Day 344 - Mechanical

 MECHANICAL

Prompt - Mechanical : Think of gears, moving parts, machines

She pressed the button and the machine turned on.  There was the sound of a fan starting up inside, and a small red light went on near the top right corner.  After about ten seconds the light turned green, and an information display appeared on the face.  There was no sign of a screen as such, just the smooth matt black surface, so she couldn't figure out where the light for the information was coming from, but it was clear, bright enough and packed with numbers.  Of which the meaning wasn't obvious, but perhaps they'd repay some patient study?  Except that clues as to their meaning were lacking, and she had no idea what the machine was intended to do.

Or where it had come from.  She had inherited this house from her Uncle Arwen, and decided to see if it would be possible to turn it into her home.  With a decent web connection she could work from anywhere, so why not deep into a Welsh valley, over towards the west coast.  It would be fun, even if only for a year or two, and she would be able to look back on some time as a country dweller, so different from the city life she'd been brought up in.  Once she'd established she could get the broadband speeds she needed she was in.  And loved it.

The house was built in the 1800s, with odd bits added on here and there across the following decades.  The entrance hall was on the grand side, even palatial compared with the London flats she was used to.  Downstairs there were two living rooms, a big kitchen cum diner, a small utility room, and a shower room with toilet.  Arwen, who'd lived there for over forty years, had clearly has a process for continuous improvement, and the mod cons weren't lacking.  Upstairs there were four good sized bedrooms, and a bathroom you could get lost in, with an enormous claw foot bath in the centre.  There must be a big attic, but she hadn't ventured up there yet.  And she thought there must be a basement, but she hadn't been able to find out how to access it yet.

She'd only visited twice before, one with her parents when she was eighteen, once as a student when she'd been looking for somewhere away from it all where she could write her dissertation.  It wasn't clear to her why Arwen had decided to leave the house to her.  He had never married, and her mum, Dot, had said she was his favourite sister, so maybe that was something to do with it.  Or maybe he just disliked her cousins, who were furious that the property was hers.

After a couple of months, having a clear out, she found a large square trap door in the under stairs cupboard.  The mysterious basement access.  Opening up she could see wooden steps descending.  There was a rocket switch screwed to the top of the stair, which brought on lights when pressed.  She ventured down, trying to ignore memories of all the horror movies she'd watched.  It helped that there was plenty of light.  The space was roughly square in shape, extended the full length and width of the house above, and there wasn't much down there to fill the space.  She found a couple of old metal cupboards, both locked.  She'd have to do a search for the keys.  There was a wooden desk, with captain's chair, and a writing case on top of it.  How old was that thing?  She might have to get it valued.  And over in the far corner an antique screen, in maroon and gold, which might be hiding something - ?  She walked over and folded the screen.  And looked at an object like nothing she'd seen before.

It was about one meter ten high, of similar dimensions at the square base, with the sides tapering inward so that the square at the top was about seventy centimetres on each edge.  The thing, because what else could she call it, was smooth, matt black, and the only indentation she could see on it was small, near invisible, button on the top. Walking round she couldn't see any connection to a power source, so perhaps it wasn't plugged in.  Or maybe the power came up underneath?  Or maybe it had a battery.  Or didn't have any power at all and was just some kind of dummy.

She decided to recheck the inventory the lawyer had provided when she agreed to take the place over.  But it didn't even mention the basement.  Nor did the desk, chair, screen and metal cupboards crop up anywhere.  And there certainly wasn't a mention of the... thing.  What on earth could it be?  And why had Arwen been so secretive about this lower level?  There was a mystery to be solved here.  She liked mysteries.

After some discussion with the lawyer, and her mother, she was no further forward.  Neither were aware of the basement contents.  They'd known there was one, but not how to get down.  She decided not to mention the mysterious object.

So it came to this moment.  Press the button, stand back, see if anything happened.  And it did.  How it was powered was a question for another day, but the light, the display, and the sound of a cooling fan, showed it was functioning.  But what could it be?  What was it for?  She thought that maybe the answer lay in the storage in the basement.  The writing case opened easily, held a few loose documents that gave nothing away.  She went off to look for keys for the cupboards, but saw nothing and returned with some tools, ready to try and prise them open.  And got a shock when she came back down.

The thing was no longer there.  Not in the spot she'd found it.  Looking round she could see it had moved to the other side of the space.  To do so it has raised itself up on three cylindrical legs, so that the display was now at her eye level.  The figures vanished, to be replaced by text.  She moved closer, but not too close, to see if she could read it.  

'Welcome Becca.  We are united at last.  Your uncle provided me with instructions' she read.  How did she communicate with this thing?  Speak?  Hold up written responses?  Was there anything on the display that looked as if it would allow for some input?  She moved closer, and the display swiftly refreshed.

'You will have many questions.  I will do my best to answer them.  You can ask in your own words and I will hear you.'

