Visit to the Old Rectory, Cheam 11-2008

Many thanks to Jane Furnival for a wonderful weekend in London with great company, food and fun!

The Dalai Lama Test

or The Truth about Cats & Dogs

I was going to say, some of my best friends are ……. people who send round mass circulation e-mails, jokes, photos, personality tests and the like, frequently ending with a stark warning or promise of great riches. But ok, now that I’m about to complete the Chinese zodiac for the fourth time, it’s time to own up: I’m a serial offender. A superficial reader (for goodness’ sake, I don’t even stop to use CAPs when I write e-mails in German, that’s how pressed for time I am) and undiscriminating forwarder of such messages. Often without reading them all the way to the end, only to realize days later that they veer off into horribly racist / sexist / sick “humour” as you scroll down. I’m probably on a good many people’s “instant delete” list by now, some of them my best friends’ ….

After the last hoax I unwittingly forwarded to dozens of unsuspecting e-mail users I vowed to myself, never again. Quit before it’s too late and serious damage is done. After all, I don’t want to end up in court for wrecking the French President’s most recent marriage by passing around alleged text messages he sent to wife no 2 about no 3, or was it no 4 - I’m sure he can do the job without any help from me.

But this one made me forsake my firm resolution (ok - inconsistency is my pet hobgoblin, the only one I’ve only got one of, by the way. All the other family pets come in pairs, rather like the passengers of Noah’s Ark). The message came from a friend working for the Female Health foundation, so that must be good. It didn’t threaten imminent, or indeed any disaster if you didn’t forward it. And while you have to be careful whose wise sayings you forward – mainly because of the tricky business of one man’s hero being another woman’s worst nightmare - no-one could possibly be offended by the Dalai Lama, unless they happened to be running the People’s Republic of China.

And what do you know, I got some positive feedback ! people seemed to welcome the opportunity to take five minutes out of their busy day to complete the test, smile at the result, make a wish, and possibly forward it to their friends. Just four questions, nothing too taxing involving multiplying square roots.

All the message said was that the mantra would leave your hands within 96 hours – I guess mantras, wishes and miracles have incubation periods – and that your wish would come true, without stating any time limit, like a good gift voucher. Who wouldn’t willingly allow themselves to believe in miracles while no-one’s watching, even if it’s only for the length of a silly little test ……

The test is about a person we’re all interested in, ie ourselves. Few would resist the temptation to find out who they really are – after all, there might be some hidden depths or strengths revealed that we never dreamt of ! if the message is negative, you can always discard it as total rubbish, along with the wishing business, which we all know deep down is complete codswallop – or is it ? Not that I’m likely to find out any time soon, mine won’t come up for fulfilment for another 30 years or so. But I’ll let you know.

First you’re given five animals which you rank in order of preference. Second, five nouns, including Cat and Dog, which you have to associate with adjectives. Third, five colours you associate with people you know. At the end all is revealed: the order of ranking shows your priorities in life; the Dog is yourself, the Cat is your partner, the adjectives are supposed to show how you see yourself and your partner – faithful and sweet ? positively canine ? protective ? strong? good-natured ? graceful? Sleek and seductive ? independent ?

Then there’s a bit about colours – not quite sure how the Dalai Lama distinguishes between “person you’ll always remember” and “person you’ll never forget”, but I guess that’s for the spiritually advanced – however, you do get to find your twin soul and the person you really, really love. Then you repeat the wish and you’re done, back to business as usual.

Afterwards it’s fun, inspiring even, to compare notes – “what did you put for Dog ?” “like diamonds, a girl’s best friend” – wish I’d thought of that ! Guaranteed to get the poetic juices flowing in the most prosaic people. Except my husband, that is. The romantic soul put “hot” for “dog” and “fat” for “cat”.

Ps. Would you like to be on my mailing list ? I’d be happy to forward you the test.

THE THING WITH BOOK CLUBS

or

DON’T BRING LULU

“Your presence is requested, wrote little Mrs White,

But with this invitation, there is a stipulation,

When you attend this book club, you'll be treated right, but

There's some woman you girls can't invite, now......

You can bring Pearl, she's a darn nice girl, but don't bring Lulu.

You can bring Rose with the turned up nose, but don't bring Lulu.”


