Life Is a Serious Business (4 page)

All he could think of was wide open spaces

and inhaling the aroma of freshly mown hay.

He did notice that the new air vent system he was installing

was positioned nearer the window ope than normally

but assumed there was a valid reason for it.

Pete, the plasterer, was at work inside the window ope.

He had an adept insight into the equestrian world

and had had a most productive weekend across the water.

He was far too polite to refuse his hosts hospitality

and didn't want to appear ungracious.

But unfortunately he had overindulged a little,

in the excitement of his good fortune.

So what's a little difference between the plaster depth

on one side or the other?

Bob, the bulkhead man, had just started an interior design course

the previous weekend and had realised that he had a real

talent for design.

Now he knew that the architect had specified the height

of the bulkhead

Secretly Bob felt it was not the optimum height

and thought it would be much more aesthetically pleasing

if he were to drop the ceiling just a little more.

My name is Assumpta and I address windows.

Well I normally anticipate everything and assume nothing.

In another occupation it would be called paranoia.

But I had just found my creative side and was a little

preoccupied that week.

By Friday, Sammy had made up with his wife,

Freddy was much more grounded,

Alan had got his car fixed and was pleasantly surprised

as to how reasonable the repair costs were.

Don had got a favourable response from his bank.

Pete had recovered his equilibrium

and was back in form.

Bob decided he might just complete

the interior design course

before he orchestrated any more changes

and they had all moved on to the next assignment.

Friday was also the deadline date

and innocent Assumpta arrived on site

to install the blinds and curtains based on

measurements taken weeks earlier.

By this stage I was the only one left to face the wrath of…..

Oh! Apologies, Where are my manners?

Did I not introduce you to the architect?

His name is Alphonis, charming man,

but he had a vision and what he saw was clearly not that.

“The hems are crooked!” Well, actually No, it's the floor….

“The curtains are billowing!”

Well, actually, it's the position of the radiator….

“The curtains are too long!”

Well, No, the bulkhead has dropped……

“If you think I am going to sanction these extras

to move alarm boxes and adjust air vents!”

“The blinds do not fit!” Well actually Pete….

But how could I possibly divulge

Sammy's domestic difficulties,

Freddy's new found religion,

Alan's motor problems,

Don's aspirations,

Bob's ambitions

and Pete's predilection?

So what did I do?

I sat down and in absolute and utter frustration

I wrote the following ode………..

The above scenario depiction

Is purely a work of fiction

And all the characters mentioned

Are entirely by me invented.

Oh for the perfect window ope,

Devoid of glass or frame,

Unshackled by skirting, floor, walls or door,

Unencumbered by sensor, bulkhead, fan coil or duct,

Adorned by static, inert, obedient drape,

Or bracketless, cordless, crankless blind,

In only one colour and size.

Is this sent to mock or deride?

Oh No, I say, long live the rebellious warp and weft,

The blind of every colour and hue,

The window of every size and shape,

The challenge to create,

Not tantalise and frustrate.

The solution? Wait?

No. The deadline insists,

Anticipate.

I still buy my perfume in the duty free,

White Linen by Estee Lauder is the one for me.

Week before Christmas in the local victuallers

Placing my order for Christmas requisites

Assistant with that effervescent good humour

Assures me of the best on offer.

Heads together perusing order book,

He says enquiringly “White Linen?”

“How did you guess?”

“I buy it for a lovely lady.”

And I think ” A lucky lady.”

Months later at penthouse level,

Building site, hard hats,

Architect discussing layouts.

Heads together, perusing drawings,

He says enquiringly,

“May I ask you a very personal question?

What's that lovely perfume you are wearing?”

“White Linen.” I reply,

“I think I'll buy it for a lovely lady.”

And I think “ Another lucky lady!”

I am of the firm belief that people who write self help books,

Have never worked on a building site.

Take one of the more recent offerings,

Be impeccable in your speech.

Why do you think people who work on building sites

wear hard hats?

If a heavy object is descending at the speed of light

from the seventh floor

And you happen to be in its line of descent,

I think the odd expletive is perfectly acceptable.

Do not take things personally.

I am a sub contractor for goodness sake!

Who is going to look after my interests if I don't?

The main contractor is far too busy

To bother concerning himself with me.

Communicate.

I don't have time for idle gossip. I have a deadline to keep.

Just do the best you can.

That's all very well.

But why should I have to pay for the extras

Just because one of the other subcontractors

is having

a bad hair day?

Time has a habit of moving along,

And some of these offerings in the past they belong.

Old age is beckoning, say the powers that be,

But when have I even listened to thee?

Researchers have explained, in logically terms,

Why it is we all change our forms.

But have they not heard of camouflage or wile?

So for now, I will shuffle on with beguile.

Imagination and smoky mirrors

Are all that I need,

So watch out old age,

You're not getting me!

If you find this a little facetious,

The next one may appear less specious;

But be warned, it's not very pleasant,

So feel free to stick with the present.

Old age is a pain and a curse,

But sadly it befalls most of us.

I wish I had lived in a medieval time,

When man reportedly died in his prime.

To think of the efforts I've made,

With diet, pilates and exercise crusade.

Bridges and implants and crown,

All to come tumbling down.

Three score years and ten,

Is the life expectancy of men.

Seventy is the new fifty, I am told,

So I have twenty more years of this hell hole.

Arthritis, colitis and varicose veins,

Liquid diets, roughage and zimmer frames.

My lungs are the colour of soot,

My digestion is shot, my eyesight's kaput.

No wonder men no longer make passes,

Has anyone seen my glasses?

And the tablets I take, red ones, pink ones and blue,

And ones for my blood pressure too.

Hear the old crone in me cackle,

Please don't shake me, I rattle.

Whoever said old age reveals your spiritual side,

Was probably twenty and definitely svelte.

I had a vision of a nice nursing residence,

But my children have emigrated with their inheritance.

So I guess I will just have to hope,

That they find the elixir of youth.

Sneer, if you will, but at your peril,

Old age is a persistent bedfellow.

Forward ordering for Spring

Two little old ladies, feeble of feet,

Finding the stairs a little steep,

“Who is it today?” I ask, voice aquiver,

“It's that new shop I told you about.”

“What?”

“It's that new shop, I told you about,

Remember?”

“Oh Yes, I must have forgotten.”

“What's the colour for Spring?”

“It wouldn't suit you,” she kindly replies,

“It wouldn't match the colour of your eyes.”

I have taken up a new hobby,

It is called extreme rollerblading.

It is a relatively new sport,

No preconceived notions

And anyone can compete.

So, On your marks, Get set, Go………