To the Chairman
As you know, progress on Indecision Theory has had some problems, and knowing how keen you are to utilize the electronic paradigm as a universal educational and if I may suggest, an infotainment tool I can only offer, at present the following notes retrieved by a good friend of mine whom I kept updated.
Necessarily these are somewhat brief, confused and dare I say it, the raw stuff. The raw stuff that feeds the dreams of us humble authors.
I feel f I had a few days, weeks,….I could,I think, certain, knock it into some sort of shape for eventual publication.
But I’m not too sure. I await your response. I think the notes are in order.
Note One
Almost decided to get started on my book on "Indecision Theory" – publishers are not too happy about sales projections, not sure that it will sell. They say they it depends whether to put it in the Academic List or the Dilbert catalogue.
Tim says Marketing have (apparently, according to Watercooler Wally) come up with different ideas on pricing policy as a result, and so production aren't sure that they can get it out in time (without further details of downstream costs) for the Christmas market, maybe they will also have resulting problems from some of the suppliers.
The lawyers still can't agree if the title can be used in the US and Europe but are certain there is no problem for the Danish market although they haven't yet had a response from Copenhagen office who are waiting to see what a recent EU Directive means, so their Brussels office are holding things up at their end. (Jason says this might also affect ALL the EU market - says he is going to check what effect the enlargening of the EU will have as a result). Anyway this is an improvement on “True Dichotomies” which got blown out of the water at every stage – but apparently there are still some people in Product Development who still want to go with that one.
The good news is, the jacket designs - all three, so far proposed by the Sales Forum Committee, have been accepted; in outline. Although there are some details they are firming up on, which will have to wait until Gary returns from Verona. Fiorella is, “ pretty certain” that there won't be any problems ,although they are still requiring the warehouse to come up with their views on laminating versus varnishing the jacket (apparently it can make them a bugger to stack – Point of Sale have kicked in on this one) and what impact that will have on pallet quantities and packaging.BOM's.
So it looks like most things are in place, except there is some problem with IT, who say the ISBN block allocated for Academic Books could be exceeded which means an application for another number block (Accounts will of course go ballistic if there is a cost overrun.Again!) or, (Jim's suggestion) we re-categorize, but there is only Gardening and Mathematical Puzzles that have any spare capacity.(Which is bollocks says Frank's PA – who used to work in Data Prep until Frank spotted her potential….).
However we learn today that the Chairman now has this great idea about launching it as an inter-active CD with Chapter Questions, on line and answers from a guru avatar type database which we would set up as an ASP - IT will of course get involved big time if this is a goer. But. But the suggestion from Bob is that if there is a CD it just goes in as a plastic wallet in the book end – But that new smart arse in Accounts says, "well if that's the idea why not use USB Flash memory and promote it as a book on a key chain?"
By the cut of his pants and the wave of his hand he has more interest in double entry than we care to know about.
So I thought I would let you know how it's all going, whilst I have a coffee. But I'm still not sure whether to have sugar or sweetener.
It’s past eleven, I think I deserve a biscuit – now, Ginger Nut or Chocolate Chip?
Note 2
I thought you might be interested to know about progress on “Indecision Theory” with my publisher – apparently they have taken to calling it IT from ET – so someone is taking notice!
The big news, well perhaps it’s big, the Chairman was talking to his wife last night ( a surprise he even recognised her, he sees her so infrequently, according to Frank’s PA) and is now enthused with Electronic Publishing – “Think Global” he shouted,striding into Marketing this am, unusually early for him.
Plonked himself down and launched himself into “globalisation of the international market place”, download with streaming video, megabits per second, broadband etc., etc.,. Arabella, ( that’s the pretty intern who stayed with them after last summer), pointed out that one great barrier in International Markets for books was language. This stunned him momentarily, and with an even greater gleam in his eyes, gibbered on about the multi-lingual approach. JJ “I didn’t get where I am today by not being forward looking” at full throttle.
