We live in difficult times.
Barely a month ago I lost a tile from my roof, after 15 years of no such
thing happening at all. And today fate
further victimised me by inflicting a Powercut on my little house while I was
sound asleep!
The day started quite well, actually. I got a good night’s sleep, courtesy of the
radio alarm not going off. I frantically
jumped out of bed at 7 am , rushed to
the bathroom, pulled the cord – and there was no light! The radio was likewise inoperational. Looking out of the window I noticed that (a)
none of my neighbours had any light, either, and (b) that there was an eerie
silence. The storm had brought down a
power line, and half of Oxford was
cut off. Appliances, radiators, and
electric showers, were all in a state of service-denial. Well, what was I supposed to do? Go to work unwashed? I went back to bed, determined to have a flexi day.
Slowly the temperature decreased and the house was getting increasingly
cold. I put on my woollen housecoat and
snuggled deeper under the bedcovers.
Even my head was buried. The
comfort and heat that enfolded my head under the blankets must have jogged my
memory banks, because I suddenly remembered that the cooker ran on gas. Ergo I could make myself a cup of tea if I
heated the water in a saucepan on the hob!
Considerably cheered I hopped downstairs and prepared a nice
cuppa. Then I returned to bed, clutching
yesterday’s newspaper. This was going to
be a day off! What better excuse could a
body have for not going to work? Nor doing
anything else, for that matter? I rather
like not doing anything at all, just quietly sitting drinking tea and minding
my own business. Usually there are
always things to do, cleaning and cooking and washing and tidying and paying
bills and writing e-mails and so on and so forth, so the idea of a quiet day at
home without being able to do anything filled me with serene contentment.
If proof were needed for the intellect-stimulating effects
of tea, I could today supply it, for I had scarcely finished half the cup when
a deeply disturbing thought formed in my innocently happy mind: If I could heat up water on the stove in a small
pot and make a cup of tea, I could surely also heat up water in a large pot and
use it to wash myself, and then go to work!
Try as I might I could not suppress the thought. Even the outraged protest by my newly warmed
up body, cosily ensconced beneath several layers of woolly blankets and quite
happy where it was, thank you very much, viz that it was inhuman! to wash
myself in a bathroom temperature of barely 10 degree Celsius!!!! failed to
overcome my obviously deeply rooted sense of duty towards my employer. Sighing deeply, I went downstairs, filled the
biggest pot I could find with ice cold water and put it on the largest flame,
and returned to bed, depressed and morose.
As the poet says, Duty is an icy burden!
At exactly quarter past eight the water began to boil. A split second
later the radio blared out, the lights went back on again, and the refrigerator
started its customary hum! Whyever did I
bother? It is futile to fight against
one’s fate, all endeavour is pointless, and life would be so much more simple
if we just accepted whatever happened without all this useless effort!
Well I had my shower and got to the office just about on time. I was by no means the only
one thus inconvenienced; for example Teddy Hall served breakfast to their
students by candle light this morning.
But I still feel hard done by.
Sniff!
