Ochre

10 Feb 2010

Secret Santa has a lot to answer for. Or he would of he was real. In fact there’s a redundant clause there somewhere – how much more secret can you get than being a fictitious being?

I shouldn’t complain. But since when has that stopped me? Last year the fictitious being let the side down completely. He (or possibly she) bought me a Brian Johnston book, presumably on the very hard to work out assumption that “I like cricket”. Well yes, I do. Mostly playing it, often watching it, very, very seldom reading about it. Especially as this particular book wasn’t even about cricket but was about his experiences as a radio stand in for Thora Hird. Some people who didn’t know me that well gave me some very odd looks as Johnners’ face emerged slowly from the wrapping paper. Does he have the full DVD collection of all 362 years of “Last of the Summer Wine”? They pondered.

This year (or last year, strictly speaking) things looked up. Mr S Santa (or Secret to his friends) noted I like to travel. Or possibly noted that I like to travel constantly to exactly the same place every single time. So very likely as a subtle hint, I was given the “1000 Place To See Before You Die”* desk calendar, which does very well to fit 1000 places into 365 days. This is great, since it has some great photos and a little bit of information about each place, some of it useful, some of it absolutely not. Unfortunately, a colleague has taken to having an information sharing protocol with his “This Day in History” desktop calendar, and insists on swapping ‘interesting’ stories about the invention of the steam hedgehog with me showing him a picture of Guadeloupe.

But sometimes the mindlessness of the writing makes my calendar reach new heights of brilliance. Today’s was the spectacular ochre-coloured minaret of Muscat, which included this phrase:

“Although the new blends with the old, the city has resisted the modernism of sky-scrapers and rush hours”

I’m imagining the planning meeting right now.

“We’ve had this planning application.”

“What’s it for? A dome?”

“No, that was last week?”

“How about a minaret?”

“Not that either. We already have 37.”

“It’s not a skyscraper, is it? I hate those. Unless it’s a really big minaret.”

“No, not a skyscraper.”

“Then what are we talking about here?”

“A rush hour.”

“How do they work then?”

“Well, apparently it’s all in this guide book “Form Rush Hours with Love””.

“Well. I don’t like the sound of it. Just because everyone else has one doesn’t mean we must. Let’s ban rush hours for ever!”

If only Ken Livingstone had thought of it he’d never have needed the Congestion Charge.

S.

* I’d be much more intrigued by the sequel…