Faced with this bombe surprise, everyone was trying to find Fiorella to calm him down, but she was nowhere to be found, and nobody knew where she spent last or who with, so they apparently just sat and listened whilst he blathered on. Eventually he quietened down and asked Arabella to join him to explore the idea further. Apparently they left for lunch some time ago.
Well course this really has thrown the ordure in the Vent Axia. 50% want to brown nose and tell the Chairman what a brilliant idea it all is, 50% want to carry on publishing books that you can pick up, feel, flick through, put on the coffee table, put down, throw at the cat etc., the rest are just maintaining a low profile. As it’s Friday some have packed up their lap-tops and headed for the door muttering about doing some work at home away from the distractions of the office.
Martin, that egregious bastard (according to Tim – of course he’s got a beard AND a pony tail) in IT of course wants to get into electronic publishing so he’s slid out from under his stone and is babbling on and on about the new paradigm of the electronic page. How it combines the authority of the written and spoken word with moving and graphic images, sound, lights etc.,
They used to call them fillums in Burnley when I was lad.
Any way the good news is that ( or it should be, says Tim) there will be no problem with the budget with the Chairman behind it.
As a result I am busy, just starting on the Chapter outlines I mentioned last time, so I thought I should let you know what is happening. But I’m held up a bit because I had better go and get the spare repaired before Polly gets back
- which I can probably do on the way back, if I go to the library.
We might be having a dinner party sometime soon, or a barbie if the weather holds up. If we do you and the Philologist are welcome. Let me know if you can make it,…… just in case Polly wants to invite Jackie !!!!!!
P.S. I see AC Milan beat Inter on the away goal rule, although they both play in the St Ciro – what a way to decide the winner of a soccer match!
On second thoughts, could use that as an example….although how do you explain the EUFA Super League and Cup to the Japanese market? Or the Ozzies and Kiwis?
By the way, have you watched Australian Rules Footie ? Sky have it on in the daytime, they appear to have 47 ways to score, all of them incomprehensible.
Toodloo must rush.
Note 3 (?)
Well, some good news on the progress of the book.
I was browsing the PC mags and was well into “Indexing your Word Documents. 20 Top Tricks and Tips”. Anyway Mr Patel shuffles over in his carpet slippers.
“Do you intend to buy that book”. He says looking at me like Paddington Bear.
He says it, not sharp, but firm. Anway I’m not being treated like a shifty guy in a raincoat. So I reach for the latest copy of Maxim and say,
“I’ve really come in for this.” And give him a £2 pound coin.
“Another 90p” he says with his hand outstretched.
I must say, beside the pictures (endless) of Kylie Minogues bum there are some good articles – I never realised there were so many MP3 players available. Quite good for the gym and you can download all sorts of stuff off the Web.
Anyway I’ve spent some time with this Word Index , it really is great but I don’t seem to be able to turn it off.
I’ll get back to you when I’ve worked it out
Damn.
Note 3 - 4 (?)
You won’t believe this! I’ve just had the blurb writer on from New York. Christ they actually employ people to write blurbs ! Anyway she says that it should have a sub title.
Why doesn’t she write the book?.I’m thinking.
“A strategy for reasoning”, I say, clawing desperately to please ‘cos she sounds nice, and young, and chirpy.
Why she says?
“Why A Strategy for Reasoning?” or just , “A Strategy for Reasoning ?
Whichever, she says.
Whichever you want.
Turns, out after graduating from Cornell she worked as a fact checker for the New York Times. Good job she’s out of that after Mr Blair’s great performance. Anyway, she’s called India, is vegetarian, likes cats, is not in a relationship at the moment and is saving up to buy a horse.
A horse in New York I say. Well it seems her dad has some sort of dude ranch in Arizona and she desperately wants a Palomino. That’s the one’s with a champagne coloured mane and are a sort of sandy beigey brown. A dude ranch she explains, because I’ve never heard of them, are where city slickers go to ride horses and become ersatz cowboys. There was a film about it a few years ago with that blue eyed heart throb who was caught with a whore on Rodeo Drive.At least I think he was.
