37 - Eyelids and Gratitude

Did you know it's impossible to sneeze with your eyes open.  And, if you could, the force of the sneeze would blow your eyes out.  Quite handy, then, these eyelid things - keeping out the dust and stopping your eyes from popping out when you sneeze.
 
When was the last time you thanked your eyelids for being there and keeping your eyes in?  And when did you last thank your feet for being down there to stop your legs wearing out, or the hair up your nose for stopping the dust, thereby reducing the frequency of sneezes and the chance of your eyes popping out should your eyelids malfunction?  We all take these little bits for granted, don't we?  And it's quite nice that we have full control - we can choose whether to have our eyes open or shut all the time.

And now to Arthur Batly's story, continued from the previous blog ...

Arthur opened the door to Martin. "What are you doing here, in the middle of the day?" asked Arthur, shaking his hand and leading him in to a seat. "I thought you'd be at work."

"I had to come out here, just up the road to mediate a property dispute ... oh, we haven't met," said Martin, suddenly acknowledging Emily as he sat down and stood again.

"Oh, sorry Martin. This is Emily and her daughter, Chloe," said Joan. Emily stood and they shook hands. Actually, thought Arthur, they just stood and stared at each other for the longest time, with their hands touching, not moving.

"So good to see you, Martin," said Joan.

"Uh, oh, yes," said Martin, detaching himself from Emily and the trance he seemed to be in. "I just thought I'd see how you two are, after Nana's ... ah, you know ... yesterday."

"It's OK, Martin, you can say the word funeral," said Joan. "We were all there."

"Yes, yes of course," said Martin, blushing as he ran his hand through his thick black hair. Arthur thought Emily's pale skin had taken on a slight colour recently, too.

 "Would you like a cup of tea, Martin?" asked Joan.

"I could murder one, thanks Mum!" said Martin. "It's thirsty work dealing with people who won't see plain logic." Arthur, Joan and Emily all smiled at each other. "Oh, did I say something?"

"We've just been talking about logic," said Arthur, hoping the subject would go away, somehow.

"Look, I'll go and make us all a cup of tea and we can tell you about it then," said Joan. "Would you like to give me a hand, Emily?"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Emily, looking relieved to have something to do rather than sit there looking jittery, thought Arthur. Martin seemed to stir her up somehow. Maybe they knew each other from somewhere, he surmised. He watched the women take the crockery out and turned back to Martin, to discover he was on the floor, showing Chloe how to put pieces together to make a person. Martin playing with children - with a child - on the floor. Arthur couldn't believe it. He'd never seen his son show much affection or sense of fun at all before and he sat back and smiled in wonder.

"Yes, Dad, I know what you're thinking," said Martin, looking up, embarrassed again. "I never did this with my own kids. Well, I do now and I love it!"

"What's happened?" asked Arthur.

"What's happened?" asked Martin. "What's happened is that the dragon's gone and I'm allowed to play with my children. You know what kindergarten teachers are like - they think they're the last word on child development and how to deal with kids. Ruth just never allowed me to go near them unless I did it the way she prescribed. I could never get it right in her eyes."

"Oh, Martin ..." said Arthur, sadly.

"Anyway, she's so besotted with this new bloke, I don't think she cares if they exist or not or how I treat them," said Martin, with traces of anger and sadness. "She's had them for a couple of days but seems to have lost interest so I get to play with them my way and it's fun. It's really fun! It's what you used to do with me, Dad."

As the women returned, talking excitedly, trays in hand, Martin leapt as from an electric shock. "Can I help you with these?" he asked Emily, taking the tray of tea cups from her.

"Ah, oh, thank you," said Emily, obviously surprised by this unnecessary show of help.

"We were just talking, Martin. Emily's keen on car racing," said Joan. "Familia One or something, she said."

"Formula One, Mother," corrected Martin.

"Oh well, whatever it is, you used to be fanatical about racing cars when you were small," said Joan. "Remember all those cars you collected? And you knew all the drivers and everything about it!"

"Yes, I was, Mum, but that was long time ago," said Martin, perhaps a little sadly.

"But Emily's mad about it too!" said Joan in her unstoppable way. "Why don't you take her to the next racing meeting or something?"

"But Mother! I hardly know her ... Emily," said Martin, shuffling backwards and going very red. "I'm not sure if it's appropriate."

"Appropriate? Of course it is! Two enthusiasts for racing cars - why wouldn't you go together?" said Joan, with logic unassailed by feelings.

"Darling, Martin has just lost his wife," suggested Arthur. "He's probably feeling a little ... ah, raw at the moment."

"Bloody overwhelmed, actually!" blurted Martin. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to swear but life's a bit topsy turvy right now. I just need time to collect myself, that's all."

"But you'd enjoy yourself ..." said Joan.

"Darling, you might be right but just give our boy a little time," said Arthur.

"Oh, I thought it was such a good idea," said Joan. "And you really do need to get out and stop moping."

"I understand, Martin," said Emily gently, her quietness stilling the noise. "I went through a separation five months ago and I still find myself paralysed at times. Not moping or complaining, just uncertain and unable to act or think clearly at times. Really annoying ..."

