The unexpected conclusion

It is one of those days. The air is cold, but stale. Time seems to stand still, or at least, I am becoming rather convinced that the clock is broken.

Tied to my desk by the menacles of necessity, there is nothing that I can physically do to alleviate the drudgery. My wandering mind started to turn inwards, to a journey of self realisation.

I arrived at an unexpected conclusion, startling even.

The real cause of the Black Death

My muffin and I

The walk from Wet Hamster (West Hampstead- to the unimaginative sods) station to my desk takes 2,112 steps (give or take 10 steps). For easy reference to the uninitiated, that is 1.1 mile or 17 minutes and 53 seconds.

It should only take 2,082 steps but for the fact that I need my muffin stop. I am too ashamed to name the establishment (hint- it is global and soulless), but there is none other around that offers the suitable ware. Anyway, 30 steps later, armed with a muffin in a paper bag I move on…

When the morning is cold, the joy of nibbling a warm blueberry muffin lifts the soul like none other. Some days, I don’t even know how I arrived at my desk.

Boiled cabbage

The savoy, the sweetheart and the white…

Why do we need different varieties of cabbages when they all feel of rubber, smell of fart and taste of nothing, as much as each other?

Muks is efficient

Empirical evidence supports the claim.

Limitation and assumptions:

• Only full given names are considered

• Names and efficiency of name-owner are positively correlated

• Muks can spell

• Muks can count

For Mr K

…

… …

… … …

The first frost

A tingling, misty marvel
Blew hither in the night
Morning came and all I see
Are clasped in frozen light.

The autumn sun, in wonder,
Is gaily peering through
This silver tissued network
Across the frosty blue.

Around the eaves are fringes
Of icicles that seem
To mock the summer rainbows
With many colored gleam.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I shivered profusely.

A hereditary affliction

All men are equal but the Muks-affiliate are more equal than others. We are, to put it simply, genetically superior. There is however a dark lining in our silver cloud.

“Sashimi!” *drool*

“Pie!” *mmmm*

“Laksa!” *ahhhh*

“Xxxxx!” (replace xxxxx with any name-able edible matter) *faint*

The Muks-affiliate have an exclusive form of Tourette’s Syndrome.

The duck dilemma

It is not 1.26p.m. on a cold Tuesday in November. I am not sporting a slightly glazed look. There is no soggy patch on my keyboard.

I am not sitting at my desk planning my dinner. There is no dilemma in choosing the duck accompaniment. I am not weighing the different merits between hainanese chicken rice (less the chicken, obviously), soy-sauce tossed noodles (kon lou mein) and ho fun in soup (with generous helping of pepper).

I definitely do not see any ducks dancing to Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Dances of the Swans (Act 2, Score 13 of Swan Lake) with dipping-dishes of chilli and garlic sauce .

A regret (but may hope springs eternal)

I am sorry you never saw the beauty
I am sorry you never felt the blessings
I am sorry you were never there
I am sorry you lost yourself

I am sorry we never laughed
I am sorry we never shared
I am sorry we never bonded
I am sorry we never tried

I am sorry I never knew you
I am sorry I was never there
I am sorry I cannot come to say goodbye
I am sorry I never knew I love you

I hope you now see the beauty
I hope you now feel the blessings
I hope you are feasting to break your fast
I hope you find perfect rest at last

This is for my grandmother who shed the shackles of an empty shell on the seventh day of the eleventh month in the year two thousand and seven.