The Shyest Boy In The World

For my first 40 years I was the World Champion Shy Person. There were no close contenders for the title; I was the shyest person ever there was. In fact, I was The Original Shy Person, the one whom everyone else learned their shyness from – I was terrified of people, terrified of speaking, terrified of disagreement, terrified of conflict, terrified of upsetting anyone, terrified of upstaging anyone, terrified of looking at people … terrified of the world, really.

I was afraid to speak so I’d mumble so people couldn’t understand me so they would ignore me so I would feel insignificant so my confidence shrank so I mumbled less coherently … a pathetic little viscious cycle.

I don’t know how or why epiphany moments happen but they do. Perhaps, with 40 years' terror stuffed down inside, there wasn’t room for any more and something had to give. Perhaps. I don’t really know. What I do know is that, somehow, I realised I’d let all this terror rule my life and, TA DA!, I was no longer a child and I didn’t to have obey it any more. I do remember walking shyly down the street, feeling terrified that people were looking at me giggling at my silliness. But giggle I did, at the folly I’d made of my life. That night I lay awake for hours, trying to think of ways to get myself over it. No ideas came, then but, in the morning, it hit me like a wet fish across the forehead – why not be a lecturer, standing in front of people all day, communicating verbally, incessantly, and I’d have to make myself be heard, be understood, be listened to.

Full of the fires of transformation, I marched into the local polytechnic and asked if they needed any accounting lecturers. The receptionist looked at me, silently, for a moment and then burst out laughing. I felt mortified, stupid. Then she explained that the previous lecturer had been fired the previous day and they were desperate for a replacement. She was laughing at the synchronicity of my arrival; not at me.

I met the Head of Department and after a chat, she gave me an A4 piece of paper with a course outline on it and told me to create a 17-week course from that. I was panicked but determined and, the following week, I started teaching. I was terrified for six months, every day and every night. As I stood outside the lecture room before each lesson, I had to wrestle my demons to the floor, walk over them and enter the room. I could so easily have walked away a hundred times.

Slowly, the fear subsided and I got it that I had something to contribute. My confidence grew and I started, also, running business courses at the Chamber of Commerce and personal development courses in New Zealand, South Africa and Australia. For a year I nagged a magazine publisher and, eventually, she gave in and published an article of mine. That article had so much feedback I ended up becoming a columnist for that magazine and several others for around ten years. I became the editor of that magazine and then my wife and I took over and published another one. I wrote and published several books, sang and acted on stage, was in two episodes of the TV serial, Xena, Warrior Princess, and I was interviewed on radio and TV.

I had broken out of my shell and there was no going back.

Then I came to the Land of the Shy People … well, I worked for organisations in England where the hottest topic was the weather and people who had worked with each other for 20 years had never visited each others’ homes. I was confused by this insularity, this inability to venture an opinion or a holiday to anywhere they’d not previously been. I’d returned to my closed-in childhood all over again!

I had trouble getting jobs in England and it was suggested that I tone down my exuberance … which I didn’t see as exuberance at all; I’m just me and others not like me are not-exuberant.

So I wrote a novel about it – The Importance of Being Arthur – a man who is all the closed-down men I ever commuted with on the train and tube to London and who I worked with. I’m sure most of them are itching to break out of their shells. In the novel Arthur breaks out but I wonder how many do in real life.

It’s a scary and exhilarating experience and neither Arthur nor I can go back – why would we want to?

Superman Changes His World

I am truly amazed but no longer surprised, given the number of miracles I've experienced. "Amazed at what?" you may ask. At the power I have for changing my world.

"Yeah, right!" you may say if you're from Australasia. "You're in England and that place doesn't change. The banking, roading and education haven't changed in centuries, attitudes are rooted in an Empire long since dead and even new homes look old. The plumbing is archaic …" and on and on you might go. And, yes, if you look at any country - the whole world, even - nothing ever changes. We're still fighting and cheating, whoring and beating, loving and generous as ever we were. We just use different toys to do it all with now.

I haven't changed the world.

I've changed my world - a very different thing.