Anway this is all very interesting but we still haven’t got a sub-title.
So I say give me a some time to think about it.
I’ve just put the phone down and Tim is calling to see if there will be any half tones. What the hell are half tones I ask.
Pictures he says with a voice filled with resignation and what sort of amateur am I dealing with here and the kids had kept him up all last night.
Not necessarily I say, but ( I have to say) the idea is appealing. I hadn’t thought of pictures. Could they be in colour I ask. Shit! on this budget he says incredulously. … unless you want to colour them in yourself. Well I say I only have colour. No probs he says. How ? I say. Well, technology, the magic of. We just take up the gray scale and drop the RGB.
God knows what he’s talking about but I’m busy looking for some decent photos. There’s one of me after that conference in Copenhagen, but of course I was a lot younger then and didn’t have the beard.
Anway if you have anything that might be suitable let me know. I’m not quite sure what I’m looking for yet.
Anyway I had better go and get some milk or else Sandra will be asking what the hell I’ve been doing all day. I’ll call in at Mr Patel’s and get that PC mag about Indexes because I seem to have fucked this up big style and Microsoft Help is more like a cry of despair rather than advice.
INDECISION Theory
INDECISION THEORY
INdecision Theory
INDECISION
Theory
INDECISION
THEORY
INdecision
theory
IN
decision theory
What do you think?
Or even…
INDECISION Theory
INDECISION Theory
I tell you writing this book is the easy bit.
Ha.Ha
Note 6
Sara on reception had me in stitches today. She’s got a tongue sharper than her talons – which I have to say she spends more time on than answering the phone. I tell her that Sara means Princess in Hebrew, but she says what’s Hebrew, so I don’t pursue it., and she gives me a funny look. And pulls her skirt down.
Anyway I had to go in for a “conference”, the Chairman wants a word. I can’t make out whether that’s good or bad, maybe neither.
Anway, Leroy (he’s the coloured security guy, built like a brick built outside toilet, peaked cap, shiny shoes and big gleaming smile and hands like dinner plates. Anway since all this nonsense in Iraq, being American everyone is running around like they expect the next visitors to be the four Horsemen. Which I am explaining to Roxanne. The Four Horseman,
Anyway she says it’s all above her head, like that Leroy, when she first meets her, he ays Hi I’m Leroy. As in Le Roi the King. Well this goes down well with our Roxanne and then when he starts up about his well oiled Uzi he keeps under his pillow she goes right off him.
Anyway he’s hanging around earlier this morning and Earl arrives.
Earl is a Tall Texan who they call their A & R man. A la the 60’s Rock scene, Artists and Recording, I.e a talent seeker.
So he turns up on his hired Harley which he leaves right be the windows and comes in with this huge tinted window helmet. Weee…ll says Roxanne, Leroy is out there like a rattlesnake.
Wher’ you going’ pal he says.
Earl, in his fringed leathers, tight jeans and San Antonio tooled leather crocodile skin boots wouldn’t look out of place in a New Orleans brothel, just stares at him silently from behind his smoked glass window.
Next thing, says Roxanne, getting out her buffer, Leroy has Earl by the neck and next thing he’s had his head rammed into the plate glass, which being bomb proof , leaves Earl dropping like a sack of potatoes.
Unortunately there has been some confusion about American and European hat sizes when Earl picks his helmet up with the bike and as a result he has got compacted neck vertebrae and is in traction at the company’s expense.
Anyway, as a result, Earl who was supposed to be in on the meeting is “unavailable” so the meeting is held over and so another day wasted. Central Line still out of action.
But that Roxanne has the most wonderful tits. She, however doesn’t like you mentioning it. Well, she didn’t like me mentioning it.
What with a Princess, the King and the Earl it’s been a right Royal day.
But not very productive.
Note 7 (ish)
We were in McDonalds. That’s me and the kids, after we’d been round HMS Belfast, Esau is asking about Indecision Theory. Apparently Marsha was explaining how Daddy wastes his days writing academic tosh which any 5 year old could write etc., etc.,
Indecision Theory was mentioned and Esau wanted to know more and asked her about it.
