Queens Birthday Party – Prologue

There are a few topics in life one does not talk to my father about.

“Feelings”, “Sex”, “Money” or “Death”.

The Most Perfect Morning

The most perfect day begins with waking up after sleeping. Waking up after sleeping should not be overrated. Then stretching and rubbing away sleep from the eyes is nice. A perfect morning is waking up in a silent house. The sound of someone else pottering around in a kitchen or bathroom is the worst. To get up and meet a cheery face and have to do small talk, be nice or even smile is very difficult before breakfast.

The most perfect breakfast is eggs in one way or another and bread – I can NOT do yesterday’s leftovers from dinner or a take away pizza – bread is a must and eggs, second best is feta cheese, red onion and tomatoes and just a pinch of black pepper.

But before I can have the most perfect breakfast I have to do the most essential act – the washing of dishes.

The most perfect place to do dishes is with a window to look out of. It is also nice to talk to someone who is sitting nearby - but do not try to help me.
It disturbs my order. The kind and helpful words of “You wash and I dry” stresses me out no end. To do dishes under stress “hurryhurry so the person drying doesn’t have to wait for the next item” or the other way round “Slowslow because there’s a mountain of stuff waiting to be dried” - this is not ideal.

For the most sublime dish washing experience on an ideal morning I want a sponge with a scouring pad on one side. Not a brush - splatters too much. Nor a cloth – freaky texture.
Another important thing is the dish washing liquid. It should be a nice smelling and a very foamy dish washing liquid. I would like it to be environmental friendly but usually and unfortunately these are not foamy enough.
Then there are the different colours of liquids. Blue is a nice unnatural colour but it smells of “Sea Breeze” i.e. salty and very perfumed, like a sweaty brat on a beach – which is not so nice. Then there are the weird colours of pearly white or yellow. These are the two most strange colours for washing up liquids. I mean who imagines dishes will become clean from washing in a spermy substance or something that resembles snot? Even though these have an “Apple Bloosom” or “Lemon and Lime” fragrance they can’t fool me. Green works the best for me I must admit, probably some sort of brainwashing from the “Fairy Liquid” commercials on English television in the beginning of the 90:ies.

The left side of the sink has to be empty and clean, this is the area for the clean items to dry. If this area is already cluttered with cleaned and dried items this might cause a problem. Because even though I love washing dishes, putting clean dishes in the cupboards is less rewarding and I tend to not do this step of the procedure. If I am lucky I have a friend, sister or partner who understands my aversion of putting stuff in the cupboards and does this for me.

The right side of the sink and the sink will be filled with everything waiting for a cleansing.

And then I wash. When the actual washing occurs my mind wanders; goes into a blank or daydreams, it is like meditating. I don’t know what I think about but I always figure things out when washing, it is second best to taking a shower. Most of my answers to mathematical problems or issues in relationships come in a shower or whilst washing dishes.

Then finally after dishes are done or semi done (cause the left side of the sink has become too cluttered for more dishes to dry) it will be time for my perfect breakfast as mentioned above. Which should be enjoyed in silence. A newspaper is ideal but if this is not possible, reading five or six news sites on the internet is great.

Bliss.

Favourite Shawl of Swedes - now in new fashionable colours

Fight Club

Setting:
Around 1 a.m.
On the Underground packed with partied-over people.
My friend and I have just taken our seats.

Action!

As the train door closes with an accompanying beep, a scruffy looking man without a jacket or bag rushes in - just in time. After him and holding on to him, a well dressed guy squeezes in, forcing the closed doors to open.

Doors close.
Fight begins.

Scruffy looking man is holding a CD-walkman in his right hand and trying to keep the dressy looking man off him with his left hand.

Dressy man - jeans, chocolate brown pin-striped vest and jacket, is also holding on to the CD-walkman and trying to hit Scruffy whilst shouting “Give me my CD player! What the fuck!? You can’t just take my player from my pocket you idiot! Let go!”

Us witnesses, can also see ear plugs in the Dressy’s ears and the end of them swinging unplugged by his waist.

Enter young Punk Girl, about sixteen years old. She looks like a boy with short curly hair and Sid Viscous on her leather jacket. Punk Girl is the first to react, springing in-between the two fighting guys screaming “STOP! Calm down! Stop!” Another man rushes forward from the other end of the train and grabs Dressy from behind. After a scuffling dance for four, Scruffy finally lets go and runs off down the wagon. Dressy stands panting with his CD-player in hand.

Everybody sighs with relief.
Dressy straightens his clothes.

Then:

Suddenly Dressy roars. Rips his bag, jacket, vest and t-shirt off, throws them on the floor and still roaring, charges after Scruffy.