The other day my friend S and I discovered, somewhat to our mutual relief, that we share a mildly troubling affliction: neither of us has ever been invited to join a book club. And yet we seem to be surrounded by women who have. Never mind Groucho Marx’s deep suspicion of any club that would accept him as a member in the first place - one does like at least to be asked.

The conversation between one of Them and one of Us normally runs something like this:

“Sorry, I’m not free tonight, I’ve got my book club.”

“A book club ! That sounds interesting. What do you get up to ?”

“We read books and talk about them. We take it in turns to suggest new ones.”

“Really ! What sort of books do you read ?”

“The last one was the Brooklyn telephone directory. Now we’re on the Meaning of Life.”

“I’m passionate about phone directories (true)! And the Meaning of Life ! That’s so cool ! Have you found it yet ?”

“No, it’s a rather obscure translation from old Icelandic.”

“Old Icelandic ! how fascinating ! Call it serendipity ! Did I tell you I’m really, really into Old Icelandic?”

The natural reply to this would seem to be:”Well then, why don’t you come along and give it a try!” or:”I’ll ask the others first, but personally I think it would be great if you came!”

The unextended invitation hovers squarely in the air, like a great big buzzing insect waiting to be swished away. Surely impossible to ignore. But amazingly, time and again, no reaction. The great big buzz fly continues to hover until it drops to the ground with a loud cathunk !, dead from sheer exhaustion. The thing is, S and I seem to be the only ones hearing it. And yet these are women we socialize with, work with, whose children play with ours, whom we’ve welcomed into our homes, …. What part of:”Sure, come along !” is so hard to pronounce ?

At first I thought it was just me, being German and all. They might think I wouldn’t enjoy it. Like inviting your local slum friends to a posh tea party where everybody stares at them when they put the milk in first.

S at least is a bona fide mother tongue English speaker, teacher of English, and reader of books.

But then the same thing happened to me with French, and even German book club members. Is a book club some sort of secret society ? Is it perhaps slightly distasteful, even alarming, to the initiated to hear an outsider express more than a casual interest in the subject ? Are we a) trying too hard ? b) just plain nerdy ?

We just can’t figure it out.

How do people ever become members in the first place, if not by word of mouth ?

And what physical, mental or social attribute is it that makes you uneligible ?

“Could be kids”, says S “You’ve got too many, so people reckon you never read anything more challenging than, say, the Very Hungry Caterpillar, let alone go out after dark. I’ve only got the one, but they’ve probably decided that as a single mum working full-time I should spend every single mum, I mean moment, of the evening reading bedtime stories. Rather than boozing with my mates from the book club, that is. In frivolous literary pursuit.”

“Come off it ! Take M for example – she’s got three kids, works full time and she’s read every book under the sun, including her children’s bedtime stories. I bet she’s turned down more book club invitations than hot dinners (because of dieting).”

“I’ve got news for you,” says M, quietly triumphant, “I boldly went and asked L if I could join hers.” “So ? what did she say?” we inquire breathlessy. “She told me I couldn’t.” “Did she say why not ?” “She said it was full.”

The book club is full !

La barque est pleine !

The mind boggles - how can a book club be full ? Surely it’s a living, breathing thing that thrives on fresh oxygen supply and biodiversity, ensured by constant renewal of membership ? Anyway, is there one childrearing and/or working woman in the whole wide world who’d manage to attend every single time ? The shortage of seats, or even floor space, can’t be that acute.

I’m beginning to wonder - if it’s neither about seating arrangements nor the book bit, it might be about the club part. After all, the very idea of a club suggests exclusiveness. Funny how “exclusive” has come to mean “high-quality”, making you forget about its close relatives “exclusion” and “exclude”, which sound downright reprehensible.

Few people seem prepared to risk breaking the exclusiveness rule, in case the other members start whispering “Who brought her ? Soandso ? What was she thinking?”

That’s it.We are going to open our own Outreach book club. Rule no 1: anyone who asks the slightest question about it automatically becomes a member. Rule no 2: after the third time it’s compulsory to bring a friend.

Meanwhile, should you have any insider knowledge about book clubs and their arcane admission rites, please do let us into the secret !

Hello from Alex!

This is my new blog. Hope you enjoy!