Something along the lines of ,your daddy needs to make up his bloody mind, what he is, father, uncle, academic, dreamer, or just a low life couch potato without an original thought, idle, nail chewing fantasist etc., etc.,
Wish she’d change the bloody record.
Anyway Esau has it off pat. Probably off by heart, he’s heard it more than once.
Anyway, he says is it like decision trees ?, They were doing decision trees in IT with Teddy Taylor who was explaining how any problem, however complex, could be reduced to it’s elements.
Christ I envy Esau. If life, that’s LIFE L-I-F-E were only that simple.
Anyway I say to him by way of explanation, Say you want a Harry Potter Chocolate or Rasberry Milk Shake you could represent this by a fork in a road you either turn left and have a Raspberry, or right and have a Chocolate .
But I don’t want a Milk Shake, they taste like wallpaper paste he says. But I’ll have some more fries, he says. How do you have a decision tree for that Dad? Meanwhile Adam has spilt his strawberry milk shake all over his new Beckham shirt.
I’m late back with the kids and Marsha takes one look at the bemerded and very expensive Man U shirt, shoos the kids inside, gives me a long silent, withering look and slams the door.
Apparently it’s the first murder that is the difficult one, after that it just becomes routine.
Note 8
I have been to see Earl. He’s rigged up in some sort of cage but must lie flat so they have a mirror over him at 45 degrees so he can talk and he can see you – see him.
Bit unnerving. With the delayed responses it’s like watching those guys in the desert in Iraq fiddling with their headphones whilst they try to hear the studio.
Thank God that’s all over and the normal day time schedules are back.
Anway Earl wants some snappy headings, why not quotes I say.
“of the making of books there is no end”.. Ecclesiastes I explain. For fuck’s sake he says, we don’t want an end in producing books.
Well I tell him my first scenario. The Thiokol engineers who said don’t fly the Shuttle because the ‘O’ rings may not work. Well management think differently, Regan is giving his State of the Union message and 9 zillion schoolkids are going to watch a schoolteacher perform an experiment in zero gravity.
Well say the managers have you tested them. No says the engineers because this flight will test them. Real good. But don’t fly it’s cold in Florida this year.
So management say well it’s our responsibility and , also there time for enjoying the sunshine.
So they decide to fly and well you know the rest.
Well if Earl does, he’s not saying as he seems fast asleep.
I call the nurse who says I should leave, so I tell her about how to get agreement by excluding the doubters, the “theory of the excluded negative” as I call it. But, Jolene, a big happy West Indian with a big smile and bigger backside doesn’t seem interested, but she does have some arresting views on Lara and she once met Wes Hall.
Still working on the subtitle.
Indecision Theory
A Rational Strategy for Handling Uncertainty
Unpredictability – A raison d’etre ?
Don’t Expect the Unexpected
By the way, someone told me about a search engine(?) Googly (?) and came up with this http://netec.mcc.ac.uk/WoPEc/data/Papers/cltsswopa1106.html
Life imitates art.
Note 9
We were in McDonalds. That’s me and the kids, after we’d been round HMS Belfast, Esau is asking about Indecision Theory. Apparently Marsha was explaining how Daddy wastes his days writing academic tosh which any 5 year old could write etc., etc.,
Indecision Theory was mentioned and Esau wanted to know more and asked her about it.
Something along the lines of ,your daddy needs to make up his bloody mind, what he is, father, uncle, academic, dreamer, or just a low life couch potato without an original thought, idle, nail chewing fantasist etc., etc.,
Wish she’d change that bloody record.
Anyway Esau has it off pat. Probably off by heart, he’s heard it more than once.
Anyway, he says is it like decision trees ?, They were doing decision trees in IT with Teddy Taylor who was explaining how any problem, however complex, could be reduced to it’s elements.
Christ I envy Esau. If life, that’s LIFE were only that simple.
