I would like to make a request to the good folk over at Guinness World Records. What is the longest a helium balloon has ever stayed afloat? It sounds insignificant, and yes, for the most part, you’re correct. However, they always go down after a couple of hours. Always. So how come my 22nd birthday balloon is still floating at exactly the same height, is exactly the same size, and is exactly the same shape, after two and a bit months? I want my world record. Mail it to Buckingham Palace. And don’t ask questions.
My folks had finally arrived home this week. They enjoyed their holiday. They got to see that city that is sinking. Or it could just be the water rising. I mean, are sea levels really rising are we just sinking? Global warming is a strange beast. We lose the polar icecaps and the entire northern hemisphere becomes a winter wonderland. Seems to me that the whole debate of whether the Earth finds ways to heal itself has already been answered. We should be tackling the true issues of global warming. Like, can we create an ice cream that will survive in the insane temperatures that the southern hemisphere will be basking in, in the future? Because that’s what I’d want if I was in future Australia.
It didn’t even feel like two minutes after mother and father had returned that mum had me putting together washing machines and sinks. Toy ones, of course. For the nursery that she works at. For the little kids. I suppose the ten minutes the toys will survive at the hands of the youngins will be worth it. Although it’ll make me dead on the inside.
The actual unit assembly went okay. A few knocks and scrapes, but I persevered. Even though I was hungry. And tired. And could’ve done with a hug. And was hungry. But those things were distractions. The job had to be completed.
It was a lark, I tells ya. I cut my finger. And my blood doesn’t really clot straight away (health reasons). Rather than my body firing an electrical signal to my brain, it sends a telegram. What was really annoying was that the instructions were at the bottom of the pile of materials in the box. Getting out the materials is how I hurt myself. I picked up the instructions and then irony slapped me really hard in the face. In big letters on the front of the instructions was written: ‘be careful, the edges of the materials are really sharp’. Thanks for that. But I perhaps could’ve done with that knowledge a little sooner.
I got one of the units completed. Feeling drained, eyes heavy, time for food. Another one to do? Okay. Done. A tad exhausted (I’m about as healthy as a dead leper floating in a giant swimming pool filled with butter). A few rumbles from my stomach. Another unit to make? Oh, for Pete’s sake. I was practically sleep screwing. Behave. I didn’t mean what that sounded like. Naughty boys and girls. I won’t have it. I was eventually awoken by a deep, Earth-shattering rumble. It was my stomach. Finally. Finished. I could taste my pork pie and giant KitKat. But then I had to flatten the boxes that the units came in. I was jumping furiously on them to get the job done. AT LAST. But then we had to put the assembled items in the car. Finished. I wasn’t feeling so great after all this, to say the least.
Unlike that helium balloon, I was feeling deflated and unsexy. I think when we get like that in life, it’s important to find a crumb of comfort in the jejune haystack that is our misery. For me, being English, it was a delicious, piping hot cup of tea. It’s a stereotype, I know, but it’s one of the strangest stereotypes because we don’t mind it. Because it’s true. Especially here in North Yorkshire. Mmm. I’m reliving it.
The following day was spent outside (a rarity for me, one must say). I was at a nature place. 25 acres built on old farmland. It’s beautiful. Many gardens and trees, a miniature scale model of the River Tees and its landmarks. Interactive art. Exhibitions. Animals. Numerous play areas. Plants everywhere. An indoor arboretum surrounded by water. Lots of fish and turtles. As hot in there as that cup of tea, it was. Ooh, that reminds me. There was also a rather quaint teahouse. And lots more. It’s like Narnia but on my doorstep. It’s beautiful. Of course, it wasn’t just a friendly jaunt and saunter. I was baby minding. Trying to stop him falling in the river, a river that endlessly amused him.
It’s very easy to get wound up. Horrible weather (we haven’t had a summer or a spring, just an extended winter – not to mention the hurricane that’s just hit us). Stupid wooden kitchen units that kept hurting me. Guinness, for not giving me my world record. But, once in a while, something good happens. And the important this is, it will always happen.
Even if it’s quickly trounced by a baby trying to push you into a miniature scale model of a river.
“I’ve got a great ambition to die of exhaustion rather than boredom”, said Scottish satirical writer, essayist, historian and teacher, Thomas Carlyle (1785-1881).
Peace Out :|:
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