Now officially For Sale.
Now officially For Sale.
I’ve got my backlog of Podcasts in iTunes down to below 8GB. If I listen continuously for the next 13 days, I’ll have caught up completely! Except for all the stuff that arrives during that time. I’m starting to feel like iSisyphus.
With thanks to whoever clicked by last night, I’m now rich. Not rich rich, nor indeed even double-shot mocha latte rich, but certainly Cadbury’s Creme Egg rich.
I used to work with a member of the Cadbury family and … wait, I just need to point something out. If at some point in the future I can ever be referred to as ‘a member of the Harris family’ and it be a good thing, not like a Manson family kind of thing, then under no circumstances will you be working with me, unless ‘working with me’ covers bringing me ice-cold Fanta Limon* on the beach.
Anyway, we worked in Social Services for a local government, which I guess is a worthy calling, but Mr Cadbury decided it was time to leave and do something even more worthy. On his last day he brought in a basket full of Creme Eggs that his son had swiped from the line that morning. So I have been given a Creme Egg by (a) Mr Cadbury. And even better, I also stolen one from him, cus they’re gorgeous.
PS. Did you know that Creme Eggs are so cool they even have their own podcast? That’s cool, right, having your own podcast? It must be cool, cus I don’t have one and I’m not cool.
*It’s a thing – I go on vacation somewhere hot, I drink Fanta Limon.
One of my two aunts died around this time last year. I’m not good with dates generally, so I don’t recall exactly when, but I realized today that I will always have a reminder. She was staggeringly active in the community; the vicar read out a list of things she was involved with that had people in the congregation laughing because it was so long. She was, amongst that list, part of a group of ladies that provided flower arrangements for the church. This reflected both the role of the church in her life, but on a practical level showed her love for gardening. She was buried on the first Thursday of Lent, when adornments such as flowers would not be acceptable in the church. I believe the verger raised this issue, only to be told very firmly by the remainder of the ‘flower ladies’ that there would indeed be flowers in the church that day, of a scale and grace rarely seen in the village.
Several years ago I saw an experiment designed to test a chimp’s ability to defer gratification. The chimp was placed behind a glass panel that had a small hatch in it. The researcher would place a single M&M in front of the hatch. After about 15 seconds the researcher would place several more M&Ms with the original one, open the hatch and let the chimp grab them. Once the researcher felt the chimp got the idea (“be patient, and you can have lot s of M&Ms) he left the hatch open all the time. When he put the first M&M down the chimp would grab it. This prompted the researcher to look sad and not put the other M&Ms down.
The significant thing about the test was that the chimp never quite got it. Or to be more accurate, she got it but couldn’t do it. Every time the single M&M was put down she’d grab it (perhaps after a moment’s hesitation), eat it, then remonstrate with herself for being so stupid. And it was clear that she was irritated with herself; her gestures were incredibly human, and you could almost hear her swearing and calling herself an idiot. But then another, solitary M&M would be placed down, and she’d grab it again.
Last night I went to get contact lenses fitted, and spent an hour trying to jab myself in the eye with one. Every time it touched my eyeball, I blinked. It didn’t matter how much I psyched myself up or relaxed, even if I physically held my eyelid open. If I went faster, I just blinked faster to make up for it. Every time.
I am that chimp.