You see, Anna and I came to this unchanging England in April 2008 and, in many ways, we've had a horrendously difficult time. The credit crunch closely followed our arrival, I lost jobs in particularly callous ways, new jobs were hard to find, friends were hard to find and, though we got on and experienced everything we could in this strange and ancient land, it did us no favours.

Then we had one of those moments, those Aha! moments. Actually, it wasn't a short moment but, rather, a slowly dawning Aha! moment. You see, while Olde Blighty was being cruel to us, we realised we were being cruel to it; criticising and harshly judging everything and everyone we came across.

We decided to change our minds and that takes longer than changing your undies. To change our mind took constant, constant vigilance and an undoing of all we've been doing over our combined 110 years. We kept at it, recognising judgement, letting it go, seeing criticism arise within, letting it go … on and on.

As we changed our minds, so our (not the) world changed. We became more loving and accepting of the English and their ways and they became more loving and accepting of us. As we became more generous of them, they became more generous of us. We were even, eventually, invited into peoples' homes for dinners, a HUGE step of acceptance, we discovered, for the English.

As our judgement ceased, our love and acceptance kicked in and we kicked off into a whole new world of deliciously and delightfully enthusiastic and supporting English people, with the people of the Wychwood Project and the West Oxfordshire Writers (WOW) group among our amazing new acquaintances.

We knew all this in our heads but we had to throw ourselves into a foreign land and work it down into our hearts to see the miracles at work. The world we see is a perfect reflection of who we are and we're all shards of the ONE big mirror.

So, next time someone says to you, "I'll look into that," you know they're probably looking into their own mirror to change their world … and yours!

Now, how is Arthur's world changing? His story continues from the previous blog ...

"That's Amanda!" said Joan, leaping out in front of Amanda's car, waving her to where their cars were parked. Amanda was wearing civilian clothes under a heavy jacket. Arthur wondered whether she had any police equipment under the jacket as Joan explained to Amanda why the police had not been called.

As Dominik led them on a winding path and behind immaculately trimmed hedges, the maze and from tree to tree, it seemed eerily different, quieter than it had been that morning. Then he realised there were no gardeners around and no machinery noises. They must have stopped work early for some reason. The only sound, apart from his drumming heart and the panting around him, was the crunching of gravel as the two men sauntered to and fro in front of the colonnaded steps in front of the mansion.

"I think we need to go round the back, Dominik," whispered Arthur as he tapped Dominik on the back.

"I think this too, Mr Arthur," said Dominik, stopping to confer. Arthur bumped into him and then heard two more oofs as more bumping-into-others occurred down the line.

"Damn! My glasses!" said Martin, two people behind Arthur.

"Martin, do be quiet!" whispered Arthur urgently.

"But they're my Bolé glasses, bloody squashed!" said Martin, quieter now. "Sorry …"

"Amanda, can you please come up the front," whispered Arthur, waving her forward.

"Yes?" she asked as she crept forward.

"Perhaps you stay just behind Dominik; it might be important for you to identify those chaps over there," whispered Arthur, pointing to the two men in front of the mansion, apparently guarding it. He wondered why he suddenly thought of this. "They may relate to your investigation."

"Mmm, good thinking, Arthur," whispered Amanda, smiling. Arthur noticed her right hand went to her belt, under the left side of her jacket. He wondered even more about what she might have under that heavy jacket. He shuddered in the warm afternoon sunlight.

"Everyone else alright?" whispered Arthur, looking back down the line of the smiling, nodding people. Joan seemed to be a little out of breath, wiping sweat from her brow, but he knew about her determination when pushed into a corner. Toby was looking remarkably calm, almost meditative, seemingly untroubled by his trussed-up shoulder. What an interesting bunch of saboteurs, Arthur thought … The Magnificent Seven came to mind as a name. So did the Seven Swashbucklers.

"Right, Dominik, let's go," whispered Arthur with unaccustomed authority.

They started off and, just as quickly, stopped and Arthur realised they'd come to the end of the hedge and they were about to step into the open, with occasional trees dotting the expansive lawn.