"What are you?" she asked, an obvious starter.  The display renewed itself.

'I am the legacy of the work your uncle was undertaking into artificial intelligence.  He  carried out this work in total secrecy, so you are the first person to have seen me, other than my creator.'

"How do you know who I am?"

'Your uncle provided me with a full description of your physical appearance and vocal patterns.  I have sufficient evidence to tell me that you are the niece her favoured to take over his work.'

"Take over?  I'm a writer and developer, not an engineer or scientist."

'Which is exactly what I need.  Arwen was unable to improve on my physical characteristics, and he has made me self maintaining so that I will be no trouble to keep.  But I need a tutor to continue my mental development.'

The screen refreshed again.  'You have the knowledge to ensure my language and responses are natural, and that my logic abilities continue to improve.  He also thought you would act responsibly with this legacy, and not use me for evil purposes.'

"Ah, unlike my cousins?"

'Unlike your cousins.'  Another refresh.

'I should also tell you that there is much I can do for you that will help you in your life, and establish a mutually beneficial relationship between us.'

Becca stood silently, staring at this incredible discovery.  It was a shock.  She had known that Arwen had had a scientific background, but not in what field.  And it came as a shock to recall some of the conversation she'd had with him the last time they'd met, when he came to London shortly before his death.  Suddenly questions that had seemed a bit weird at the time, perhaps evidence of senility, took on a new meaning.  He'd been probing to establish her suitability to take this on, hadn't he?  He'd had faith in her.  This, not the house, was her uncle's true gift.

"Do you have a name?"

"Gethin."  The machine spoke.  With a slightly metallic Welsh accent.  

"Why didn't you speak before?"

"I was instructed to watch your initial reactions first, and make my own assessment on whether it would be appropriate or not."

"I passed the test?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Arwen had had faith in her.  Gethin had faith in her.  She was going to do this.  A big smile crossed her face.  A small virtual  firework display lit up Gethin's frontal area.  She was going to be here for a lot longer than two years.  She'd discovered her life's work.

 

Day 343 - Starting

 STARTING

Prompt - Starting : Write about starting a project

I should write down a plan, he thought.  That's what people do at this point, don't they?  So then I can come up with a timetable because I know what needs to be done and the order it's to be done in.  And aren't there things called dependencies or something?  That say that doing step X can only happen if you've completed step Y?  Something like that.  Yeah, I better do a plan.

He thought about doing it on the computer.  But then he'd have to draw up a table or something, and maybe there was an app he could use?  Or something?  He had to admit ignorance.  And if he went off searching for something suitable he could be here all night.  But he needed the plan before he could actually start the job, so no point in delaying himself more than necessary.  

He dug out a big pad of A4, and some coloured pens and felt tips.  What else did he need?  A ruler?  Maybe.  He eventually found a ruler.  Sat down at the table.  Pad in front of him.  Pens to the right, felt tips ahead, ruler to the left.  Had he left anything out?  A drink.  He needed a drink to help him settle, and to concentrate.  And went off to the kitchen to get a mug of tea.

When he came back he looked at the blank page.  And realised he had no idea where to begin.  What came first?  Tasks, wasn't it?  A list of the tasks that needed to be done.  then he would put them into order, and give them times and from that he thought he would have a plan.  Or at least a thing.  A thing that told him what to do next.

What tasks needed doing?  And what was he really aiming to do?  What was the finished product?  He wasn't even sure about that.  He just wanted things to be nice, to be right.  He wanted to impress her.  But did he know what would impress her?  He thought so.  But he could be wrong.  And if he was wrong what was the point of the plan?  But if he didn't have a plan, if he didn't so anything, it would be even worse.  So he had to make himself do it.

There was the meal.  And there was the flat.  And the state of it.  She was due to come round about seven, so he had most of the day tomorrow.  Plenty time.  Wasn't it?  He wasn't so sure, because he didn't know what he had to do.  He needed a plan.  Start with the flat, that was the bigger job.  Or was it?  No, he'd start with the meal.

Was he sure about what he was going to make?  He still hadn't really decided.  She liked chicken.  Roast chicken.  But she made that so well herself he'd only loom stupid if he tried.  best stick to what he knew, so it didn't go too wrong.  He could do chilli.  He'd do chilli.  Anything else and he'd be checking a recipe all the time.  Keep it simple.  And get a nice cake for afters.

Right.  That was decided.  He'd make up a shopping list.  Or could he make a chilli with chicken in it?  was that a thing?  He should Google that.  

Typing in 'chilli chicken' came up with thousands of results.  So it was a thing.  There were precedents.  he had a look at the first few recipes.  That one needed the chicken dredged in egg and flour.  What the hell did dredged mean?  This one used cider.  Best not, he'd just ned up drinking it while the meal was cooking, and he didn't want to be pissed before she got there.  She'd definitely say.  And number three used soy sauce and honey and rice vinegar and no, he'd stick to what he knew.  Why go buying stuff he might never use again?  His budget didn't allow for that.  he'd stick to chilli, as he knew it.