"My God!" said Martin, sitting forward, teacup in hand. "That's just how I feel. I feel quite useless at times - one of the kids will ask me a stupid question like where's the sugar or something, and I just can't think. I think I'm so useless. I get really annoyed with myself."

"Well, it does get better, I can assure you. 'This too will pass,' I say to myself," said Emily, reaching across to pat his knee.

"See!" said Joan. "They've got so much in common. Why don't you two ..."

36 - Gratitude Fertilises Peace

Last week things weren't going too well with our house move and we wondered what was going wrong - was it the wrong thing to do, were we putting up barriers, was there a better way … and on and on our minds went.

Then I had a BFI* - we were moaning about everyone! So, the opposite is gratitude … gratitude for everyone we meet and know. We set gratitude in motion and wham! We got an email from someone else at the real estate firm who just wanted to get things moving (as did we) and had no interest in the "he said, she said" thing, as she called it.

Sounds so simple when I look back on how many times have I encountered blockages … and I was the blockage? Too scary to think about but now things are moving again, I'm just soooooooooo grateful I thought of it!

*BFI = Blinding Flash of Inspiration

Unfortunately, Arthur Bayly is so confued by the unexpected turn of events, he's not quite sure what to be grateful about. His story continues from the previous blog ...

"So, what question do we ask?" asked Arthur, unable to restrain himself any longer.

"Whatever's bothering you. Whatever you need an answer to," said Joan, admiring the Lego house that Chloe had just showed her, with great pride. "That's lovely, dear. You're very clever."

"So, that's why you suggested we state our question about Dad," said Emily, looking like a light bulb had just been turned on in her head. "We ask 'where do we find Samuel Lord?' Then we wait for the answer. It can't be that simple, really?"

"That's the problem, we love things to be complicated and we mistrust the simple. We reject the simple answers," said Joan. "The really difficult bit is staying out of our own way, of not stopping to listen and of jumping in with our most logical actions."

"What's wrong with logic?" asked Arthur, taking his seat again, shaking his head in confusion.

"Nothing's wrong with logic, dear, if we know all the facts," said Joan. "The trouble is that we never, ever, in any circumstance, know all the facts and so we apply our logic to half the problem, not all of it."

"Oh gosh, I hadn't thought of it that way," said Arthur.

"The Universe, God or whatever you call that which is bigger than all of us, does know all the facts and so its logic is the only reliable one," said Joan.

"So we ask 'where is Sam Lord'?" asked Arthur, hoping desperately that Joan would say 'yes'.

"Not quite. My suggestion, dear, is that we ask what are we meant to do in this moment," said Joan. "We ask what action we should take, right now, and the rest will be revealed."

"So, it's quite practical, really," said Emily. "Knowing where he is doesn't help us to know what to do about it."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Joan, clapping her hands and giving everyone a fright. "Oops, sorry, I just love this stuff! Right now we don't need to know where he is or how he is - if we did, we may still not know what to do about that situation. We always ask for action in the present, what to do right now."

"So we just sit here and Poppa will come in?" came a small, uncertain voice from the floor.

The adults all chuckled and two looked at the other one, expecting an answer. The answer came but it took a little time to rattle round in Joan's brain, travel down to her throat and come out of her mouth.

"Well, darling Chloe, we do sit and listen and wait," said Joan, uncertainly, "but I don't think your Poppa will just pop through the door."

"Down the chimney like Father Christmas?" asked Chloe, excitedly.

"No dear, we probably won't see Poppa today," said Joan, patiently, as Chloe's face dropped. "You see, God talks very quietly, in our heart, and if we're rushing around doing lots of busy things, panting and stressed, we may not hear him."

"So we sit in silence and wait for God to speak?" asked Emily.
"Ah, sort of," said Emily, her face going redder by the minute. "Look, what I'm saying is that if we stay alert, stay present to each moment, the answer may come to us - will come to us. It might not be loud and in dazzling lights. It could be - usually is - subtle, quiet, less obvious. That's what the Course says, anyway ... I think."

"If I play here quietly, is that alright Mummy?" asked Chloe, obviously concerned. "I'll listen very carefully."

"Of course it is love," said Emily, smiling at Chloe. "Just ask God for help to find Poppa and keep on playing - an answer or idea might come."

"At the risk of repeating myself, what do we do now?" asked Arthur, feeling restless and the need to do something. "I really should be getting on with the work I picked up today." He was instantly reminded of the altercation at the AIL offices, a few hours ago, and wondered how Mary and everyone else was. He hadn't even told Joan about it yet, either ... As he stood up there was a knock at the front door.

"Oh, Mummy, do you think that's God?" asked Chloe, leaping up and beating Arthur to the door.

"No, no, Chloe ..." said Emily, realising her words were in vain and unsure of whether to stand or sit.

"She's really getting into this, isn't she!" said Joan. "Let's us just sit back and see if it is God!" The women smiled to each other and then laughed, releasing the tension in the room.