"We need make running to side of house," whispered Dominik. "How we not be seen?"

"Everyone find stones," whispered Amanda to everyone. "The bigger the better."

Everyone looked puzzled but Toby and Martin set to picking out flint stones from the perfectly-weeded soil. They came up to her with a handful each.

"You keep your stones, Martin, and I'll take yours, aah …" whispered Amanda.

"I'm Toby," said Toby.

"Thanks Toby, I'm Amanda," whispered Amanda, smiling and taking his stones. "When I give the word, we'll throw them over there, past those guys, Martin, and then we'll make a dash for the side of the house. Right?"

Everyone nodded. Martin, a happy, glazed look in his eyes and Amanda, serious and composed, braced themselves.

"One at a time, quickly, and as far as you can," she whispered to Martin. "One, two, three!" A volley of stones flew over the other side of the park grounds and thudded to the ground. The two guards turned suddenly and rushed towards the sound as the Seven Swashbucklers dashed across the open space and crashed, one by one, against the tall plastered wall of the west side, bumping into each other, smiling and panting like a group of naughty school children.

Given that anyone with a modicum of common sense will realise that stones landing must have arrived from somewhere not in the sky, the guards quickly surmised which direction these mystery stones flew from. As this realisation took effect, fractionally slower for them than the average toddler, they turned, looked at each other quizzically, pointed in various directions, grunted intelligently and then ran back in the approximate direction from which said stones may have originated. They stopped at the front steps, like returning homing pigeons, uncertain whether to leave their accustomed nest or to venture on. This second option seemed like a good one so they took off again in the same approximate direction they were headed.

Thankfully, the Seven Swashbucklers had departed this particular spot, thirty seconds before, and they were now dashing along the west wall, trying not to bump into each other, not always with success. They all attempted to follow Dominik's lead, crouching below windows and dodging around topiary trees - again, not always with success as sharp shrubbery impacted with soft skin, bringing forth oomphs and aahs. Soon an alcove presented itself and they followed Dominik into its small, shaded sanctuary, just as the two guards reached the corner of the house. Difficult though it is to pant madly with no sound at all, they all managed it with moderate success as Dominik struggled with the solid oak door with its rusty, medieval ironmongery. Opening the door was relatively easy for a man of Dominik's strength. Opening it quietly was another matter as rust, unaccustomed to moving, screamed its discordance into the sunlit gardens.

The guards heard the graunch of metal and looked at each other as if to say, with one accord, "Well, do we run after that sound or, like the stones, realise it's a ruse and run the other way?" No immediate answer emanated from God, the gardens or any other source and so they faltered, unable, it seems, to consider the possibility of one remaining and the other investigating the sudden sound. Siamese twins had nothing on these two for synchronised movement.

These precious moments of indecision gave the alcove-huddlers just the time they needed to squeeze through the small opening Dominik was able to effect and to allow the door to be slammed shut and the inner bolt secured, barring further entry from outside.

The Novel's Finished

The novel's finished and we're editing it - that will be finished in a few days. Then just need to find a literary (writers) agent - does anyone know one? The tentative title, thought up by Anna, is The Importance of Being Arthur.

Now that it's finished, I know what it's about but we continue with the story from the last blog ...

"Oh," said Mary, reverting to her favourite word for now. "You seem to know a lot about it?"

"Yeah, that's another reason I'm on the other side of the world, here in London," said Halee, suddenly serious. "I fell in love and we were to be married … oh, hell, it would have been our anniversary next week, actually. Then he was diagnosed with cancer, lymphoma, and was gone two months later. I just couldn't stand to be reminded of anything about him so I ran and here I am." She wiped her eyes quickly. "Oh heck, I didn't mean to talk about this now. How's my mascara?"

"It could do with some repair, actually," said Mary, surprised and relieved by the quick return to practicalities. "Fix yourself up and we'd better get going … oh, gosh, which toilet do I go to, the men's or the ladies'?" Both of them smiled and Halee slipped off to patch herself up while Mary nodded imperceptibly to Ahmed as he passed again, thinking that he looked very exotic and handsome in his traditional dress. She also wondered about love and, if something happened to Sam, what would she do. Would she run to forget, like Halee? Would she work harder to forget? She tried to shake off the thoughts that really didn't want to let go.

