Dream Oranges

Oh the weirdest of dreams last night, arising from unknown depths. I moved my car from a parking space and somehow manoevered it into another space, by which time it had become a white van and was axle deep in oranges. I was pleased with my efforts, but when I returned to my vehicle to go home, I realised that I was completely stuck.

This is a fragment of a larger dream which was emotionally charged and vivid, the emotional vestiges of which remained with me all day. I tried to understand it in terms of being stuck in a jam - which might have worked if I was axle deep in strawberries, for example, but being stuck in marmalade seemed a bit strange.

London Trip

A wonderful day out in London with my daughters culminated in a spectacular trip at St Pancras International station. The train was a few minutes from departure time and very crowded, so worldly-wise and much-travelled dad suggested we all step it up a gear and run to the front part of the train. A deft change of direction and sudden acceleration, couple with some temporary miscommunication between brain and feet, led to the fall. My left arm shot forward in Superman style, my spectacles (not X-ray alas) remained on my head but not necessarily over my eyes, my wallet and tickets left my grip, my bag stayed with me. My mobile phone in my trouser pocket survived the impact at the cost to me of a large bruise on my thigh. We laughed about the predictablility of such an event once we secured seats on the train, thankful that I narrowly missed cracking my head on the pillar which necessitated the slight change in direction.

The event triggered memories of earlier falls, the most similar being when I went sprawling at Welllingborough station as I tried rather rashly to change carriages in icy conditions. Thankfully I remained attached to my brief case, otherwise it would have ended up under the train.

Have you ever fallen in public? I suppose one becomes inured to it in time.

Half a Mind

Posting the previous blog reminded me of the signs I saw in Boots during this year's January sales. Items on rows of shelves were being sold for "Half Marked Price!". Helpfully, strategically stuck on some of the shelves were "ready reckoners":

Marked price ....................................... Sale price
£1 ....................................................................50p
£2 ..................................................................£1

and so forth.

I had half a mind to complain about being patronised in this way..... surely anyone who needed this simple reckoner should not have been allowed out with their own money?

Semantically Suspect Shop Signs

The re-emergence of my pal Alliterative Al! The following sign caught my attention yesterday as I rushed through the shopping centre at Luton:

"Every garment £10 and less".


Surely it must be "or less"? Or am I just too pedantic to be let loose in a shopping centre?

When Socratic Questioning Goes Wrong

One of my patients explained she was nervous about telling her husband of her newly discovered pregnancy. In an attempt to help her realise that her husband had played a part in bringing about such an outcome, I asked her who was responsible for the pregnancy. She looked at me in a state of bewilderment, until I explained that I was not for a moment suggesting that it might have been anyone else other than her husband!

More Oranges

In the week of St Valentine's Day, it was pleasing to find that my daily oranges were in fact blood oranges. There was something special about this juxtaposition, and drinking the richly coloured juice was a lovely way to start the day. It made feel feel quite sanguine.

And this was beautifully counterpointed by an orange sun penetrating the early morning fog that curled over the fields on my journey to work.

Nominal Aphasia

I read in the newspaper the other day that Neil Diamond revealed after all these years that it was President John Kennedy's daughter who had inspired him to write his song "Sweet Caroline". I heard it on the radio this morning and recalled the story. In my musings, I then found myself trying to recall the daughter's name - Mary?, Betty?.

I put it down to sleep deprivation - working late last night to prepare a teaching presentation -, overall stress [don't ask!], and possibly age.

Now, what do they call that condition where you can't find the name of something?