35 - An Error, Not A Sin

I had originally committed to writing at least 1,000 words a day and, along with the story of Arthur Bayly and Mary Collins, to postia daily blog. Well, as it has turned out, I have not kept my commitment and, in days past, I would have become very angry with myself for failing to keep my promise. However, as I now realise, from the words of Jesus, my not keeping to my plan is just an error, not a sin. With that knowing, I can easily forgive myself … not to let myself off for doing wrong but to simply know that nothing was done … or not done.

The writing started again this morning and I realised, as my pen rushed to keep up with the words spilling from my mind, that the writing never went away - it was always there. What stopped it coming out was the worries of the world that I let get in the way. With our house-moving dramas and several other uncertainties, I allowed myself to become engulfed in the fear that is ever-present in this world - fear that we can attach to or let go. I had chosen to attach to it and now I let it go on its merry way and so my creativity is free to fly again. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

So, is Arthur free to allow his creativity surface or is he attaching the fear of the world - his story continues from the previous blog ...

"Well, nothing else is working is it!" said Emily, sitting back and smiling sadly. "The police haven't found him and nor has anyone else. What do we have to lose?"

"So, Miracle Woman, what does the good book tell us we should do now?" asked Arthur, partly in jest and partly in dread.

"Nothing," said Joan.

"Nothing?" asked Emily, sitting up, surprised.

"Nothing," said Joan.

"Nothing?" asked Arthur.

"No, nothing at all," said Joan. "What it says is that nothing has happened."

"Nothing has happened?" asked Arthur.

"Nothing has happened." said Joan.

"Nothing has happened?" asked Emily.

"Nothing has happened," said Joan. "Now, I don't really get it and, yes, it does sound illogical but what it says is that this whole world is an illusion, it's not really here."

"Not really here," said Arthur, trying desperately to think of something original but obviously failing.

"Not really here," said Joan. "And I don't really get it and the course says you don't have to get it. You just have to try to get it, to show a little willingness."

"Willingness for what?" asked Emily, sitting back with a frown.

"Willingness to try to get it that this world is an illusion. That it's not really here," said Joan.

"It's not really here ..." said Arthur, still failing in the originality department.

"It's not really here," said Joan. "I know this chair is real, I know you're real, Emily, and I certainly don't want you to not be here, Arthur. You're real to me, love, and I certainly don't want you to disappear in a poof of smoke!"

"We're not here but we're not?" asked Arthur, going bright red with Joan's public comment of affection. He wasn't used to such things. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of illogic and really needed a life belt very soon.

"Just bear with me, love, Emily," said Joan. "All this in the world is an illusion - it's an insane illusion."

"It's certainly insane!" said Emily, laughing for the first time.

"That's a good step!" said Joan, turning to her. "You see, if you can just accept that this world, this busy physical world, is insane - absolutely, totally insane - you'll stop trying to work it out, analyse it, make sense of it."

"Oh, I've given up trying to make sense of it with everything that's happened over the last few years!" said Emily, smiling grimly.

"Great, so you're on the way to sanity!" said Joan. "Now, so we just start by giving up trying to work anything out, just knowing it's insane ..."

"But how can it be insane if it doesn't exist?" asked Arthur, as a blinding flash of inspiration finally hit him.

"I don't know, love," said Joan, patting his knee, smiling at him. "The Course just asks that we try to accept it. We don't have to believe it. In fact, we can even actively reject it. We just show a little willingness to see things another way."

"Mmm," said Arthur, finding real words difficult to find.

"OK, I'm willing!" said Emily, sitting up with more vigour than she'd shown previously. "Life has been so insane for me and I just can't make sense of it. It's just not working for me, actually, so I'm ready to try another way - any other way! What do you think, Arthur?"

"What I think is that the whole thing sounds so totally illogical but it has actually worked for Joan. She's different, I know she is, and I'd like to have something of the difference she's experienced. That's what I think." said Arthur, smiling, shaking his head. "If the illogical works, let's try it, I say."

"So, we show a little willingness to try to accept that the world's insane, it's not really here," said Joan, summing up. "So, if it's not really here, what is?"

"Oh my God, now what?" asked Arthur with a strange buzzing in his stomach, a strange and uncomfortable buzzing.

"You're absolutely right, Arthur! There's your God!" said Emily, laughing. "That's all there is. God!"

"God?" asked Arthur, finding his originality with words slipping away again.

"So we just sit here and let God do it all?" asked Arthur, checking that he'd summed up correctly. He eased himself back down to the floor as he realised Chloe was having trouble fitting some pieces together. Maybe, too, he admitted to himself, it was easier fitting Lego together than fitting these new ideas into his mind - they just wouldn't go in properly. Perhaps Chloe felt just like him, struggling to fits pieces together.

"Well, yes, we give over to God but we don't actually do nothing at all," said Joan, patiently. "We don't do anything in our own strength ..."

"Our own strength?" said Arthur, interrupting, with the dread feeling that it was becoming less comprehensible, not more, as he'd hoped.

"Yes, our own strength. And no, I don't fully get it and I don't do it all the time, I must admit," said Joan, smiling ruefully. "I keep falling back into my old way of doing things - deciding what must be done and trying to make them happen that way ... my way." Arthur smiled at the frank confession of her bossiness and his dread of her uncompromising demands. He didn't trust his mouth to say anything at this moment and kept it firmly shut.