"Right, let's go, shall we?" suggested Halee perkily as she returned.
The two women marched off down the street looking, in the artificial glow of the lights, like a very happy and in-love couple - chatting, smiling and, under it all, terrified of what might happen next. They arrived at the blue door a few minutes early, saw no one there, looked at each other nervously and then nodded in assent. Without speaking, their minds agreed that they keep walking and return to the door at the exact time. Mary was bemused at how their thinking was synchronised. Slightly comforted by seeing Ahmed stopping outside Pizza Express, and then going inside, they continued their jaunty (and nervous) way down Charing Cross Road, towards Trafalgar Square.

Back at the blue door, at the stoke of nine o'clock, Mary's heart skipped a beat as she saw Sam lounging in the shadow of the doorway. He looked gaunt, unshaven but smiling bravely.

"Give me the case, keep walking and return in three minutes," he said quickly, seriously.

"Oh … oh, yes, here it is," said Mary, her body drawn to him as a lizard to the sun.

"Go Mary, you must go now," said Sam, his hand at her shoulder, pushing her on.

"Yes, yes, we're going," she said dumbly as she felt Halee pulling on her sleeve.

"Bother!" said Mary, angry and confused as they turned the corner into Orange Street. "Why does everything turn to mush, just when it starts to come right?"

"Yeah, my thoughts entirely," said Halee, bitterly. "The stupid universe sends you this wonderful man and, just when love hits, whips him away. It's so unfair!"

"Oh, Halee, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you too. I was just thinking of myself," said Mary, her own angst dissolved a little in the care of another.

"That's okay, Miss Collins," said Halee, smiling through her tears. "I suppose I've got to talk about it, deal with it, let it go sometime, don't I? I've been running from it too long."

"And how long has this all been since he … passed away?" asked Mary, sensing Halee's pain.

"Oh heck, about four years now. I thought I had been coping with it all so well, till now," said Halee grinning through her tears. "It's all your fault!" They both laughed.

"Try saying naughty naked knees," said Mary. "It always made me laugh when I was young."

"Naughty naked knees!" yelled Halee into the night. They both laughed again while passers-by looked around.

"Okay, let's get back on the case. Our three minutes are nearly up!" said Halee, taking Mary's arm and steering her around. "Let's do the deed and do it well. No faltering this time."

"Okay for you to say," said Mary smiling grimly as the fear and longing threatened to drown her. They slowed at the door again and Sam was there with the briefcase.

"Take the case, Mary, take it home and I'll try to ring you in an hour," said Sam efficiently, quickly. "I'll do my best to call you then. Go now, my dear and, remember, you'll see all in the clear light of morning."

Mary faltered again, despite her determination not to this time.
"Go, my dear, go!" whispered Sam earnestly. She felt Halee pulling on her arm. She took the case from Sam and left, determined not to think or to look back. "Yes, the clear light of morning. Now go, my dear, go!"

As they rounded the corner, back into Orange Street, Mary stopped and leaned against a shop window, relieved they'd made the exchange safely … whatever it was they'd exchanged. She realised, only then, that her heart was thudding and she was sweating like a Turkish wrestler. Her body was quivering and she found it difficult to stand upright. She had no idea of the dangers they might have expected but, now they were over, the feeling of release was overwhelming. She looked up and saw Ahmed across the street, waving to her, animatedly … angry, perhaps.
"Come on, Miss Collins, we can't stop now," said Halee. "Let's rest when we get you home."

"I just need to catch up with myself now that it's over," said Mary, breathing heavily.

"It's not over yet," said Halee. "We still don't know if we were delivering something or taking something away for Mr Lord."

"Oh you're right!" said Mary, her body suddenly in charge again. Ahmed was trying to cross the street, dodging the continual stream of cars, taxis and buses. "What's Ahmed want?"

"I think he wants us to keep moving," said Halee, pulling on Mary's arm again.