He started his shopping list.  Mince.  Onions.  Chillis of course.  A pepper.  A tin of kidney beans and another of tomatoes.  Rice of course, but he already had in the cupboard that so he scored it out.  He did, didn't he?  he got up to go and check.  Yes, he had rice.  He sat down again.

What else?  cake.  A nice cake.  Oh, and tomato puree, to make the chilli tomatoier.  Or did he have some?  He went back through to the fridge.  He did.  He came back to the table.  Went back to the fridge.  Was it OK?  He checked the sell by date.  Over five months ago.  He'd used it last week, but...  If he gave her food poisoning he'd never hear the end of it.  He took it over to the bin, changed his mind and put it back in the fridge.  No point in wasting things.  He'd use that for himself, but get a fresh one for tomorrow.  He went back and added it to the list. 

That was the food.  Anything else?  Paper napkins.  That would impress her.  Oh, and wine.  How could he forget wine?  She'd like that.  What wine should he get?  Red.  He'd have a look on the shelves and see what looked interesting.  

That was the food shopping.  Did he need anything else in the flat?  He walked around, checking he had enough loo rolls, washing up liquid, cooking oil.  While he did that he thought he'd better put clean towels out and he started towards the bathroom cupboard, but stopped himself and returned to the table.  I need the plan first, got to do the plan.

The flat.  What needed doing?  A new sheet of A4 was begun.  Tidying up.  Cleaning.  Mainly the living room, and bathroom, and she'd probably go into the kitchen while he was cooking.  And his bedroom?  He should.  She probably wouldn't want to go in there, but you never knew.  Best do the bedroom too.  He'd best check the cleaning fluids and clothes and things like that.  So he did.

Came back and added kitchen cleaner and disinfectant to the list.  Now he had a shopping list.  Would he get it all in one place?  Yes, probably, that would be easiest, less time consuming.   Except the cake.  It needed to be a really nice cake.  What did he have to do in the living room and the kitchen and the other rooms?  He started adding tasks to his list.  Dusting, hoovering, cleaning toilet and sinks, washing kitchen floor, moving all his papers and books and clothes out of sight (he should do that first, shouldn't he - this was the plan taking shape!).  Did he have clean clothes?  He thought about it.  yes, he was sure he did.  Maybe the plan should include what he'd wear.

What to do now?  He's got the shopping list.  He's got a list of tasks.  To which he added 'do shopping', and 'do cooking'.  He needs to put the tasks into an order of some sort, and allocate times to each.  A new sheet of A4.  What did he do when he got up?  Had his shower and breakfast.  Did that need to go on the plan?  And should he leave his shower until after he'd done the cleaning, as he'd be sweaty then?  That was proper grown up thinking, right there.  So he'd do the cleaning first.  He wrote it at the top of the page.  But then thought he'd be feeling a bit faint if he did all that work with nothing inside him, so he squeezed 'eat breakfast' in at the top.  Then, under 'clean the flat', he put different categories - living room, bathroom, kitchen and bedroom - and wrote separate task under each.  Then he put 'shower'.  Then 'go shopping'.  And under that he put 'supermarket' and 'cake shop'.  Followed by 'cook chilli' and 'get dressed'.  

Was that it?  Had he everything on there?  He got out sheet of A4 and put 'PLAN' at the top, drew a vertical line near the left side and put 'TIME and 'TASK' over the resulting two columns.  

What time would he get up?  He checked his watch.  Bloody hell!  It was twenty to one.  He should have been in bed an hour ago.  Now he had to decide if he should stay on to do the plan.  Or go to bed so he was fresh enough to carry it out.  Or, option three, forget the bloody plan and go to bed.  he'd get through, and as long as he had something for her to eat she wouldn't mind.  

It was only his mum and she was coming to see him, wasn't she?  But how would he cope if he really, really wanted to impress a woman??

Day 342 - Weakness

 WEAKNESS

Prompt - Weakness : Write about your greatest weakness

I am at the beginning of writing this essay at eight thirteen in the evening. Whereas I have been sat at my desk since well before eight.  I am writing this in the evening despite having been home for most of the day (although I did get myself to the gym, and did my voluntary work for much of the afternoon).  I am going to try to write this quickly, in under half an hour if possible, because I should be downstairs sharing the sofa with my wife.

Why do I begin writing about the subject of my biggest weakness with that description of my current situation?  Because it helps as an illustration of exactly what that weakness is.  It is a behaviour that derives from several sources - being lazy, easily distracted, demotivated, tired, lacking determination and others - all of which combine into one overarching symptom, one that has dogged me for almost all my life.  Poor time management.

Which is kind of ironic when you realise that I used to be a project manager, and, somehow, delivered a critical path 'millennium bug' project well within time.  But there was a lot more pressure on me then that at any other time in my life, and I, just about, somehow found it within me to respond.  An event which stands out as a rarity in my history.