"Well, what is this new way?" asked Emily. "If we do nothing, what do we do then?"

"What we do - and I'm still learning all this - is to ask the question and leave it at that" said Joan.

"Just ask a question and leave it at that?" asked Emily, frowning as she ran her fingers through her blonde hair.

"We ask and we listen. We don't decide what to do, we listen and the still, small voice for God speaks," said Joan, uncertainly. "Oh, gosh, it all sounds rather silly when I say it like that but it works, believe me!"

34 - Bouncing Happiness Brings Bouncing Prosperity

I've just interviewed Mr Uwe Brackmann, the CEO of a large German company, for an article I'm doing for the Czech Republic magazine, Trade and Industry, and I'm feeling so light and happy! I didn't expect that a German industrialist would add happiness to my life but he did.

The company makes huuuuuuuuuge industrial buildings, schools, car-parks and factories - it employs around 2,400 people and its profits are over €1 million a year. Uwe (pronounced like the vacuum cleaner without the H - oover - he said) is in his late 50's and exudes a childlike enthusiasm for what he's doing … something he's been doing for a long time. The company was started in 1969 and the founder retired 4 years ago - he has no company jet, villa in the south of France or other expensive hobbies … he's passionate about building machines that cut, bend and shape steel and so his hobby is his business … like Uwe, he's always been doing what he loves doing. Out of that passion, he has attracted Uwe and a massive team of equally passionate people. And, out of that bouncing happiness has come the bouncing prosperity that he and his company have enjoyed.

It's so good being around happily successful people and I can just feel his bouncing joy all over me … tee hee hee!

So, is Arthur feeling the joy, or just confusion? His story continues from the previous blog ...

Emily protested that it was all too much for Joan and Arthur and they didn't even know her and she didn't want to trouble them and they had enough with everything else that had happened to them and, well, her father would probably turn up soon anyway and and and ... However, Joan quietly and insistently got a resistant Emily to sit down, have a cup of tea and a piece of lardy cake while Arthur, under instructions, was fetching cordial and toys for Chloe.

"Now, Emily, please," said Joan, sitting next to Emily on the couch.

"You're right - we've had a little drama here, lately with Arthur, Martin and we just buried my mother yesterday. Yes, it's a lot, Emily."

"It's too much, I would say!" said Emily, looking tearful.

"Yes, we might look back and say that," said Joan, smiling. "But while we're in the middle of it, we just go day by day, hour by hour."

"But I'm imposing ..."

"Emily, you're not, I promise!" said Joan with her hand firmly on Emily's knee. "You're actually doing us a favour."

"A favour?"

"Yes, a favour, isn't she Arthur?" said Joan.

"Ah, yes, a favour ..." said Arthur, looking up from helping Chloe get the Lego set out of the box. He couldn't hide his perplexed expression.

"You're giving us something to take our minds off our situation," said Joan. "You see, we can't do anything about my mother or Martin or Arthur. We could feel hopeless with all that. But, with your father, there's probably something we can do. It'll help us feel helpful again."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of it like that!" said Emily, brightening visibly.

"And, besides, I do love a project, don't I Arthur love?" said Joan, smiling.

"Oh yes, she does love a project," said Arthur, chuckling while he tried to fit wheels onto a Lego block for Chloe.

"So, my friends, a battle plan!" said Joan, clapping her hands with glee. "What do we know?"

"Well, we don't know much at all," said Emily, uncertainly.

"Mmm, we probably know more than we think," said Joan. "Now, what were his hobbies? What did he do outside work?"

"Oh, I'm not sure," said Emily. "His work was a big part of his life. He usually took it home every night. And he visited us often. I know he liked folk music."

"Folk music?" asked exclaimed Arthur, incredulously, trying to imagine Sam Lord in his Versace suit, Gucci shoes and immaculate fingernails mixing in with bearded hippies. "Folk music?" I would never have imagined it!" Seeing that Chloe was fully engrossed in her toys, he got up and took a seat, all ears on the adult conversation now.

"So, where did he go for his folk music, Emily?" asked Joan.

"Oh, I don't really know," said Emily, frowning. "He did mention different clubs, sometimes ... usually in Camden, I think."

"So, folk clubs in Camden - how do we find people there?" asked Joan. Silence. No one knew. "OK, so we put that question on the list for God, for The Universe. The answer will come."

"Joan, dear, what's this about God ... The Universe?" asked Arthur, perplexed again.

"Oh dear, I have a confession," said Joan, smiling at Arthur. "I haven't told you I have been studying A Course in Miracles."

"Miracles?" asked Arthur, immediately regretting his first question, knowing this was headed somewhere he didn't know ... somewhere he didn't want to know.

"A Course in Miracles," said Joan, patiently. "It's a book to help you change your life, for the better. I read it each day when you're at work and we have a fortnightly group meeting - five of us."

"Why didn't you tell me this?" asked Arthur, feeling a panic rising.

"Because I thought you'd be uncomfortable with it," said Joan. "I just thought you'd find out when you were ready and, well, you must be now. You've just found out!" She smiled at Arthur and patted his knee. "I haven't turned into a werewolf, have I?"

