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.

30 - The Smile On The Face Of God

I'm not quite sure what brought this on for I've thought about it before - just not in such a tangible conscious way before.

I've been applying for jobs and, to do that, must submit a CV of my qualifications and experiences. If I'm applying to be a lecturer, I submit my lecturing persona.; for accounting jobs my accounting persona and for writing jobs my writing persona. With five qualifications and may unrelated jobs to my credit, there are many variations of the three main personas I can adopt - business writer, book publisher, personal development facilitator, business coach, university lecturer, book editor, facilitator of men's groups, change manager, accountant, accounting lecturer … they go on, depending on what I think the job advertiser may want to hear.

And where has that got me? Well, I don't have a job yet! So nowhere, really.

All of these qualifications and experiences are, in reality, no more me than the party mask I might put on for a masquerade ball. None of them are who I am - they're just what I've done. They're my history, my used-to-be. They may contribute to who I am (perhaps, perhaps not) but they're not who I am, that changeless being as a creation of God.

And then it hit me, very gently. I am the smile on the face of God. That I have always been, am and ever will be. It needs no explanation, no analysis, no pretending. I drop the masks and it is who I am - the smile on the face of God and, realising that, I know I will be "faced" in the right direction for the next stage in this adventure called life. :)

So, what is next for Arthur Bayly and Mary Collins in their adverture - continued from the previous blog ...

"The alternative is hammers and crow bars, if you insist," said Mary, sensing their uncertainty. "But we don't have those here either and I gather you're in a hurry. Keys are much quicker. Come this way and we'll leave Arthur to get on his way!" As she strode past him she whispered to Arthur, "Go, go now!" and she marched off up the corridor to the lift, fully expecting the two men to follow her. They fell in line with her expectation and followed her obediently.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He was free of them! But, he thought, Mary isn't. What should he do? As relief, fear and confusion swept over him in alternate waves, he felt a tug at his sleeve. He jumped.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir," said an antipodean accent behind him. He turned to see the cheery elfin figure of Halee there with his briefcase. "Sir, right now, you need to take this and go home."

"But where did that come from," asked Arthur, confused. "It disappeared before ..."

"Ah, that's easy, sir, I disappeared it for you!" said Halee with a grin.

"You did?"

"Yup! I did!" said Halee. "They seemed to want it and Mary had warned me someone might want it and shouldn't have it. So I disappeared it for you. Now you must go and all will be well, I promise you."

"But Mary's with those ... those rough men ..."

"Mary's fine, Arthur, just you go or she won't be."

"What?"

"You want me to spell it out?" asked Halee, with urgency. "That bag, in this building, is a lot of trouble for Mary. So you just get going and make it safer for her. You understand?"

"Uh, I think so," said Arthur not understanding at all but knowing that he didn't have to. He just needed to go. "Thank you Halee. Thank you so much."

"That's no trouble at all, sir. Just you get yourself going and don't stop till you're home."

 Arthur turned and walked into two large men in police uniforms.
"Oh, gosh," said Arthur with a feeling of déjà vu.

"That's alright, sir, we're looking for a Mary Collins," said one of them.

"Come with me, gentlemen, and I'll see you later, sir," said Halee waving him away surreptitiously.

Arthur walked rather briskly from the building, down the street and onto the waiting train. The journey home was the longest he had ever known.  Apart from the possibility of being discretely manhandled at the point of a gun at the next stop (thankfully, there was only one stop before Croydon - Clapham Junction), there was the delicate matter of telling Joan ... or not telling Joan. How do you keep something so ... well, so exciting, scary and potentially harmful to her - perhaps to his family and neighbours ... oh my God, where did it end? How do you bottle up such an experience and save others from worry while they should be warned?

-----------

As she led the men up the corridor to the lift, Mary wondered what on God's earth possessed her to do this. What was she going to do with them? What was she going to say to them? She smiled bravely at them as she waved them into the lift. They waited for her - suspicious sods, she thought. The ride to the seventh floor took seventeen seconds but it seemed like a day. She smiled awkwardly at them and they smiled awkwardly back at her but their smiles turned to grimaces as they frowned at each other. Mary wondered if they were as confused as she was. She knew their day had not gone as planned - pop into the office, scare a clerk into handing over a file, disappear from said office, hand over file to Mr X, collect cash and be at the pub celebrating by 10.00 am - and here they were, still in the building, going in the opposite direction of the said file while being led around by the noses by a bossy young woman with no idea of where the file, or its offending key, was. Mary was tempted to laugh but she stifled it on the grounds of health and safety. Her health and safety.