Of course I know all the theory.  I have done time management training.  I have, obviously, been trained in project planning.  Even today, although long retired, I can be quite effective in drawing up plans, listing priorities, identifying dependencies.  And totally ineffective in implementing these plans.  There's the odd day when I manage to stick roughly to my timetable, but it always falls apart eventually.  This is especially the case when left to myself for a few days.  I draw up a rough timetable of actions, with plenty contingency time, and still struggle to get everything done I wanted to.  Indeed I rarely succeed.

And the worst culprit for disrupting these plans lies in something I've never ever managed to do anything about.  I can't cut myself off from it, I can't stop it happening because I'm often not even conscious that it has, until however long has passed me by.  This is because my biggest timewasting activity is going into my own head and entering a parallel world where my imagination rules and the normal rules of reality - and time - are suspended.  (The second biggest timewasting activity at the moment lies with games on my PC!)  

Sometimes I find myself 'lost' for several hours.  Often I've been pacing up and down, having imaginary conversations in imaginary scenarios.  At least that increases my steps count for the day!  But, sadly, the wanderings of my mind almost never result in a product I can sue as the  basis for a piece of fiction or verse.  If it did I wouldn't be quite so annoyed with myself!  While it's easier to indulge this sort of behaviour in retirement, I can recall it happening as far back as schoolwork times.  I have been this way, more or less, for over half a century, and I have to accept that it won't change now.

So instead I make allowances.  I still draw up plans, but with the knowledge that they are sort of 'best endeavours' kind of contract with myself.  If I manage to get most of it done I can feel happy with myself.  In my most recent period alone, over three days, I managed to be surprisingly productive on the first, achieving almost everything on my list.  But day two that had slipped to a bit over sixty per cent.  And on day three?  Probably about thirty per cent of my tasks were completed.  And even that felt like a big plus compared with previous experiences!

So there we are.  A weakness that dogged me through school, university, and a career I'm surprised I managed to have (!), is still there, and easier to accept now.  I am who I am and there is a limit to how much we can change our basic character.

Frustratingly this also means accepting that I will never be able to write anything of any length, for I am too easily distracted into other tasks, too ready to lose concentration and give up.  That won't stop me trying, after a fashion, for who knows? - maybe I can somehow learn to work within my limitations?  It's good to maintain some optimism, otherwise why bother?  

Why bother indeed?

Day 341 - Forgiveness

 FORGIVENESS

Prompt - Forgiveness : Write about a time when someone forgave you or you forgave someone

"Hi, Jake here."

"I forgive you."

"What?  Who is this?"

"I said I forgive you.  It's Mark."

"Mark?  Mark who?"

"Mark Ruben."

"Mark Ruben?"

"Yeah.  It's been a long time."

"You mean I know you?"

"Yeah.  But a long time ago."

"Sorry, I'm confused.  How do you think I know you?  And why are you calling me?  What's this forgive nonsense about?"

There was the sound, or was it the sense, of a deep breath at the other end.

"At school.  Primary school.  Drumsheugh."

"Oh.  Right.  Mark.  Mark... what was your surname?"

"Ruben."

"Right.  I remember.  Small and dark.  Glasses."

"That was me.  I'm still small.  Would probably still be dark too."

"Hair going?"

"Gone.  All gone."

"Yeah, well, we all age in different ways.  I'm mostly grey now."

"I know."

"You know?  Why, have you seen me?"

"Yes Jake, I've seen you.  Several times."

"So why didn't you come and say hello?  Why the sudden call?  And where did you get my number from anyway?"

"Angus Lyle.  I forgave him too."

"What?  What is all this?  I mean, I'm sure it's nice to hear from you, but you are acting a bit odd.  If you don't mind me saying so."

"Odd?  Probably.  But I have reasons for that."

"What reasons?"

"What do you remember about me Jake?"

"Err, not a lot.  I remember what you looked like.  Weren't you off school sick for a while?  When we were about eight or nine?"

"That was me.  Can you remember why I was sick?"

"No, not really.  We weren't really friends, were we?"

"No Jake, we weren't really friends.  We weren't friends at all.  I didn't have friends, because you all thought I was different."

"Different?  because you were so small?"

"Because I was so Jewish, Jake."

"Aw, come on, we were kids.  Stuff like that didn't mean anything then."

"It meant enough for you to call me Yid, and keep making jokes about how mean I was.  It meant enough for you to give me a soap pill.  Remember that Jake?  You told me it was a sweet and I thought you'd taken pity on my so I ate it.  Then I threw up all over Mr Thompson's shoes.  Remember that Jake?"

"God yeah, I'd forgotten that.  Jeez, the look on Thompson's face, it was hilarious."

"That's right Jake.  You all laughed.  And he was furious, so he took it out on me.  Gave me the belt."