"No, no you haven't at all," said Arthur softly. "Actually, dear, you seem different, softer, happier than you used to be. Not so, ah, brittle."

"Well you can blame the book for that. It's actually brilliant and I'd really have liked you to read it with me but I didn't know how you'd be with it," said Joan.

"Ah, Joan, this book mentions God. Is it Christian? asked Emily. "I've had some bad experiences with the church ... one of the main reasons I'm separated."

"Oh dear! I'm sorry about that," said Joan. "But no, it's not Christian. In fact, many Christians would be challenged by it and many follow it." Joan laughed.

"But it mentions God ..." said Arthur, rubbing his temples.

"Yes it does love," said Joan. "It tells us that any decision that we need to make, if we hand it over to God and listen to the Voice for God, that still, quiet voice inside, the perfect answer will arise."

"That sounds like Christianity!" said Emily with a forced smile.

"It sounds like every religion that has ever been!" said Joan. "And, for me, I don't care what religion it is, it works for me. It's very practical. It's how I dealt with Mum's death, with your redundancy, with Martin's breakup and it's how I'm dealing with this. I know it works."

"Oh dear," said Arthur, smiling at his wife. "Just when I think I'm beginning to know you, you pull another rabbit out of the hat!"

"Poof!" said Joan laughing and slapping Arthur's knee playfully.

"So, I know nothing about this miracle book ..." said Arthur.

"A Course in Miracles," corrected Joan.

"Sorry, A Course in Miracles book," said Arthur. "I know nothing about it bit it's caused a small miracle in you, my love, if you don't mind me saying so. So let's try it here. What do you think, Emily?"

33 - Does Money Make You Happy?

I was just talking to one of the painters working on the house here and learned that he's done all sorts of interesting jobs:

He's painted the royal throne … actually, he decorated the bathroom of the royal box at one of the race-courses here … and is proud that he was first to sit on the queen's new toilet.

He was working on Windsor Castle when it burst into flames - one of the cleaning ladies was cleaning a painting and then went for a cup of tea and left it too near a heater. Boom! One of the painter's friends saved a £3 million painting - he burnt his hands and had to be off work for six months but did the queen thank him? Oh no, not a word of thanks or a penny for his trouble!

The painter wallpapered the bedroom of some Arab sheikh who is big in race horses here. Each roll of wallpaper cost £4,000 … it was made by taking the hair from this chap's horses and weaving it into the paper, somehow. Apparently it was easy to put up and, when up, he just brushed it to make it look nice!

The painter also helped decorate the house of Formula 1 racer, Jodi Schechter. Jodi paid £15 million for the place and then spent another £15 million redecorating it. The bath in his wife's bathroom (not including taps, feet, surround … just the bare bath) cost £6,000. However, all that money did not make Jodi happy. Jodi's father, from South Africa, made his money from arms sales and, because of that background, Jodi lived his life in constant fear - he even had his children ferried to school, each day, in a black van with heavily tinted windows.

So, those of you desiring lots of money, beware! The money will not make you happy. Happiness comes from other places than our wallets, apparently! And guns won't save you either, it seems.

Though Arthur Bayly is starting to live his dream of a life like James Bond, it's not bringing him any happiness at all - just stress. Arthur's story continues from the previous blog ...

Having escaped his office, two heavies and two policemen, Arthur's brain was still in panic mode, conjuring up all sorts of consequences for Joan and him.

As these conflicting thoughts stampeded through his brain, battling with each other, he kept a wary eye on everyone in the carriage. Would James Bond have stood casually at the door, ready to leap off, or would he have sat down, mingling anonymously with the crowd. Yet another herd of thoughts charging round his brain.

"Hello mithter," said a small voice at his knee. He looked down and remembered the tousle-haired little girl who had offered him ice cweam in the park.

"Oh, hello, young lady," he said, "how are you today?"

"My mummy and me, we've just been to the shops to buy a gun," she said. Not quite panic but Arthur's heart leapt out of the carriage and back in again. He looked up and around and saw the girl's mother - Emily, was that her name? - smiling at him. She put her hand in a plastic shopping bag and pulled out a gun. Arthur flinched. It was a plastic water pistol … well, he hoped it was.

"Sorry to scare you, sir ... Arthur, wasn't it? She asked.

Arthur nodded, recovering his composure.

"We're off to a birthday party this afternoon for Chloe's cousin," said Emily. "He loves guns and this is the most inoffensive one I could find!"

"Yes, yes," said Arthur, acting more casual then he felt. "Boys do seem to like guns at that age, don't they."

"The last time I saw you, you were a very shaken hero," said Emily. "How have you been since then?"

"Oh good thank you," said Arthur, with his standard reply, and realised it wasn't strictly true. "Actually I've had quite some happenings of late - lost my job, my mother-in-law died, my son's wife left him, I got my job back, sort of ... yes, a few things and in only five days." He smiled at the memories as the film clip of those five days played themselves through his mind.

"My gosh!" Emily said. "You have been having a time of it! And how are you coping with it all?"

"Remarkably well, I thought," he said. "And how have you been?"

"Well, to be honest, not very good," she said gently. "Four days ago my father disappeared and nobody knows where he's gone ..."