At last they reached her floor, with a momentary hesitation as everybody waited for everybody else to get out. Stupid English, she though, so insanely polite, it's no wonder nothing gets done and the place is falling apart ... but then, neither of them appeared to be English ... oh dear, maybe, just maybe, they're suspicious and want her in front of them so they don't fall into a trap. She almost giggled at the thought as she was, at that moment, quite unable to formulate any plan beyond the next three seconds, let alone make a trap for them! Again, on health and safety grounds, she stifled the giggle ... just.

As she strode off down the oak-panelled passage to her office, she was surprised that these two large men had trouble keeping up with her. Mind you, most people did. She also noticed her secretary, Toby McGuire, rising from his seat with a large, toothy smile to attend her every whim.

When she'd moved into Sam's office, she decided changes needed to be made - not least to help expunge some of her wonderful memories of Sam - so she had told his clueless and probably quite beautiful (in a clueless sort of way) secretary that as she was so meticulous about constantly cleaning and preening herself, she would be perfect to work in the cleaning team, on her ridiculous salary. Strangely, the girl didn't turn up for her first day of cleaning duties. In the meantime, she had plucked young Toby from the third floor processing team where she had noticed, for some time, that his typing skills were exceptional, that he seemed to have a functioning brain and, most importantly, the bounding enthusiasm of a young puppy. It was nice to have a bloke around. It was only later that she discovered he was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. She wasn't sure she'd ever need his brick-chopping skills, but it was, somehow, comforting.

"Ah, Toby, these fine gentlemen are looking for the Atkinson file to take away with them," she said loudly down the corridor, while trying to mouth help silently to him.

29 - The Panic Goes pffttt!

The mind's a funny thing, isn't it! A month ago we were asked to leave our accommodation and job as our wealthy employer has been feeling the bite of the credit crunch - she must now rent her cottage out and cannot afford to employ anyone.

At the time, it was a little scary but, coincidentally, in line with our wishes. We arrived here on Anna's birthday, 5th September 2009, and decided we'd do the four seasons and leave at the beginning of September 2010. A month ago we were told we'd have to leave by 3rd September! Perhaps we actually created the whole scary situation by our stated intention to God, the universe and many friends … who knows?

It's all very well having these wonderful intentions but, when they happen and we've actually got to face the spectre of change, it can be scary.

So, as the 3rd September loomed closer and closer, our stress and adrenalin levels increased, higher and higher, in perfect relationship to the closing of the gap. And still no job has been found and, without a job, we cannot get accommodation as they will not let houses to unemployed people. The 3rd September moved closer, with each passing day, and our stress increased and sleep was harder to have and it was harder and harder to remain in the place of peace that A Course in Miracles suggests for us. The gap closed and the stress and fear grew.

Then, yesterday, eight days before D-Day, when we should have been stressed to overload, something went ppfffttt and then nothing. No stress. No fear. No adrenalin. No anger. Just stillness. Just peace. Just a quiet smile, resignation and, weirdly, we have no answers and really don't care. Maybe the stress is just too much for our tiny minds to encompass so it gives up and stops caring … stops knowing how to care. Maybe it's insanity setting in but who cares! We're currently in peace, in the void and in surrender, which is what A Course in Miracles suggests for us. Maybe we're finally getting it, that nothing matters and it's all just a silly game played out to amuse us while we realise the bigger (real) game of being our true Godliness.

Who knows? I sure as heck don't and knowing that I do not know does nothing but bring the peace I've been looking for for aeons. Aahhh!!

So, what does Arthur do or think when his back's against the wall? His story is continued from the previous blog ...

He thought of Joan and how she'd like him to act - cool and decisively. This was not a natural state for him but, for her, he tried to pretend. He noticed the clock on the wall said 11.37 and that time stuck in his head.

He noticed the black suits, nearly identical, and he noticed that one man, the one who stepped forward - the one with blonde cropped hair and who could have easily passed for an American sailor - had a faint scar from his left ear to his mouth. As he extended his hand a tattoo showed on his forearm, under his cuff-linked shirt cuff.

His colleague was slightly shorter and broader with a shaven head. Arthur noticed that he kept his right hand clenched and was sure the fourth finger was missing.

