A minor panic this morning. As opposed to the major panic last Sunday when, it would seem, I accidentally applied to emigrate to Canada.
I was having a bad day and I know we’re not supposed to be political, but let’s face it the lunatic actions of our political leaders worldwide make it very hard not to be. Anyway, something happened – can’t remember what now – and I snapped and decided to go and live in Canada. As you do.
Quite honestly I thought I’d be too old. New Zealand won’t even look at me and I thought Canada would be similar so I filled in a few details, ticked a few boxes, fired it off, felt better and forgot it. The next thing – my phone rang and when I picked it up, the screen said Canada.
Shit! What had I done?
Two possible scenarios. They wanted me – in which case I was in all sorts of trouble and would I have time to pack? Or, they didn’t want me. Hurtful, but I’m a writer and we do rejection really well.
The sensible thing to do would have been to answer it, of course, and solve the mystery, but I did what anyone would have done in those circumstances – I panicked.
And the stupid phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Very determined folk the Canadians. Probably all that snow. It went on and on and on as Canada stretched its tentacles towards me. Did they want me or didn’t they? I’d only find out if I actually answered the thing. Talk about Schrodinger’s Cat. Was it alive or dead? Answer the phone and find out.
As I said, I’m a writer – the proud representative of a bunch of people famed far and wide for being cool, calm and collected in any situation. Who employ rational thought to resolve even the trickiest of situations.
I tried to switch the phone off and couldn’t remember how. And if I did then I’d forget to switch it back on again and people would shout at me.
I did the only thing I could. I shoved it under the cushions on the sofa and piled a whole heap of other stuff on top. It continued to ring for some considerable time until finally – finally – blessed silence as Canada gave up. Or came to its senses. One of the two, anyway.
Sadly, once it shut up, I forgot it. Completely. I simply enjoyed a number of happy phone free days until an email from Hazel this morning requested I ring her asap and I couldn’t find my phone. Hence the panic. And when I did find it, it had no charge so there was a minor, very trifling delay, before I could comply with Hazel’s instructions.
Just for the record, none of my more than adequate explanations were deemed acceptable. Sometimes I think the world gets further and further away from me with every passing day.
I'd have read your next book even if you'd become a Canadian. I have a lot of respect for Canadians. They've repelled, by my count, seven American invasions--or four, depending on how you feel about Fenians--not even counting tourists. Most nations give up and adopt chewing gum, game shows and foreign aid after just one or two.
Smothering your phone with a pillow, though. That's a serious offense in the Information Age, however often I myself have been tempted. My advise would be to plead "not guilty" to digicide, claim the phone struck first, and hope at least one member of the jury receives as much spam in a week as I do.
Good luck,
Robert
You should follow the advice of Max, Elinor and Amelia Smallhope "it's always better to know"