"Your father? Gosh!" said Arthur, not knowing what else to say.

"Yes, we usually talk on the phone two or three times a week and he visits every few weeks," she said wistfully. "He's very busy as a director of an insurance company but he always makes time for Chloe and I."

"An insurance company?" asked Arthur quickly. "Not AIL is it?"

"Yes, that's his company! Do you know it ... or him?" asked Emily.

"Yes I do indeed!" said Arthur, forcing a smile. "I've worked for the company for twenty six years. Mr Lord, your father, was the one who gave me the ... who let me go, as they say."

"Oh dear, that must have been very hard for both of you," said Emily, looking concerned. Arthur had not considered that it would have been hard for Mr Lord.

"Do you have any idea where he could have gone?" asked Emily hopefully.

"Heavens no! No idea at all," said Arthur. "I thought he'd been sacked or made redundant or something. Seems like he just didn't turn up on Friday and I assumed he'd been asked to leave. Seems most strange."

"Oh dear, that makes it even worse," said Emily. "No one at all seems to know where he is. I've told the police and got what I thought was a rather cold reception from them. Just made it worse, really. I don't think anyone's looking for him."

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Arthur, finding himself at a loss with this tearful woman. "Would you and your daughter like to come back to our place for a cup of tea? It's a short walk and my wife is very good with things like this."

"Oh Arthur, that's very kind ... but I couldn't ..."

"Of course you can! I insist," said Arthur feeling unusually masterful. "A cup of tea and a nice chat might be just what you need."

"Well, if that's alright with you ..."

"Well," said Arthur, feeling a sense of mission rising in him. "Perhaps if we all put our thinking caps together, we can come up with something. You're not alone," he said, wishing someone would say that to him from time to time.

"Oh Arthur! You're a sweet man!" she exclaimed, loud enough for all the carriage to hear ... or so it seemed to Arthur. His extreme embarrassment was overshadowed by the approaching station, Croydon (although, as Arthur thought in a small part of his brain that wasn't trying to deal with his embarrassment, that station wasn't approaching at all. It wasn't going anywhere, the train was approaching it!).

As they walked up Addiscombe Road, Chloe skipped along between them and Arthur felt light. He hadn't been mugged on his way home by KGB agents and he would soon be in his familiar home with his familiar Joan and all the coziness and peace they evoked. Danger obviously added a poignancy to the people and things he cherished and, well, he might possibly do something to help someone else. He smiled at Emily who seemed to catch his mood and looked happier than when he first saw her on the train.

32 - Birthdays and Nomads

We celebrated Anna's birthday today. Given that most people - older people anyway - don't like getting older, I'm bemused that any of us want to celebrate the only day in the year that we get older … more logical, I muse, to celebrate every other day of the year we don't get older.

Anna remarked, as she sipped her birthday champagne, munched her birthday chocolate and opened another birthday present, that this is the first birthday she's had, since 2003, that is in the same house as the previous year.

The last time I had a birthday in the same house as the year before was in 2000 … what wanderers we are! It must be time to move again … ah, I just remembered that we're moving up to Oxfordshire in 1½ weeks. Whew! Just had the scary thought of staying still for a moment and felt quite overcome with dread! I can relax again …

So, what changes are going on for Mary Collins? Story continued from previous blog ...

Mary knew the situation was dire, that she was in danger, that these thugs could harm her, that they could smash the place and that she had absolutely no idea what to do next - bluff was only going to work for so long, until one of these mutton-heads lost their cool. Maybe this was how ordinary people became brave people, she pondered, while frantically searching her little grey cells for a way out. Maybe situations just became too overwhelming, too surreal, for them to be fully absorbed by the rational brain and so the irrational one kicks in and the unexpected happens. However, this time, nothing else kicked in - Mary was still confronted by two knuckle-dragging pea brains, intent on taking something from the building that didn't exist in the building.

She could, of course, employ the karate-chopping skills of Toby but that would only delay the inevitable - they'd have friends (though, why anyone would want to be friends with twerps like these she could not fathom) and the next wave of rampaging Neanderthals would be worse. Violence never solved violence. Violence only perpetuated itself and she was intent only on transforming their violent intent into something softer or, at the least, to deflecting their violence in another direction, in the way that Toby had explained the basic techniques of his martial art - not stopping their force but turning it either sideways or back on them.

In the split second these conversations with herself went on, nothing much else happened. She waited, they waited and Toby sat serenely behind his high desk, blithely doing something that looked important. As her mind was churning over these bewildering little things, some being took control of her mouth and spoke.

"So, are you two armed," Mary asked, "knives, guns, you know?"

"Uh, yeah …" said Shorty.

"NO!" said Crewcut.

"Oh, no," said Shorty.

"Watcha say that for?" said Crewcut.

"What?" said Shorty.

"Say you had gear?" said Crewcut.

"Oh, dunno, it just came out." said Shorty.

Mary could see that Toby was concentrating very hard on his paperwork and his shoulders were shaking.

"We don't gotta say we got gear, right!" said Crewcut.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," said Shorty.

"Right, so lady, we're not armed," said Crewcut, straightening himself up to his full six foot four.