Then a strange thing happened - perhaps because his focus was strongly on some things and not on others. Anyway, a shadow, a flicker - maybe it was a trick of the light or the dread in his brain - passed the left corner of his eye. It was there and gone and he felt a faint whisper of wind, a zephyr. His left hand felt lighter but he daren't look down; he needed his focus on these men who, he assumed, were Financial Services Authority auditors. Rather more rugged looking than he'd imagined, they had obviously caught the scent - as auditors are wont to do - of whatever intrigues surrounded the Atkinson case. And here he was, Arthur Bayly, walking from the crime scene with the stolen jewels on his person, so to speak.

"Arthur Bayly, I presume?" said the blonde man, a missing tooth marring his smile.

"Ah, yes, correct. Arthur," said Arthur. "And you are?"

"You got da Atkinson stuff ..."

"The Atkinson file," said the shorter man, interrupting his friend. "We just want to ascertain the whereabouts of that information, Sir."

Arthur felt the prickly heat intensify and spread down his neck, as the man moved closer, his sickly deodorant filling Arthur's head. His legs felt a little unsteady. He was determined not to betray the precious information he carried but he couldn't help himself. He glanced down quickly ... and glanced again. The briefcase was not there! He knew he'd carried it out and now it was gone, like a phantom. He glanced around and saw Halee, the receptionist, smiling sweetly at all three gentlemen.

"Excuse me, sirs," she said in her New Zealand accent, "would you like to talk to our director about that?"

"Your director, whose dat?" asked the blonde man.

"Mary Collins, sir, she's our director."

"But we were told ... we need to talk to Arthur Bayly about this," said the shorter one.

"Who should I tell her you are?" Halee asked with great efficiency as she held up her handpiece, ready to call.

"But it's the Arthur Bayly we need to see," said the blonde man, looking a little uncertain.

"Did you have an appointment with Ms Collins, sirs?" asked Halee, apparently unable to hear their wish to see Arthur.

"No, no appointment. We just here to see Arthur Bayly and get the Atkinson file, thank you young lady," said the blonde one, losing his smile.

"Yes Ms Collins, they're here at reception now ... no, they don't seem to have any warrant or authority to take any client files ..." said Halee into her phone piece. Arthur was sure she had not dialled anyone or that anyone was at the other end of the line. However, the two men stepped back a little. "The police? You think I should call the police, Ma'am?" said Halee into her phone.

Arthur suddenly found himself suspended and being carried towards his office.

"Yours is the second on the left, here, isn't it?" said the shorter one, the stench of his bad breath mingling discordantly with his strong deodorant.

"Ah, yes, just here," said Arthur, wondering how he knew.

"Right, so where's the Atkinson file, buddy?" demanded the blonde one.

"Ah, the Atkinson file," muttered Arthur, trying to remember his activities five minutes prior to this. He gulped as he realised the Atkinson file was in two places and neither was in his office. "The Atkinson file," he said again, deciding to act dumb. Though, as he smiled to himself, it wasn't acting at all, really. "It should be in this filing cabinet. I just need to unlock it," he said, fumbling in his pocket for the office keys. They weren't there. Mary had them. "Look, I most awfully sorry, I don't have the keys."

The shorter man dashed to the filing cabinet, knocking Arthur aside, and yanked on the handle, several times. The cabinet tipped towards him, spilling a pile of paper onto the floor. By now Arthur had noticed a growing number of people passing his office, looking in while pretending not to. The two men noticed this, too, and Arthur could tell they were not happy.

"Yes," said Arthur, "it's locked and so I'll just go up and get the keys for you."

"You're not bloody goin' nowhere, buddy," said the blonde chap sharply. "Just open this willya!"

"I … I don't have the key," said Arthur, trying to sound calm and helpful. "I need to get the keys. They're not here, sir."

"Don't sir me, just open the cabinet," said the shorter man, grabbing Arthur by the coat collar and pushing him towards the cabinet. "We haven't got time to piss around. Now open that damned cabinet!"

"I'm very sorry, sir, I don't have the keys," said Arthur turning his pockets out, quickly, to show that he was carrying nothing but a white handkerchief.

"Good morning, gentleman!" said Mary breezily behind him. "What is it you're looking for?"

"The bloody key ..." said the blonde man.

"Ah, the Atkinson file, Ma'am," said the shorter one, frowning at his colleague. "We just need to get the Atkinson file."

"Of course," said Mary happily, walking up to him. "I'm Mary Collins, Regional Director. And we don't keep keys for confidential files down here on this floor. You'll have to come with me."

The two men looked at each other uncertainly. Their quarry was right there - do they risk leaving it?