At the start of the 21st century the company I work for decided to participate in a ‘Business Team Challenge’ competition being held in the Brecon Beacons. There were changes in personnel right up until the day before the team set off for Wales, due to ‘injuries’ and ‘work pressures’. Nevertheless, the final line up contained a Big Boss, a Medium-sized Boss, a Little Boss and two lowly assistants, one of which was me. A delicate balance of bosses and staff had been achieved – three men and two women accordingly.
My job throughout was to ‘make it happen’, which in practice meant completing entry forms, booking accommodation, arrange transportation and triple-check timings, sourcing and purchase appropriate (matching) clothing, footwear, kit and equipment. And all the while, the personnel (and vital statistics) of the team kept changing.
I had to be there, of course, because I’d organised the team. But in truth, not being of an outdoorsy persuasion, I couldn’t think of a worse way to spend my weekend: it was bound to rain, I had never had to use a map and compass before and it was in Wales, for goodness sake! Wasn’t that bad enough?. I had to put my foot down somewhere along the line, and my fear of heights gave me the perfect opportunity; I said that I did not want to abseil. In turn I was promised I wouldn’t have to.
It was all going so well until the first afternoon when Medium-sized Boss twisted his ankle on a slippery slope, during a torrential downpour.
“There is no one else; you’ll have to do it”, I was told by Big Boss as he trotted on ahead, leaving me to trudge behind him to the edge of a chasm. I didn’t answer, I couldn’t; it’s difficult to speak coherently when your mouth is devoid of spit.
Three of us were to take the plunge for the honour of our company. Medium-sized Boss sat at the base of the drop, somewhere, cradling his ankle and smoking a cigarette, along with Little Boss, who had helped him hobble into position. It was difficult to see exactly where they were positioned as my eyes had suddenly gone all blurry. Horror filled me, as the crowd of lemmings gradually thinned at the top of the drop.
Then there were three… Big Boss disappeared over the edge… two… Admin Girl followed… one…. The few remaining eyes on my level turned in my direction.
“I can’t do it…”I repeated like a scratched record, as I was gently coaxed and manoeuvred into position, clips clicked into place and a fat rope placed in my hands. The moment the soles of my walking boots started to shift from horizontal to vertical, I completely froze.
Except for my eyes – they raced upwards, away from certain death. Realising there was no escape, they slowly rolled back down to meet the gaze of the woman holding my rope. “You can do it”, she said gently, pushing me over the edge.
The journey down was far too short. In fact it was a complete blast!
“Can I do it again?” I squealed with delight, hopping from foot to foot, whilst Big Boss struggled to unhook me.
“No, we’ve got a hike to the next task. Well done.” And off he went.
Little and Medium-sized Boss, though, both hugged me tight and told me how brilliant I’d been to do it. Medium-sized Boss carried on hugging and thanking me for helping him out… right up until the moment I realised we’d covered half the distance to the next stage of the competition.
He let me go and then the laughter started. But the loudest laugh came from me.
‘The ineffectiveness of Raid ‘ONE-SHOT’ against house flies looks like the result of two things: alarmist medical research about fly sprays; and a less than honest marketing policy by SC Johnson, the producers of the brand. The Slog investigates, and concludes we may have proliferated the house fly population by the use of a spectacular own-goal.’
‘Because, John, because smoking kills everyone; everybody knows that! So why look for anything else?
Here’s a complete nut on the subject of tobacco smoke…
http://somuchfabric.blogspot.co.uk/2009/11/cigarette-smoke.html
Tobacco bans and it’s ever so useful Template, utilised to eliminate the practice of smoking tobacco throughout in the world. was, IMHO, the thin end of the wedge…
Welcome to the thick end…
“But… but… but…”
Nice choice of pix, Click, here have a Song…
Abel masc. proper name, in Old Testament, second son of Adam and Eve, from Hebrew Hebhel, literally “breath,” also “vanity.”
vanity (n.)c. 1200, “that which is vain, futile, or worthless,” from Old French vanite “self-conceit; futility; lack of resolve” (12c.), from Latin vanitatem (nominative vanitas) “emptiness, aimlessness; falsity,” figuratively “vainglory, foolish pride,” from vanus “empty, vain, idle” (see vain). Meaning “self-conceited” in English is attested from mid-14c. Vanity table is attested from 1936. Vanity Fair is from “Pilgrim’s Progress” (1678).