"We haven't?" asked Shorty.

"No we haven't!" said Crewcut, turning on Shorty.

Mary could hear giggling and saw Toby had tears streaming from his eyes as he could contain himself no longer. It was infectious and Mary started giggling which got Toby going even louder. As he doubled over with laughter, the two intruders looked at each other, confused and then in anger.

"This is not bloody funny!" said Crewcut.

"No, you guys in trouble here," said Shorty, reaching into his belt and pulling out a knife. He held it with the blade down as if to plunge it into something.

"You're not going to hurt anyone holding it like that," said Toby, slowly recovering from his laughing fit and coming round to the front of his desk.

"Oh yes I am … I could," said Shorty.

"Oh no you won't," said Toby. "You see, my ribs are overlapped, like planks on the side of a ship, and if you chop down, the knife will just bounce down my ribs. Here, let me show you." He held out his hand.

"Uh … oh, yeah, OK," said Shorty, taken aback by the surrealism of the moment. He handed his knife to Toby who held it with the blade facing up.

"See, if I go at you this way, it won't bounce down your ribs but will go up between them," said Toby lunging at Shorty and stopping millimetres from his ribcage. Shorty's elbows went up and he took a deep breath, immobilised. Crewcut immediately reached into the back of his belt, fumbled around and a pistol clattered to the floor. Toby, quick as a flash, kicked it across the floor to Mary.

"Don't pick it up, Mary - fingerprints!" said Toby. "Kick it behind my desk! Quick!"

Mary's body reacted quicker than her brain and obeyed Toby's instructions to the letter. Crewcut turned to chase after his gun.

"One move and this knife moves an inch and pierces your friend's heart!" yelled Toby, at Crewcut, who realised Toby had not moved the knife from Shorty's body. Crewcut seemed as paralysed as his friend.

"Wadda I do now?" asked Shorty in a squeaky voice.

"Drop that knife!" came a voice from nowhere and then Mary realised two policemen had come out of the lift, into the corridor.

"Not till you hand-cuff these men," said Toby calmly.

"Drop that knife, young man," repeated one of the policemen, advancing up the corridor. "You're trespassing and you're under arrest for assault."

"I work here, you wallop!" said Toby. These crazies are the trespassers. Now hand-cuff them than - what are you waiting for?"

"How do we know whose assaulting who, Sarge?" asked the second policeman.

"Uh, I … I'm not sure," said number one.

"We damned well work here, you irks," said Toby. "You think we dress in collar and tie to attack people in an office where people wear bovver boots and camo gear? Come on, cuff them. NOW!"

"Uh, yes sir," said number one, leaping forward. "You, sir, are under arrest. Do not move!" Shorty had not moved a muscle for over a minute and remained scarecrow-like. "Get your hands down, behind your back!"

"But you said don't move …" said Shorty plaintively.

"Well, move your hands, clever clogs!" said number one. "NOW!"

Mary wondered who had the lowest IQ - the burglars or the police - and quickly decided it was a dead-heat. She and Toby promised to come down to give their statements, within the half hour and Crewcut and Shorty were led off, still mumbling at each other.

Over a cup of very strong coffee in Mary's office, she and Toby worked out a battle plan to deal with the Atkinson file once and for all. It has started out so simply, this little insurance claim and now it was growing like a nuclear bomb on the horizon … and the horizon was closing in fast. Decisive action was needed.

31 - Mixed Up Poppycock

A little birdie told us that Mercury is in retrograde which, in astrology-speak, means that communications are all stuffed up. Now, I don't quite know if this astrology thing is for real or not but the communications we've been having lately have been mixed up big time!

We've been looking for a new place to rent and, eventually, found one. One of the many problems was the inventory check. We assumed that, like other agents, the inventory list would be part of the service. Oh no!

Unlike other people, we were determined to get to the bottom of this scam and it took several hours of questioning but, finally, the truth came out. Now, the tricky part: if you call an animal a cat and a pussy, it's not two animals but one animal with two names. If the inspectors do one inventory check and call it different things (an inventory and a check-in) they think we'll think it's two separate actions. It's not. What happens is that the real estate agents get someone else to do this inventory check - remember, a little unfurnished house! - and the landlord pays £86 for it. If we turn up at the (little unfurnished) house when it's being done, we also get the privilege of paying another £86 to these inspectors. By paying that we then get the law's protection. If we don't turn up at the allotted time, we are given the inventory list and, if it's wrong, we have no come-back. So, if we don't turn up and the inspector ticks the wrong box and says, in error, that there was a vase on the mantelpiece in the lounge, we then have to go out and buy one. If we turn up and correct the inspector when he ticks the wrong box, he gets another £86 for us doing his job for him.

Now, I do not know how anyone can find the justice in this … except the inspector who gets £172 for doing an inventory check in a little, unfurnished house and having someone help him do it properly.

Someone, please, tell me what part of this is logical … what part of this is fair … what part of this is necessary … what part of this is anything but totally mixed-up poppycock???

So how do Arthur and Mary deal with the communication mix-up? Their story is continued from the previous blog ...

"Oh dear," said Toby approaching them, his lanky legs taking one step to her two. "Isn't that confidential, Ma'am?"