Anyway I say to him by way of explanation, Say you want a Harry Potter Chocolate or Harry Potter Rasberry MilkShake you could represent this by a fork in a road you either turn left and have a Raspberry, or right and have a Chocolate .
But I don’t want a Milk Shake, they taste like wallpaper paste he says. But I’ll have some more fries, he says. How do you have a decision tree for that Dad? Meanwhile Adam has spilt his strawberry milk shake all over his new Beckham shirt.
I’m late back with the kids and Sandra takes one look at the bemerded and very expensive Man U shirt, shoos the kids inside, gives me a long silent, withering look. Slams the door.
Apparently it’s the first murder that is the difficult one, after that it just becomes routine.
Note 10 or did I send you this already ?
I have been to see Earl. He’s rigged up in some sort of cage but must lie flat so they have a mirror over him at 45 degrees so he can talk and he can see you – see him.
Bit unnerving. With the delayed responses it’s like watching those guys in the desert in Iraq fiddling with their headphones whilst they try to hear the studio. Thank God that’s all over and the normal day time schedules are back.
Anway Earl wants some snappy headings, why not quotes I say.
“of the making of books there is no end”.. Ecclesiastes I explain. For fuck’s sake he says, we don’t want an end in producing books.
Well I tell him my first scenario. The Thiokol engineers who said don’t fly the Shuttle because the ‘O’ rings may not work. Well management think differently, Regan is giving his State of the Union message and 9 zillion schoolkids are going to watch a schoolteacher perform an experiment in zero gravity.
Well say the managers have you tested them. No says the engineers because this flight will test them. Real good. But don’t fly, it’s cold in Florida this year.
So management say well it’s our responsibility and , also there time for enjoying the sunshine. i.e twelve minutes of fame as old Andy had it.
So they decide to fly and well you know the rest.
Well if Earl does, he’s not saying as he seems fast asleep.
I call the nurse who says I should leave, so I tell her about how to get agreement by excluding the doubters, the “theory of the excluded negative” as I call it. But, Jolene, a big happy West Indian with a big smile and bigger backside doesn’t seem interested, but she does have some arresting views on Lara
Note I think 11
An hiatus.
Caused by a sequence of events that I find difficult to understand and even more difficult to believe, as I recount them.
Anyway. I am summoned for a meeting last week. “Just a little chat with the Chairman, somebody from IT (Information technology this time) and Earl.
First thing, on a mad morning whim, and after some hurtful suggestions from Marsha, I shave off my beard. Well I didn’t intend, to just a neat trim but wot the hell eh? I think it makes me look younger (Author photo on jacket could be a tad younger etc.,) and feel need a change. Male Menopause? Middle aged Angst?
This goes down like a lead balloon with Marsha, who hoots with laughter at the suggestions of youth, pinching my ample gut. So, since the Central Line is still out of action I plan to run part of the way there and back.
Consequently I am wearing trainers, liner sockettes, a loose fleece top and (what I now realise) a really grubby pair of trackie bottoms plus my silk French cami-knicks. OK, sounds freaky deaky but I was advised when I trained for the London marathon that ladies French cami knicks are excellent because running does tend to chafe the landing gear more than somewhat. Also I can the glasses and all I have is a few quid stuffed in a pocket.
As a consequence Roxanne in reception doesn’t recognise me, ( or is simply pretending not to) and tells me to wait. I mooch about reception whilst she finally discovers who I am and why I’m there. Eventually, after straining my eyes to read yesterday’s FT and a ring binder of Press releases, looking at the display case with recently published books, I resort to a close examination of the workmen who have arrived to clean the marble floor area. Earl not only provided a bloody stain. it seems, but the firemen have spread (potentially lethal?) fibreglass dust in sawing off his helmet, which the resident Health & Safety Obersturmfuhrer decides is a health hazard and requires cleaning up by specialist asbestos removers. Curiously an occupation staffed by off duty firemen.