“Thanks for leaving a link to Idle Theory. It is indeed “very Benthamesque”. But I replaced the greatest happiness for the greatest number with the greatest idleness for the greatest number. Idleness is (in principle) a measurable quantity, while happiness is not. I suppose I think of ‘happiness’ as being ‘happen-ness’ or ‘what happens’, and it’s only in their idle time that people are open to anything ‘happening’ in a ‘happy’ way. The rest of the time they’re too busy doing something more or less completely determined. Something like that, anyway.”
idol (n.)mid-13c., “image of a deity as an object of (pagan) worship,” from Old French idole “idol, graven image, pagan god,” from Late Latin idolum “image (mental or physical), form,” used in Church Latin for “false god,” from Greek eidolon “appearance, reflection in water or a mirror,” later “mental image, apparition, phantom,” also “material image, statue,” from eidos “form” (see -oid). Figurative sense of “something idolized” is first recorded 1560s (in Middle English the figurative sense was “someone who is false or untrustworthy”). Meaning “a person so adored” is from 1590s.
“Have you seen this?” Thoughtful Man handed a small fat book. Something had tickled him; there were tears in his eyes.
“‘Passport to the European Union’? Where did you get this?” I turned the cover to read ‘This is not a travel document!’. I felt the ‘Duh!’ on my lips.
Thoughtful Man grabbed it back, eager to get me to the right place. “It’s Kit’s. He was given it at Junior school. I found it in the drawer. Dated 2012, so probably for the Olympics.” He thumbed through the pages. “Look, start here at the UK and read the famous people listed.”
“David Beckham, Paul McCartney and William Shakespeare. Okay?” I looked up expectantly.
“There are separate entries for England, Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales, too. England’s next.” He flipped the page.
I could see the amusement on Thoughtful Man’s face but couldn’t figure out the reason. “Newton, Rowling and Foster. Scientist, author and architect. That’s a good mix. What’s so funny?”
He winked. “Now Scotland.”
I turned the page.
“Wait.” He hugged the book to his chest and skipped a page. “Now Northern Ireland,” he said, handing the book back to me.
His obvious mirth was infectious and I started smiling though I didn’t really know why. “Now,” he intoned gravely, “guess which famous people they listed for Wales.”
“Dunno. Dylan Thomas. Richard Burton. Bertrand Russell?” My eyes skipped down to the page.
“Fireman Sam!” Thoughtful Man could contain the laughter no more and out it bellowed. “Only Fireman Fucking Sam.”
“Only Huw Fucking Edwards! Double whammy!” I could feel the crow’s feet dig into the plumpness of my cheeks, drawing them up tight to make room for the grin that engulfed the the lower half of my face.
“If I were Welsh, I’d be furious. Fireman Sam?” Thoughtful Man shook his head. “Ha. I wonder who they listed for Germany.” He wandered off, book in hand.
Oh hello, Clicky, I forgot you were there. Have a Song…
I know! £4.99 for a Zippo lighter. That’s not bad if I can limited him to just the one…
Florence chief city of Tuscany, also a fem. proper name, both from Latin Florentia, fem. of Florentius, literally “blooming,” from florens (genitive florentis), present participle of florere “to flower” (see flourish). The city name is from Roman Colonia Florentia, “flowering colony,” either literal or figurative, and became Old Italian Fiorenze, modern Italian Firenze.
“You know in some ways, I think Mark [Gatiss] has got a point when he says that however good you imagine [the crossover], it would be almost better in your imagination than it would be if the two grand old egotists actually met,” he added.
‘What’s interesting is that The Lancet revealed this “information” in an anonymous editorial rather than a proper article. Of course it’s impossible to be sure who wrote this, because it’s anonymous, but it is an editorial. That means it was probably written by the editor, and The Lancet’s editor is one Richard Horton.’
Library of Libraries 