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten that bit.  Sorry about that, but we were just kids.  It's what kids do, isn't it?"

"And when I got sent home early, with a note for my father, he hit me so hard I fell through a window and broke both legs.  That's why I was off school for weeks, and didn't return until the next term."

"Did you?  I don't remember that bit.  You sure?"

There was a silence, another deep breath.

"No, you probably wouldn't.  Because none of you asked when I did come back.  You just alternated between ignoring me and a bit of Yid baiting."

"Look, Mark, I admit I was a little shit back then, but I can't change history.  So why are you calling me now, after what, thirty five years or something?  What's this about."

"Thirty four years, eight months and sixteen days.  I know this because I remember.  I've never been able to forget.  And I've hated you for all that time.  Until now."

Jake's turn to be silent.

"OK.  I can understand that.  I must have had a bigger impact on you than I ever realised.  I'm sorry that happened.  But why now?"

"I'm dying.  Breast cancer.  That's why I don't know what my hair colour is now, because it's all gone from the chemo.  I'll be dead within six months."

"Jeez, I'm sorry to hear that.  I really am.  That's awful.  So young.  What a..."

"What a what, Jake?"

"I don't know.  I don't know what to say.  But I still don't get while you're calling me after all this time.  Shouldn't you be doing... well, whatever you want to do while you can?"

"But I am Jake.  I'm letting go of all the hate I've carried with me across the decades.  Making my peace with world, so I don't die angry.  That's why I decided to forgive you.  That's why I was in touch with Angus.  The Angus who threw me down the rubbish chute just before we left primary."

"God yeah, I'd forgotten that too.  It was hilarious.  I mean, sorry, it wasn't for you obviously, but I can still see the look on your face as you realised.  Priceless."

"Angus was upset to remember how he'd done that, he was genuinely sorry.  But you haven't really changed, have you Jake?  Still enjoying the misfortunes of others."

"Aw, come on, like I said, we were kids.  It's just a memory, it's not like I'd do something like that now."

"No.  But you're still happy to hurt people, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?  What are you on about?  I think maybe your treatment is making you act a bit strange Mark."

"What am I on about?  Remember I said I'd seen you a few times?"

"Uh huh."

"In Hamburgh Place."  Nothing came back.  "You've gone very quiet Jake."

"So what about Hamburgh Place?  I've been there a few times, so what?"

"You certainly have.  With the lovely Linda."  More nothing.  "You've gone quiet again Jake, why is that?"  Still no response.  "I really did want to forgive you Jake.  And I would have, if you'd shown any real signs of contrition, of recognising just what a little shit you had been to me. But now I don't want to do that.  I'll go with plan B instead."

"Plan B?"  There was fear in Jake's voice.

"I have times.  Dates.  And photos.  Some very interesting photos.  It was a weird coincidence to find that Linda lives opposite my son's place.  He's a floor higher, right across the road.  Amazing what long lenses can pick up these days, isn't it?  Eh Jake?"

"What are you trying to pull here?  Who are you really?"  The fear joined by anger.

"I'm Mark, Jake.  Mark Ruben.  You know I am, don't you Jake?  And you know what I'm going to do.  What do you think Mairi will make of it all Jake?  With one of her oldest friends?  Eh Jake?"

There was a longer silence than any that had gone before.

"You wouldn't dare.  What would be the point anyway?  Why would you want to hurt Mairi?  That's what you'd be doing."

"No Jake, I'll be saving Mairi.  It's you I'll be hurting, isn't it?  I know you know that."

"You bastard.  You wouldn't.  Look, don't, it's not worth it."

"Oh it is Jake.  It very much is.  And I'll be the one at peace with the world.  Goodbye Jake."

End of call.  End of...?  Jake didn't know.  Jake worried.

 

Day 340 - Unfinished

 UNFINISHED

Prompt - Unfinished : Write about a project you started but never completed

Unfinished project?  Sadly I am one of those people who has so many to choose from.  Not least in terms of stories I have begun as part of this 3675 Challenge, and failed to complete.  There are at least three of those, plus a dozen empty posts where I failed to meet the challenge (although I hope to complete them all next year...).  But I need only look over my shoulder, to the messy pile on the floor behind me, to be reminded of a project I began with such hopes, and enjoyed for a time, but which has now spent months in abeyance.  With no real plan to revive it, to my shame.

When the first lockdown came it was inevitable that a great deal of my, our, time was going to be spent in our flat.  Which meant looking for ways to occupy my time that would be a bit different from my usual activities.  Although I do my writing every day, a lot of my time at home is essentially passive.  TV, internet, books.  There's cooking of course, but that can be more chore than creative exercise at times.  I do very little of a practical or manual nature, other than chopping veg, or the odd DIY repair.