These overweight, loud mouthed experts prepare for this by endless conversations on their mobiles, one placing bets , “One large one on Frankie Detorri’s nag, in the 3.00 clock at York, pour favour, Esquire etc., etc.,” the other two sniggering over some evidently suggestive text messaging. All the time all three are clocking Roxanne’s ample charms, with an array of whispered asides, sighs, low whistles and grunts, of which she remains unconcerned, but very aware. Fine denier tights sussurating and scraping as she yanks her skirt down. Endlessly.
Finally I sidle up to her and ask her if she has read any of the books in the display. I explain that I once asked to see one and it turned out they are all dummies. Just blank pages. Just like the stare she gives me when I go on to say they might all as well be titled “Oral Sex in Marriage”.
At this moment I knock the desk top pen in a holder thing with a little chain like a bath plug as I still haven’t signed in yet and got a visitors badge. It falls on the floor, I notice (I can’t help it, for God’s sake) that she’s wearing a thong as the bends to pick it up off the floor, snaps a false finger nail, shrieks and runs screaming to the toilets.
I’ll swear I didn’t touch her but feel that it might be a good idea to be somewhere else and make for the door.
However I had not appreciated that the expert toilers have removed to door mat from the well, and placed it by the replaced, and as yet unmarked plate glass window hurriedly, after Earl’s earlier collision with it.
The result is, without glasses and accelerating away, I hit the pane with maximum G force, split open my forehead, lower lip, smashed, and lost a front tooth, and finally collapsed unconscious in an ever widening pool of blood.
Instantly the mobilistes, well trained to respond to these type of accidents, have called all the emergency services, and being in a central zone, they arrive (because we are at Orange alert) , not only noisily, but very promptly,ready to deal with a nuclear bomb at least. Apparently a helicopter overhead, thumps away.
It now appears that the Para medicals understood me to have been found outside in the street. In a haze I was unable to understand properly what was happening, the toilers, all of whom looked unfamiliar with the activities of the Inland Revenue, Customs & Excise decide to repair to the nearest pub and in the absence of Roxanne and any entry in the visitors register nobody knows who I am.
By some curious fate, when asked my name, I can only assume that I said something about “I saw” or mumbled his name but they had to call me something so somehow I was transported and booked in as Esau.
At the hospital I was divested ( amid some ill concealed amusement) of my clothes and the assumption is made I am some sort of street life, drunk (because incoherent) and distinctly dodgy. The A & E doctor is very polite and courteous Sri Lankan who diagnoses some trauma to the head, a damaged right knee, but otherwise none too bad. By now I am coming round a bit and rather take to the spotlessly white coated and smiling, diminutive Dr Jagarajah. We discuss the incredible achievements of his forbears in the land of Serendip, the remarkable works at Sigiryia palace, and how the bloody Tamils have kept me from the North and Trincomalee where my uncle spent the war in flying boats.
I now know that Jagarajah is a Tamil name, that this splendidly courteous doctor is actually a political refugee and I have vilely insulted him in the process. Probably as a result of my defiling both him and his race, I am denied analgesia,of any kind, ALCOHOL ? is written in large characters on my notes and I am force fed with fluids. As a final insult my whole head is shaved to allow easier access to stitch the split skin on my forehead.
Of course, I was only dimly aware of this progression of events and find myself in a bed being addressed by a gloomy Kosovan as Mr Esau. Somehow I eventually get them to understand what my surname is, but the effort is so great that I gladly accept Esau.
However Inspector Clouseau in Records, a grim faced spinster I later discover, has discovered that an Esau with my surname and address has been treated at the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead 2 years previously.
Nobody notices that this Esau was 10 years old and I am evidently not 12, so they are eager to see that I have previously banged my head.
I don’t think I told you, but I was taking the boys to Heathrow one Sunday, I thought that they might like to spend Sunday afternoon watching the planes land and take-off. We had hardly started when they are rowing and fighting in the back, as a result distracting me and I smack into a Hertz rental car waiting to enter a roundabout, driven would you believe it, by an American attorney attending some damn conference.