"Yes, yes it is, Toby," she said, mouthing call the police to him. "But it seems these gentlemen have special permission to take it." No they haven't she mouthed as the two fine gentlemen caught up with her.
Toby's frown turned into a welcoming smile. "Pleased to meet you," he said, extending his hand to them. "I'm Toby and you're?"

"Just give us the key!" said Crewcut, without the graciousness of a fine gentleman.

"Ah yes, um, the key," said Toby, thinking aloud. "The key ..."

"Yes, the key mate!" said Crewcut. "Just give it now and we'll be gone. Nothing said."

"Yes, they key," said Toby, backing towards his desk. He smacked his palm to his forehead as if a blinding flash of inspiration had hit him and he laughed noisily. "Of course, I'll just need to phone our security desk. They'll know where the key is!" He backed around the chest-high counter, sat and phoned.

"Look, lady, you said you had the key to da file," said Shorty. "Are you pulling our tits?"

"Pulling what?" asked Mary, genuinely confused.

"Pulling our ... oh, shittin' us, lying to us," said Shorty. "We want that key now or else we'll just have to take the whole damned filing cabinet. What's it to be?"

"Ah, oh dear, I thought it was here," said Mary, stopping in an attempt to keep them as far from Toby's phone conversation as possible. "I forgot security look after all that stuff. I haven't been in this job very long ..."

"You're stalling lady ..." said Crewcut.

"Mary, if you don't mind," said Mary, determined to keep up appearances of being in charge. "And I'm not stalling. But let's be clear about what's going on here. You've barged into our office, uninvited and unannounced. You've demanded, with threats, that we do something which is illegal - hand over confidential files. That will get me into a whole heap of trouble - I could lose my job - and could cost the company a whole heap of trouble with the Financial Services Authority. And you're whining that I'm a bit nervous about all this!"

"Look lady ..." said Crewcut.

"Mary thank you!" said Mary, tartly.

"Uh, look Mary, we got orders, see!" said Crewcut. "We just gotta pick up da file and deliver it. Den we get paid. See?"

"Delivered to whom? Paid by whom?" asked Mary, realising that Toby was trying to smile and nod at her without it becoming evident to the men.

"To George Sand..." said Shorty.

"Hey bozo, we don't gotta say who we're working for! OK?" said Crewcut tersely, grabbing Shorty's collar.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," said Shorty. "It's conden..., it's confild..., oh, secret. See?"

"I see," said Mary. "So what if the whereabouts of the key was confidential ... like who your contact is?"

"Ah, that's goin' to be a big problem," said Shorty, looking at his partner, perplexed. "Mr Sanderson is going to be mighty fierce with us."

"Ah, you dumbo!" sais Crewcut. "Shut your mouth, you're spilling the beans."

"Ah, oh, yeah, guess I did," said Shorty. "Forget I said that."

"Yeah, well, if we don't deliver, we gotta be in a whole heap of trouble, you might say," said Crewcut. "And we prefer you's in trouble den us, so give us da key and we'll be gone and no trouble!"

"Right, yes," said Mary, still wondering what Toby seemed to be trying to tell her - something hopeful, she hoped, but what it could be she had no idea.

"So lady ..." said Crewcut.

"Mary!"

"Oh, sorry, Mary," said Crewcut, missing his place in his script.

"So Mary what?" asked Mary, walking up to him. "So Mary, if we break her arm or smash a hole in this wall, the key will magically turn up, you'll get your precious file and we'll all be deliriously bloody happy! Is that it?"

"Uh, no, not quite," said Crewcut, stepping back a pace. "We don't want to hurt anyone. We were told no damage to people or property. Just get the file."

"You have no idea how relieved I am about that!" said Mary, stepping forward again. "But, right now, you'd love to bust a limb, see some blood, hear a scream. Right?"

"No Ma'am, we just want the file, easy like," said Shorty, coming to his friend's rescue.

"Easy like," said Mary, turning on him and savouring his phrase. "Easy like. All just little lambs in here, these pathetic little clerical types. Say boo and they run. Is that what you thought?"

"Well, yeah, ah no," said Crewcut, looking everywhere except at Mary.

"Yeah, well we don't just bow down to cowards like you trying to muscle in here and stuff us around!" said Mary venomously. "You think you haven't hurt anyone?"

"Well, no ..." said Shorty. "Nobody been harmed."

"You've scared the living bejeezers out of a dozen people, you've stuffed up our day here with your stupid antics and we're all going to have to work late, for no extra pay and we're going to have to beef up our security from now on. You think there's no cost?"

"Well, y ..." said Shorty.

"Well, hell, of course there's a cost!" said Mary, turning on him. "I predict that we're going to have a lot of people calling in sick over the next week or so - your intrusion is traumatic and unwarranted and a lot of people here are going to be upset for months. I hope what you get paid is worth all the heartache, pain and cost you're causing!"

"Look lady ..." said Crewcut.

"Mary!" said Mary, turning back on him.

"Ah shut up! I'll call you what I like, LADY!" shouted Crewcut.

"Ah, so the big man has finally found some balls," said Mary, quietly.