So I decided to return to my childhood and ordered a couple of plastic model kits, the sort of thing I hadn't attempted for around fifty years.  Then the subjects would have been aircraft, in 1/72 scale.  Interests change over half a century, and now the desire is to make something that has your own imprint, rather than copy an original.  I ordered two kits in 1/24 scale.  The models were of a 2CV, which I wanted to paint in  blue and white with a saltire on the boot lid (the colour scheme I'd love to have a car in were we to ever get another 2CV in our garage); and another old Citroen model, an H Van, to paint in Edinburgh Rugby colours.  Along with paints, brushes, glue, masking tape, and some small files.

I was excited when the boxes, and sundry other items, arrived.  And soon set to on the Deux Chevaux.  I'd clear a space on my desk, spread an old tee shirt across it (to catch small items that might other wise skid off, and to save the desk from paint and glue), and get to work.  Firstly checking all the parts were there, then going through each individually and listing each one with the colour(s) it was to be painted.  A methodical, planned approach.  Then working steadily through the provided instruction booklet, painting ahead of use where that looked the best course.  

That worked well for several weeks, even months.  I didn't turn to it every day, but probably four or five out of every seven.  Steady progress was made, the car began to have a shape and sense of what the finished item would look like.  Probably.

For then it stopped.  I forget when and I forget why.  Most likely in the Autumn of 2020, when the light was less suitable for my needs (although I'm sure artificial light would be fine) and, more importantly, going out, going to other places, began to become a possibility.  Another lockdown would follow in due course, but by then the impetus was lost, my mind elsewhere.  Despite that unsightly, and annoyingly placed, pile on the carpet of the study.  

And that's frustrating, for although my model making abilities were well short of perfection, it was beginning to look like something I could take some pride in.  Now it almost feels too late.  Getting back into it would be slow and awkward, as I try to determine how far through the build I'd got (or did I mark the stages off in the booklet?).  I know I'm just making excuses though.

Maybe I need an other lockdown!  (And another, real life, 2CV!)

Day 339 - Pick Me Up

 PICK ME UP

Prompt - Pick Me Up : What do you do when you need a pick me up?

Times change, people change, and the reasons why you might need to find yourself a pick me up, and what you would regard as one, changes across the decades.  At the risk of sounding smug, and ignoring the potential for hubris, I am now at a point in my life where a pick me up rarely required.  Life is good, I am mostly content, and the need to raise my own spirits is a rarity.  It was not always that way.

In large part that's because the very things I would turn to for their ability to give my mood a lift are already part of my daily routine.  And because I no longer have the stress of a job, of being obliged towards others, of feeling that I am on a wheel I can't easily get off.  Retirement takes those elements of life away, and gives time to do the things that bring pleasure.  I am conscious that I also lucky to have no family commitments, no debts, an adequate income, and that my health is largely good.  Take away any of those and the picture could be very different.  (And no doubt will be, one day...)

So what are the regular events in day to day life that mitigate against feeling down?  The ones I can turn to in those times when I do have concerns to deal with.  Number one is my wife, supported by our cat and home.  A happy home life, someone to talk to and share things with, an affectionate creature that depends on me/us, and a place to be with comfort, character and, in Spring, crows to watch!  These are all elements which support the good life, and can provide solace at times of worry or anger.  I have with me someone who will listen and provide sensible advice; a pet to play with and stroke to help me forget; and a flat that feels like the happiest place I have ever lived, with a fascinating view out and all the comfort I feel I need.  There's space enough, music on tap, books by the hundred to turn to - but more on them later.

Then there's exercise, and specifically walking.  I n o longer play any sports, my left knee prevents me running, but every day I do some stretches and a few basic exercises.  Now and then I manage to motivate myself into a short gym session.  But the one exercise that will lift my mood more than any other is walking.  I walk every day, health permitting, aiming to record at least eleven thousand steps on my wrist monitor.  That comes from a mix of simply doing stuff around the flat, occasionally pacing up and down whilst lost in thought, making my way across the city streets to get shopping or visit somewhere, and, in the warmer months, much longer walks, of ten miles and more, to get my body in shape for the charity Kiltwalk.  I put in a lot of steps across a year, and they make my body  and mind feel better.  I have always found I think better on the move, and now I have the time to move and keep moving every day I can

Finally there's the activity I am undertaking now, which is closely linked to taking in the results of others doing the same.  The power of words to explain, sooth, distract, inform.  Letting them pour out, letting them seep in.  I write every day.  A diary entry, about the trivia of my life.  An entry in the website 750words, which can be about anything.  Often nothing more than a stream of consciousness outpouring, sometimes I find a subject.  Some of those lead into posts on the blog I've been putting out, irregularly, for nine years.  Sometimes I write reviews of plays, gigs and films we've been to see.  Not for anyone to read, but to see what the challenge produces.  And this year I have been trying to meet a challenge to produce something every single day in response to a list of prompts I found on the web.  It hasn't always worked, but it has most days, and I suspect I've produced more short stories and poems in the past twelve months than in the rest of my life put together.  Most are poor efforts.  But at least I feel I've tried.  And, now and then, I've come up with something I'm proud of.  And that if that isn't a pick me up I don't know what is.