Anyway he decides not to sue but is anxious the kids get treatment as they may have whiplash and Esau has been thumped. Meanwhile advising them of their rights to sue me if they suffer permanent injury. The kids think this is great so we end up in the Royal Free A & E for a while. It’s only a few days later when I discover three towels in the boot with the woven legend “Property of the Royal Free Hospital”, the kids tell me they take this to mean they can scarper with anything they can lay their grubby little hands on. We get to Heathrow, but it’s dark, I swear the kids to secrecy about the hospital visit and they blackmail me into a total Man U strip with a Cantona shirt (£85 Quid!) and Esau says he’ll just take the cash.
Anyway the little buggers are as good as their word and keep Schtumm.
Problems now arise because on this occasion I give Sandra as next of kin with her address and telephone number, just in case our American brief turns nasty and decides to sue me, thus distancing myself from any nastiness or (I trust) cost.
As I’m fairly incoherent, partly due to intense pain in my head and right knee, and also wish to plead if necessary in the future any memory of what happened in the lobby immediately prior to my rapid exit. The powers that be contact Sandra who is in the middle of a client conference but whose concern for her offspring results in her arriving flustered, dishevelled, moist eyed at my bedside, to find instead of her son, apparently assaulted in the street in Central London, with a comatose, unbearded, bald, black eyed, heavily sutured middle aged man whom she doesn’t recognise, who appears to have recently undergone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
Dr Jagarajah is called and finally it dawns on Sandra, after his hesitant explanation about the women’s silk knickers that it’s me, as they were her suggestion initially, although I always thought her choice of crimson was a bit unnecessary.
As per, of course La Sandra takes over ,demands site of my file, consultant looking after me, records, notes etc., et bloody cetera and goes off in search of someone to shout at.
Well experienced with difficult relatives, the staff quickly whisk up the sides of the bed and wheel me off into a side room, archly described as a “private room”. Private it certainly is, thick curtains, numeric keylock on door and no windows and about the size of room that would have kept the author of the Lindisfarne Gospels happy.
All this results in me waking up, and bladder distended from Dr Jagarajahs water cure, I need a pee. Desperately. Because the bed sides are locked up I can’t get out and hammer on the wall and call for a nurse.
Evidently the volume gets too much and a nurse appears with a bottle.
Note 12 – but I think I was sedated
An hiatus.
All this results in me waking up, and bladder distended from Dr Jagarajahs water cure, I need a pee. Desperately. Because the bed sides are locked up I can’t get out and hammer on the wall and call for a nurse.
Evidently the volume gets too much and a nurse appears with a bottle and the hospital Holy Joe. A C of E padre.
After explaining the situation as best I can and desperate for a pee (which I have no intention of doing in front of this grey faced, black frocked purveyor of doom) he crosses himself, makes a short prayer gets on his knees and is scrambling about under the bed.
Anyway, I don’t know if you have ever had to use one of these things, but it’s like a bent milk bottle and for the life of me I cannot seem to get it sorted and decide the best thing to do is to stand up. This I manage rather groggily and finally an easeful and bladder relaxing flow results and I fill the whole damn thing. However the tricky bit, is, I am standing up clutching the bottle and this framework with no hands free. I realise that Holy Joe is still scrabbling about praying madly away but somehow is under the bed. Shouting doesn’t produce any results, (probably because it appears this “private” room is used for R & R by night doctors and nurses and strictly off limits) and I’m getting hot, hoarse and tired.
Trying to get down even to a kneeling position is not possible as the bed springs give, finally I sink down, dropping the bottle which lands on the now prostate vicar of God, I end up trapped below the bed sides, wounds opened lying in a mess of pee and blood screaming blue murder.
The piss soaked padre at this juncture legs it leaving behind it transpires a handbag thing, that I thought encased a sort of portable alter , but turns out subsequently to be a lap top PC.
At this point, Sandra dramatically appears at the door, having explained she is taking me to a place of sanctuary away from this hell hole, like the good lawyer she is she never travels without he her digital camera and takes a few quick snaps. “My God,” she says, “They’ll pay for this” she says. And they will.
