have to say that Question #3 sometimes causes a wave of panic and defensiveness to rise up within me. I think it's the use of the verb 'to go' when they say 'How's the house going'? as if it should be changing and developing all the time. Truth be told, very little has changed in my house since the initial period of activity when I first moved in, so when people ask me how it is going I perhaps feel guilty that it is not so much of an ongoing project as perhaps it would be if I wasn't so lazy/had more money/didn't keep breaking things and having to replace them/ didn't live on my own. I feel guilty that I haven't really worked out how to get curtains sorted, and have now stopped noticing that I lack them. I feel like apologising to my student self of the past who earnestly and enthusiastically decorated every room she lived in and couldn't imagine anything better than eventually having her own house to put a quirky and indiviual stamp all over. I feel bad that when people come to stay they have to use my not-that-great-but-good-enough-for-me shower, and my way-less-than-fluffy towels. Sometimes I want to pre-emtively and defensively tell people that I haven't yet had the privelege of going round Debenhams with a magic gun to bleep the luxury items I require. This was an issue with me long before I ever knew it would be my issue. As a child, I always thought it was so brutally and horribly unfair that the people who had to live on their own also had to be the ones without any great furnishings and crockery to cheer them up. I cried real tears about people who had to choose their own saucepans in which to cook their lonely meals, while others were bountifully blessed with both love and Le Creuset. In fact, the reality of it hasn't turned out to be anywhere as near as bad as my indignant young self used to feel so keenly. Actually, I did pretty well out of housewarming presents in the end anyway! And I feel a whole lot less guilty about the regular event of me chipping, cracking or smashing my cheaper items. (Plus, let's be honest, I still live in hope of getting to do the zapping thing some day, and then my dilemma will be the one my sister is currently facing- where to put it all!)

As well as the surprise of having (almost) reconciled myself to the 'stuff envy' issue, I actually find that I actually quite enjoy living on my own: coming and going as I please, doing what I feel like, not having to bother doing what I don't feel like doing, having whoever I want round, whenever I like, having the monopoly on the TV, stereo and bathroom. For now I can agree with a saying I once recoiled from:

'Better to walk alone than be badly accompanied'.

Right now, I would much rather live by myself than live with anyone who would not be a good accompaniment to my life! I am not thinking of my whole life plan here, but just saying that for now...it works. And I am actually starting to feel a little apprehensive about the thought of relinquishing any of the above benefits and comfort, but I still hope that someday I will meet someone who it's worth making the compromises for!

Another issue about living in my own house (an issue that I would have whether on my own or not) is getting rid of my fantasy of living somewhere where I constantly have the kettle on the boil, and a steady stream of visitors are popping their jovial heads around the door admiring my potted plants and chatting the evenings away. I know that this just doesn't happen anywhere and maybe I need to blame the unrealistic vision I have in my head on too many TV programmes where this occurs , 'Neighbours' and 'Friends' , to name two without even thinking too hard. Even in the wonderful, rose-tinted St. Andrews days, this didn't happen as much as I would have liked, after the novelty of living in halls in first year had worn off, and work deadlines had kicked in. I guess the thing that put the final nail in the coffin of my fantasy is the mobile phone. No-one just pops in unannounced anymore, without at least sending a text first, and to be quite honest I would be quite horrified if someone made the trek to Carryduff without checking first as a) I'm usually out and b) When I'm in I am never ever sitting twiddling my thumbs and thinking 'I wish someone would call in now' -if I want to see someone I'll just pick up my phone and make an arrangement. c) I don't have any potted plants.

I have to say that my experience of living on my own thus far has been a lot more positive than the implication in the Freddie Mercury song from which this blog title comes. (see http://www.lyricsfreak.com/q/queen/living+on+my+own_20112435.html for full lyrics or http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bTYNW8UmcQI for video).Yes I don't have a lot of time on my hands (for monkey business or otherwise) and if I did sit in feeling sorry for myself, I would have no-one but myself to blame. Life can be lonely at times for everyone, whether married or single. But with regard to the line 'Got to be some good times ahead'- while I hope this is the case, I have to say that the good times are definitely here already! I am very fortunate to have my house, job, church, friends and family and so much more. And if you are ever brave to make small talk with me again, whatever your opening question may be, I sincerely hope that my answer and attitude will reflect the above!

The Icy and Treacherous 'duff

When I first started telling people I had bought a flat in Carryduff I had some mixed responses. A number of elderly men raised their eyebrows knowingly and said something along the lines of, 'Ah...Carryduff: The Snow Belt of The North' , as if each word should be capitalised and italicised like a well-known movie sequel title. They were subtler, however, in their disapproval than the Bangor-born boiler man making an exception to check out my boiler here in Carryduff who greeted me with the words, 'So what on earth possessed you to move to this s*%t hole then?'

Having lived here for about two and half years, I have to say the most defining aspect of this place (not sure how to define it geographically...village? dormitory town? random collection of houses and amenities at the side of the road to Belfast?) has not been its snowiness, which has only occurred twice since I moved here. There are actually a lot of really great things in Carryduff. The new bar and bistro, Eight South, and Woodlawn Garden Centre, which I only discovered after over a year here, that sells all sorts of treasures like Pilgrim jewellery, Crabtree and Evelyn cosmetics, and so much more. It also has a great cafe. And did I mention that the local SuperValu actually sells entire Cash and Carry sized boxes of Beef Space Raiders, a wonder it is hard to come across anywhere else. (Pickled Onion seems to have the monopoly elsewhere). It's been an enormous feat of self control not to give in to purchasing several boxes thus far. Also, I am very fond of my hairdresser here and refuse to be deterred by the fact that I have been the sole customer on the premises on most of the occasions I've been there. The twice weekly aerobics session, Thai and Tone, at the local leisure centre, draws quite the crowd, with the enthusaistic instructor telling us she wants to be able to identify her attendees from the back at any time in Carryduff by their pert behinds! Motivation indeed. What's more, a friend who moved from Carryduff to Glengormley even makes the journey back to attend at least once a week, probably passing double figures of other perfectly adequate pert-butt-making leisure facilities on her way here. So although very much a stubbornly snobby Bangor girl at heart, and although I miss the sea, I have to concede this place is not really that much of a s8%t hole. (as long as I get home to Bangor: Northern Ireland's Premier Marine Resort at least one time every weekend, of course!)

Back to the topic of snow, it was most frustrating yesterday to be stuck, with a full bladder, might I add, for two hours on the road between Carryduff and Lisburn (I can just see those elderly gentlemen nodding sagely abbout their prior knowledge of the 'snow belt' infamy) and to arrive in completely snow-free Portadown one minute before my class, having missed a vital 2 hours of preparation and admin time. I blustered, unprepared, into my classroom, blaming my delay and lack of preparation on 'The Snow'. My placid students nodded politely, but I could see their eyes straying to the window, where there was just a slight fall of rain drizzling down, and I knew they were thinking 'Eh???' (or whatever the various translations of 'eh' would be in the 8 different language groups represented) but they graciously settled down to undertaking the activity I set them while I left the room to frantically run around and do my photocopying. I had also been tempted to cancel my evening class but knew that would seem ridiculous in the still completely snowless Portadown. It was, as feared, a dangerous return to the 'duff, which still lay as white and unspoilt (although now treacherous and icy) as earlier that morning. It was quite strange to be almost the only employee from my workplace experiencing a snow day, and as I struggled not to skid back along my ice rink of a driveway, it did take a lot of restraint not the momentarily slur the good name of The Snow Belt of the North as quite the s8%t hole after all.