Guiding for Boys

I have returned unscathed from my first day at the Cathedral.  I was mildly disappointed not to lead the daily service, some chap in a black dress and a dog collar did that.  I was dispatched to the Chapter House to get to grips with the Magna Carta.  First though I had to dress up. I was relieving a pleasant chap who looked like he was in need of some relief.  He handed me a green sash with a HUGE badge that said "Salisbury Cathedral Guide".  Like the Girls Guides, I assume that as time goes by I can gain badges to sew alongside.  "Granny Knot" badge, for confusing grannies perhaps.  I suggested that it was a little large even for my big head, but was reassured that I should sling it Mexican bandana style over my shoulder.  The back was checked to ensure that my seam was straight - very WW2 stockings - and I was ready to be unleashed on an unsuspecting public.

My Guide mentor was a very pleasant but frighteningly scholarly lady who introduced me to the Magna Carta.  I have visited before, but not exposed to the sheer wealth of information that this lady has.  'I'll give a couple of presentations, then you can have a bash" she said.  "Great" says I in return, wishing that I'd left my bicycle clips on because my tummy was moving into serious churning mode.  So, like the visitors, I listened spellbound, as she cantered through 800 years of history of this venerable document in about ten minutes.  "Any questions?" she asked me.  "Er, what did you say after Good morning ladies and gentlemen" I replied.  No, I feigned total comprehension and told her that I had nothing to ask yet.  "Jolly good.  I like people that pick things up quickly" she replied.  Did I mention that she is a retired school teacher?  I looked around, but I couldn't see anyone there that looked like they'd picked up anything quickly.  Oh, she meant me. That meant one thing.  The minutes before I had to do this were reducing rather too fast.

"Scuse me", came an American voice.  "Are these the original floor tiles?"  The question was aimed at me.  FLOOR TILES.  What floor tiles?  Oh, these tiles on this floor.  "Er, well." Says the panicky struggling newbie.  I looked desperately at the oracle.  "No.  They're exact replicas, but these were laid in 1855 to replace the originals which were broken".  I'm here to do the Magna Carta.  Now I have to know about floor tiles!!  I don't remember that in the job description.  Oh, the mediaeval frieze and the Parish silver, I need to know that too.  Phew, the architecture of the Chapter House is identical to that of the Cathedral.  Pure Gothic! 'Can I take a photograph of the ceiling please? says a pretty Architecture Major from California.  Seeing that I was going to struggle to say anything other than "Marry me", in response to this vision, my school Ma'am friend barked, "Sorry.  No photography".  I heard myself say "You could always draw it instead". You know what, she did!! 

All afternoon we had a non stop flow of visitors.  For some reason California is closed on tuesdays so they'd all come to Salisbury.  Maybe it's something to do with the proximity of a Spanish speaking country (Mexico) because most of Spain dropped by too.  I expect that they'd been to Wimbledon to see Nadal beat Federer.  

Soon I was talking to Americans like a seasoned veteran.  The document has 3,500 words.  How do I know?  Deirdre told me.  Don't quibble, count them if you want.  "No, Runnymede (where the Magna Carta was negotiated) isn't in London.  No, the Barons with whom Prince John parlayed didn't all get cheap day return train fares down to Salisbury.  There are four copies of the original 13 made left in existence.  Yes, I do know that there were 36 cathedrals in those days.  No I don't know why every cathedral didn't get it's own.  I guess that as each one took somewhere between 53 and 56 hours to write, the Scribe's wrist probably ached and he got bored and gave up.  No, this is Salisbury Cathedral Madam.  Your schedule is wrong, Winchester Cathedral is tomorrow.  It's tuesday today. San Francisco you say.  Fascinating.  NO PHOTOGRAPHY PLEASE.  Bitte nicht.  Oh you're Spanish."  You get the picture I'm sure.  Oh, sorry, no photography!   

I now know about Iron Gall ink.  Made from the Oak Galls (parasitical nut shaped growths that infest Oaks), iron salts and tannin.  The Magna Carta itself is written on a piece of sheepskin in an educated hand in mediaeval Latin.  However, the iron salts have eaten into the sheepskin and the words are permanently etched thereon.  Even if the ink were to be washed off, the words would remain.  There are 63 clauses of which four are extant in English, Commonwealth and US Law. I can tell you about Dutch prisoners of war too.  I just can't remember which war!

At last my afternoon came to an end.  Time to disrobe and trot along for my free cup of tea and a general wash up with the rest of the gang of guides.  At the door I met a nonagenarian lady who hands out the leaflet that explain the wonders of the room to those too shy to ask we "experts".  Bear in mind that Cathedrals are places of quiet contemplation.  "HELLO.  HAVE YOU ENJOYED YOUR VISIT.  OH.  YOU ARE A GUIDE.  I'VE BEEN HERE YEARS".  and so on.  What a lot we guides are. "Do you think you'll come back?" was an oft repeated question aimed in my direction.  Struggling to overcome the embarrassment and pain of having poured half a pot of scalding tea all over my upper leg - why do teapots pour from where the lid fits and not the spout?  in less than 500 words on my desk by Monday please - I replied in the affirmative.  Actually I loved every minute.  Just don't ask me about floor tiles!!

So What Now

I have been struggling with myLot recently and neglecting my blog.  Let's start with the blog.  I set this up initially as an alternative place to go when I staged my protest about the treatment of Katherine.  I quite enjoyed writing here, I was able to say what I really felt about people. Good things I think in the main.  However, once I went back to myLot I "forgot" to come back here and keep up with things.