Now Sandra as the avenging angel is well in character is not a problem, but I don’t know whether it’s my whimpering, the blood, the smell, but for the first time ever I see the Florence Nightingale side of her. No don’t laugh.
She extricates from the bedside, cleans me with some tissues and starts dressing me. Well of course, I’ve only got what I came in. So there she is pulling up these crimson silk pants, and I’m apparently (as she later explains) all vulnerable and adjusting the pants she brushes the old undercarriage. Anyway I’ve got a bit of stiffie, what with being manhandled, well maybe a semi-lob, “Whos a big boy then” she says, and next minute she’s on her knees and I definitely do have a stiffie.
Then I’m flat on my back crimson pants around my ankles, my head banging the floor, and she’s sat on top like a wild cowgirl, a howling demented banshee.
It’s just at this climactic moment that Miss Prim from Records appears at the door clutching her notes in a frantic attempt to sort out the family relationships of patients past and present. Satiated Sandra (by now) is clicking off a few frames of your truly for the family album and gets a couple of Miss Prim. On reflection, later, it is evident from the mingling of horror, astonishment and sheer physical loathing that Miss Prim has finally concluded (Indecision Theory creeps in here I reckon the principle of the excluded muddle ) that when you strip it all away, and take account of duplicate DOB records Sandra and I are brother and sister.
Miss Prim shrieks off, Dr Jagarajah hands me a note as I am hurriedly dressing that I should get checked for diabetes as my blood sugar is a bit high and he hightails it. As do we.
Sandra seizes my hand and we rush off through the corridors down to her car parked “Consultants Only”. “Here’s your handbag”, she says and throws the padres lap top in the back.
I explain, it’s the padre’s not mine and that he left it behind. “Has he a receipt?” the lawyer says, “Because if he hasn’t, he’s stuffed”.
Royal Free Hospital towels, stolen lap tops. Must be in the genes.
As we are going out of the gates. I see a grim faced Marsha whizz by going in.
I say nothing.
Anyway, my memory of the recent past is somewhat blurred but I awake this morning, in crisp white linen to the sound of Callas, singing “Vane e li cela entrambi”, from Norma. I feel I am at the gates of paradise, although my head hurts like buggary.The sun streaming in and Sandra sat holding my hand smiling beatifically. To top it all a plate of well buttered hot cross buns. (Sorry private reference that one)
This heavenly idyll is broken by Sandra rattling off what actions she has taken. (Ticking them off on her palm notepad).
I must say she is looking v. energetic and dare I say it, a trifle sexy. Perhaps 4 years with the kids, the job has been repressing the old urges. More like HRT is kicking in.
Number one, the publishers their agents, servants, contractors, subcontractors etc., are being sued for negligence, general torts for damages, etc., etc.,
Number two, likewise the Area Health Trust for delay, negligence, medical incompetence, kidnap, failing to maintain records, inadequate duty of care etc., etc.,
Number three she has instructed bailiffs to obtain all my personal belongings from Marsha, manuscripts, computers, floppy disks, all material stored electronically and so on and so forth.
Finally, she is seeing a libel brief today about items in the press concerning me being found in the street “famous academic” ( I WASN’T BUT IT LOOKS LIKE I AM NOW) wearing women’s clothing, drunk, fighting etc., she’s also on the trail of the mobilistes for contributory negligence, their employers, lack of training, what sort of contract were they on, can she have sight of it, etc., etc.,
Anyway there I am in lying content when she peels back the sheets and discover I’m still wearing the old knickers. But this time, they are pale blue, as she points out, busily adjusting them.
Sandra (some time later) says, if that’s what inflames the old desire, wott the hell…. There’s life in the old gal yet.
Two sites overlook 
clear that the Crusaders returned from their work suppressing the Saracen and Mussulman, with crocus bulbs, cherishing it's religious overtones and probably it's alleged aphrodisiac qualities.
Norden war memorial, already bearing poppy wreaths.
Emile Durkheim's