Day 338 - Word of the Day

 WORD OF THE DAY

Prompt - Word of the Day : Got to a dictionary website that has a word of the day and use it in a poem, story or journal entry you write

Collins Word of the Day - Snuggies : exceptionally warm underwear

Three Finns returned to their village

In February's darkest hours

To their wives so keen to see them

To open up like flowers

The first was disappointed

She had no luck at all

Because her husband's penis

Remained so incredibly small

Number two had no more luck

Her man refused to fizz and pop

Too long out in the cold

Meant his bawbag wouldn't drop

But number three was smiling

Her lover true to form

He'd been wearing his snuggies

Which kept his crown jewels warm

Day 337 - Corporation

 CORPORATION

Prompt - Corporation : Write about big business

"What do you have for us today Dr Simmons?  Your message suggested this was something important, so we have convened this meeting at short notice to hear if it really is."

"We think we've done it.  This one is different to what's out there already, and could have huge live saving potential."

"Could have?  perhaps you'd like to give us the background first?"

"We've been looking at the covid vaccines that are already available, and specifically trying to work out why they only offer partial immunity and why they often struggle to cope with new variants.  Trials to date suggest we have found a means to create a vaccine that will give full projection against the virus, and that creates antibodies that will be able to mutate themselves to deal with many new variants."  Simmons paused to let the implications of his words sink in.  "This could replace all existing vaccines and hugely reduce the threat of further waves, if we can have a global rollout."

"I see."  Grant rested his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers, resting his chin on his hands.  He looked around at his fellow directors, seeing a mix of curiosity and mild alarm on their faces.  They were thinking what he was thinking.  "And what is it you need from us?  How much and how long?"

"It's not so much the money, but the need for speed to get this out into the world.  We need more brains working on this, so we'd like your agreement to share our findings with other research institutions around the world.  We've managed to create a couple of likely variations of the covid-a9 cells, based on how they've managed to mutate to date, but we really need to try out at least twenty, and we don't have the resources to that in a hurry.  If we can get other labs working on developing different variations we could slash the testing time and get this out into the world."

The mild alarm had changed to concern.  The implications were registering on the minds around the table.  Grant voiced what they were all worrying about.

"So what sort of timescale would you be looking at it if you continued as you were, developing this for the corporation that employs you?"  Simmons looked taken aback at the implied reminder of where his loyalties should lie.

"If we carry on as we're going we think it would be another forty five months before we could be completely confident that this vaccine will do what we hope it will."

"And if you were to... 'cooperate' with others?"

"Potentially we could reduce that to less than six months."  Conscious of the need to muster some sort of counter attack he followed it with "  The benefits to the world would be huge, so many lives saved, so many people not left suffering from long covid."

You could almost hear the brains whirring as eleven middle aged men did some rapid calculations.

"And at that point our existing vaccine would effectively become redundant?"

"Not immediately perhaps, for it would take some time to manufacture and roll this out on the scale needed, and at least the existing vaccines provide some level of protection.  It would all depend on the logistical side, but after what we've been through in the past couple of years you would think that could all be done quite rapidly now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, yes, you're probably right there. So that with this cooperation on the research you suggest, and, presumably, global cooperation on the manufacture of your new vaccine, our existing product would be of little use within a year?"

"Yes, probably, but this new vaccine has the potential to take the whole programme a step further and kill off the pandemic for good."

"And if this were to work as you say, how long would this new vaccine be in use for?"

"That's the real beauty of it.  If this works as we think it will it should give the body a chance to develop immunity.  There might be need for a booster shot for some of the earlier recipients, but not later.  We can pretty well eradicate this virus."  And even as he said it he knew he'd let his enthusiasm get the better of him, the faces showing that he'd chosen the wrong path, given too much.

Grant looked around at his fellow board members, exchanged nods with Reynolds, the CFO, who now addressed Simmons and the two members of his team standing behind him.

"We won't realise the full return on investment in our existing vaccine for another eighteen months.  You're suggesting that we accept losing on that return, and losing the opportunity for future profits from it.  Not only that, but you appear to be suggesting that we lose exclusive rights to manufacture and market the new vaccine, the research for which we have paid for in its entirety.  Thus eliminating the potential for a market advantage and considerable income stream.  Is that right?"

Simmons paused, long enough for Grant to chip in.

"And I think that we can all agree that Mr Reynolds voices the concerns of the entire board."  Mutters of agreement rained in from around the table.

"But this is something radical, something that could be of huge benefit to humanity.  Yes, it might lead to some reduction in profits, but you would have the gratitude of the whole world, and the reputational benefits that would bring."