Repeat action without CD-player and lesser clothes.

After this colourful display late at night I started to wonder.

A cockerel pulls himself up and bushes his feathers to signal that his fight is getting serious. An elephant folds its ears out to frighten off his rival. A gorilla thumps his chest and roars to threaten others. Does a male human takes his clothes off on the upper part of his body to start the action?

I know that some of you will say “well no, not really, it is much more comfortable to fight without clothes , the swing in the punch will get better etc” and yes this is true. But really! In the middle of a fight the instinct is not to get undressed. Your instinct is to hit or avoid getting hit.
And how does one do this, with hands caught up behind ones back, struggling to get a jacket off?

Phone Call from Mum

- Hello my sweet daughter! I’m reading a good book and it reminds me of you!
- Ok? What book is it?
- You know Rubinstein?
- Ehh…well… there are a few Rubinstein’s. Which one do you mean?
- Oy sweetie! You know the pianist!
- Ok?! So you are reading a book about the pianist and it reminds you of me?! I don’t even play the piano.
- Noo! It’s not about him! It’s a cookbook!
- Ok?!? And the cookbook reminds you of me?
- Nooo!! Sweetie! It’s written by Rubinstein’s wife…
- Ok?! So you are reading a cookbook written by Rubinstein’s wife that reminds you of me?
- No! Well you know Rubenstein, he is a pianist!
- Yes! But I thought we were talking about cooking?
- Yes, but the cookbook is written by his wife!
- Ok, I’ve got that now. But why does it remind you of me?
- Rubenstein is Jewish by the way.
- Yes? So?
- Well, he had a lot of mistresses, even though he was married.
- Mhm? So where do I get into this picture?
- Well, I was thinking of your boyfriend…
- Hmm…So what are you trying to say? That just because I have a Jewish boyfriend he will have a lot of mistresses?
- NOOOO! No! You know I love Jewish people!
- Ok. So you are saying that just because my boyfriend is a musician he will have a lot of mistresses?
- No! No!
- But I don’t understand mummy?! Are you saying that just because my boyfriend is from Israel AND a musician he will have a lot of mistresses?
- No no no! I was just reminded of you when I read about Rubinstein because he married his first big love and she was much older than him, as you are older than your boyfriend.
- Ok! So you think that just because I am older than my boyfriend he will have a lot of mistresses?
- No no! You don’t understand me!
- No I don’t.
- Well, Rubinstein was married for over 40 years and then he left his first wife at the age of 90 for a much younger woman.
- Ok, but they were married for more than 40 years?
- Yes.
- Were they happily married for 40 years?
- I don’t know.
- But anyway, why did this remind you of me?
- Well, they are bohemians both of them your boyfriend and him…
- Ok? And?
- Well I don’t want you to be unhappy…
- But mummy if I have 40 happy years with one love then I would be pretty pleased.
- Yes but…maybe you can find someone who is not a bohemian, like a doctor or a lawyer or someone…
- So, what are you telling me? That doctors and lawyers do not have mistresses?
- No, but at least you will have money…

Blue

Work

Today I was a good girl. Today I arrived at work not too late only about 30 minutes instead of 2 hours and I said “Good Morning!” to everybody. Not with a smile because my cheeks were paralysed from sleep deprivation, but at least I greeted everybody. I did some of that stuff they call small talk with my closest boss who sits about one meter away from me and I even managed to give her a compliment on her clothing.

All this time my brain felt as if it was recoiling and my spine was twisting. It is an odd feeling that of a recoiling brain, its as if my brain is trying to shrink and escape from the reality which it can see through the eyes.

At lunch today, which I for the first time in two months had with three colleagues I managed to chit chat and I think my mouth tried stretching into something that was supposed to mimic a smile. But after about twenty minutes of friendliness I started to feel nauseated by this fraternising. And when my colleagues started to warm up and say that I wasn’t myself I really had to sit on my hands to stop myself from throwing my plate in the air or screaming.

I hate my job.

I have never felt this way before, I recognise the feeling of total despair and wishing that I rather was dead than being in a place but that feeling has never been apart of my job. At work I’ve always managed to hide behind a nice happy mask. People thought I was quirky and strange but I did a hell of a job. I was too honest and in the bosses faces but I tried to make peoples lives better. And they laughed with me.

I was an odd ball who could one day give a little show with fluffy hand puppets or sneak in one night and fill the aquarium with colourful fish to keep the lonely grey fish company and I’ve been known to make everybody a smoothie of their own choice on a Friday.

I might never have enjoyed working in an office but I always liked my colleagues. And now it is really killing me that I can hardly look at them and am behaving like a bitch towards them.