I quite like the idea that I have someplace to record my daily thoughts and the fact that they might be public means that I have to think just that little bit harder.  I don't set out to offend here, but I am not afraid to say what I think either.  I'll just try not to slander anyone!  In fact, as no one comes here anymore, it is highly likely that I can get away with saying pretty much anything.  But I shall behave myself.

My story about the Our Lot Pub is coming on, although more slowly than I would like.  I know that it is not going to win any prizes but it is meant to be an affectionate look at some of those people that have been friendly towards me over the months that I have been on myLot.  If anyone objected to the story line or their role within it; I would stop immediately.  As it is, only two people have read it, and only one of those is in it so far and she hasn't objected.  Let's hope that it stays that way.

I have not written anything else that I want to put up on "the Darker Side of P1ke".  Well, I have, but they are not stories that I feel happy about just anyone seeing.  I don't believe that I have any talent when it comes to writing, but I bless those people that say otherwise, but I do enjoy it when I have the time and inclination.  I bought a writing magazine yesterday.  If I wasn't depressed about my writing before I am now.  There are so many wannabes out there. An agent wrote in an article about how to get an agent to consider your work, that he would rather take a young female Oxford graduate than a middle aged man.  Assuming that he is typical of the norm of agents then what chance does this middle aged man from Oxford (originally) have.  I'd better stick to blogging.  At least I don't have to impress here.

So what's my issue with myLot?  I'm bored with it really.  There is no cut and thrust like there used to be.  Most of the "old" guard have either reduced their postings to a trickle or have left entirely.  The new people coming up are all suitably enthusiastic and that's heartening.  I think that after a couple of months you do get like that and enthuse wildly about the place.  But I have also noticed familiar themes in the new discussions being posted.  I am starting to answer new discussions that I've answered or posted before. There is very little originality even from people that think that they are original.  I have tried posting discussions myself, but frankly, I'm bored with them almost as soon as I've hit the submit button.  It's just not fun right now.  If this were a discussion I'd be getting lots of "take a break.  I've been there too. Maybe they're all on holiday".  Funny how no one ever says "Piss off then and go and irritate someone else".  Of course if they did I'd be very offended.  But they'd be right.

Then there's my friends.  I love them all as much now as ever before.  I have some new ones, but they are not the same.  Younger, more self obsessed.  But then nobody is more self obsessed than me!  I am not as good a friend as I could or should be.  One of my friends got into some difficulty and all that I did was sympathise.  We don't seem to communicate now.  I deserve it probably.  I wasn't there when I was needed.  Just bunged out a few platitudinous words.  No practical help at all.  But that's a warning to me.  When the chips are down just how effective am I going to be?  I know that I don't have to do anything, but something inside tells me that I ought to.  Someone else sent me an E mail today saying that she thought that she'd never hear from me again.  That wasn't my perspective as I know that I had sent her E mails, but the fact that she had to say it tells me that I'm not a good friend at all.  So what to do?  Write to them all and say "P1ke's a fink drop him from your mailing list".  Perhaps.  Maybe I should just keep contact with the few that I always have done.  That's about three that still contribute actively to myLot and another three or four that I talk to offline.  If I am expected to do all the running then that's not a friendship, more an imposition by me on them.  I am not a nice person really, too selfish, and I think that people are starting to realise that fact.

I have however received a card from one of my new friends.  She sent it to my wife and I which was a lovely thing for her to do.  There are some very pleasant people out there.

That's enough gloom and doom for now.  Tomorrow or Wednesday I shall write about my first afternoon as a Cathedral Guide.  I'm quite nervous about it.

I'm Behind

I've taken a break from the Wimbledon Final to come and say that it seems an age since I last posted here.  The day we met Ellie apparently.  That's three weeks ago.

Since then Liz has been ill, had a brain scan and is now waiting for a meeting with the neurosurgeon.  She's had no recurrence so fingers crossed she's OK.  But it was very scary and I did think that I had lost her at one point.  That's partly what I want to talk about tonight. When someone you love "dies", what is your immediate reaction?

I confess that somewhere through all my hysteria at kneeling beside my unconscious wife I thought "Bugger, I don't know her pin number for the ATM and she has money in her account whilst I don't".  Is that a terrible thing to think?  Two seconds I was thinking "Do I have change for the hospital car park?"  Our hospital charges both patients and visitors for the privilege of parking two miles out of town on the grounds that it puts off would be commuters!  They must make quite a great deal of money.  I spent about six pounds over two days.

Fortunately she came round again and was carted off to hospital where she made a good recovery.  Then they sent her home and she fitted again, this time I wasn't quite so alarmed, but still got the ambulance who took her back and they kept her overnight.

But is it normal to have such trivial, if slightly practical thoughts?

I suppose that when someone dies suddenly and unexpectedly the mind blocks out the reality of what has happened and practical thoughts cut in.  There is a complete sense of disbelief, this isn't happening, and you desperately want everything to be normal again. I wouldn't want to wish the experience on anyone, but I suspect that having your loved one die in front of you, whilst horrific, is also strangely comforting.  You were "there" at the end and I know that when I go, whilst not wanting to upset my nearest and dearest, there is something comforting in knowing that they were there as you breathe your last.  Hope that it doesn't happen to us soon.