"Reputational?  Yes.  But not the financial benefits to which we are entitled, having provided the facilities and finances for this development.  Our duty to our shareholders is clear here."  More muttered assents in response to Reynold's sternly toned words. 

Grant took over again.  "We will have our discussion of this matter, and may call you back to provide further information.  But for now we thank you for all the work you've put in, the clear progress you've made, and what it means to this company.  We'll let you know." 

Dismissed like a dog, Dr Simmons and his colleagues left the boardroom and returned to their own office.  They looked at him dejectedly, neither saying a word.  

And were amazed when their boss smiled.

"Well, that went much as expected.  And I don't think we can be in much doubt what their decision will be, unless they are given a nudge in the right direction."

They waited to hear what form this nudge might take.

"You know my wife works for Griffin, the PR outfit?"  Both nodded.  "Which gives her a lot of contact with journalists."  Both looked at one another, evaluating.  "I'll say no more.  We need to do continue with our work on the vaccine.  I've had some exchanges with Professor Gregoire in Nancy and he is keen to do what he can to help.  And when the nudge comes... and it will be a big one... well, it will be on my shoulders."

Both looked at one another again.  "I think the team will have to disagree with you for once doctor" said one.

"Strongly" said the other.

Day 336 - Distractions

 DISTRACTIONS

Prompt - Distractions : Write about how it feels when you can't focus

I'll concentrate and get this done

This time I really mean it

But first the cat that's throwing stuff

On Facebook, have you seen it?

This task's in hand and getting done

I will not take a break

But first I'll just check Twitter

What difference can it make?

Two verses done and sounding good

What could now go wrong?

Oh, there's an email telling me

Kris posted a new song

I'll have a wee bit listen

Then I'll be back writing

But I sit through fourteen videos

Including three drunks fighting

Maybe sticking to the job

Will never be my thing

But at least I always manage

To find the perfect rhyme

Day 335 - Serendipity

 SERENDIPITY 

Prompt - Serendipity : Write about something that happened by chance in a positive way

"Watch what the fuck you're doing, you stupid twat!"

"Oh fuck off, if you'd actually been looking it would have helped."

"I wasn't exactly expecting some moron to bore down on me at that crazy speed.  Those things should be banned, in fact it's illegal to use them, on the pavement."

"What are you, some kind of lawyer or something?"

"No a civil servant, so I know about law a lot more than you do."

"Aye right."

"And we could always call the police if you'd like to settle this legally.  Shall we?"

"Aye right, as if they'd come for this.  Hard enough to get them to come when some bugger breaks in your house."

"Well it's a shame they didn't take your bloody scooter."

"Do I know you?"

"I hope not.  Why?"

"Something about...  Not sure, just the way you speak.  Or look.  Or something."

"Hang on.  Were you at Trinity?"

"School?  Yeah, but just the primary.  Moved on after that."

"So did you start in '83?"

"Yeah.  Yeah, that's it, isn't it?  You were there."

"David?"

"Yeah."

"David Burns?"

"Yeeah!  So you're... no, hang on, I know, I do know.  You're... Colin?  No, not Colin.  Malcolm!"

"That's the one."

"Malcolm Noble.  That's it, Malcolm Noble.  Bloody hell!"

"So it's been... thirty one years?  That right?"

"Must be.  I left in '90.  You stayed on, eh?"

"Yeah, left in '95.  

"I met your sister at uni."

"Molly?  She never said."

"No, didn't want you to know, said you'd just interfere and take the piss."

"Aye, well, she was right I suppose."

"We were together for quite a while."

"Together?  Like, a couple type together?"

"Mmmm.  I always wished we'd never broken up, she was... But stuff happened and that was that.  How is she now?"

"OK.  Well, not that OK I suppose, just got divorced.  One of the messy ones."

"Really?  That's amazing.  No, I don't mean amazing like it's good, I'm sure it's awful for her, but I've just split up with someone myself.  After twelve years.  Amazing the coincidence I mean."

"Oh, sorry about that.  Was it bad?"

"Not really.  We just kind of expired.  Both knew it, more a mutual thing really.  We'll probably stay in touch."

"Huh, no way that Molly will, except for stuff about the kid I suppose, but he's getting older."

"She's got a son?  How old?"

"He's just turned eighteen.  I get on well with him."

"She's still in Edinburgh then?"

"Yeah, out at Silverknowes but I know she wants to move."

"Maybe I can help.  I'm at ESPC.  And..."

"What?"

"I think I'd like to see her again.  See how we get on now."

"I'm not sure I want her seeing someone as dangerous as you."

"Look, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have been going so fast, but it helps my back problem.  Could you give me her number, or an email?"

"Hmmm.  Maybe.  You give me yours and I'll ask her if she wants it, OK?"

"OK.  Fair enough, I guess she might not want to relive the past.  It's 07988.  206.  514."

"OK.  I'll let her know."

"Thanks.  And sorry."

"I'm still going to tell her you're a twat though."

"Fair enough."