Sometimes Wednesday needs some inspiration. Many of you may recognize John Cleese from Fawlty Towers, A Fished Called Wanda, Monty Python etc etc. Epic series and films indeed. Never before have I heard such a beautiful talk about creativity and I wanted to share it. Enjoy.
Who is there? The postman. Yes, he did indeed do a very jovial knock on the door this morning as I was sipping my traditional morning brew (Nescafé - don’t judge) and catching up with the days affairs on the wondrous world-wide web (or W3 as I just discovered some people call it). “Bam, bam, bam, bam”. The rhythmic knock resounded throughout the apartment. “Who on earth comes a knocking at this un-Godly hour of the morning?!” Coffee in hand I meandered to the door and tugged hard at the handle (our door is falling to bits). There he stood. The tall, skinny postman with his broad smile, shirt ironed and hand stretched before me holding a package. This time the package is for us. This is quite a rare occasion for you see as much of our family resides in Mexico, Carlos and I have become a sort of ad-hoc postal delivery system. I am not complaining at all. Seriously. Carrying mounds of books, large books, and CDs and DVDs. It brings me joy. Makes me feel like Santa Claus flying economy class on Alaska Airlines. Literally. Sheer bliss.
Anyways, today the package was indeed, for us. My darling brother sent us Christmas presents. I felt like a child all over again. As I ripped open the package my eyes widened beyond recognition at the wrapping – all red and “Chrismassy” – staring back at me. “Surprise!” it seemed to say in my brothers jovial voice. And, surprise it did. Now our mini-Christmas tree has presents under it and I am listening to Christmas tunes. The “Chrismassy” feeling has descended upon me and boy does it make me miss my home in Oslo, Norway. My favourite part of Christmas is decorating the Christmas tree. I am a rather dictatorial decorator. I love to do it alone, somewhat like Greta Garbo in “Grand Hotel” who famously uttered “I want to be alone”. Well so do I (when it comes to Christmas trees.)
Back to the postman. We all know that the US Postal Service is suffering a hard blow these days. Many postmen are loosing their jobs whilst others wait for the day to come. It must be pretty grim. Christmas, however, hopefully brings more business to these valiant delivery men and woman. Who else delivers the letters to Santa Claus, ey? When you see the postman say hello, utter a cheery comment. I don’t think enough people say thank you to the people who deliver our letters. Christmas is a time of love, family, sharing so lets share that love. I don’t care how corny I sound – let’s spread that love. That’s what it is all about right?
So as not to leave you on a chunk of cheese I leave you with Michael McIntyre, the great comedian who has me in stitches always. Here is his explanation of feeling Chrismassy:
Forgive me readers for it has been far too long since my last post. During the last months much has occurred. I was proposed to (twice), I was in Paris, Oslo, Mexico, lost a friend, became a royal bridzilla for a brief stint and started writing for a travel review website called Our Man on The Ground (which I absolutely love). [I intend to write about this and let you know about all of this, just you wait.]
I decided to write today because as I wandered along the alley behind the Venice board walk I overheard two people talking rather vociferously. As these young men, with their trousers sagging, their cap tilted sideways and their sin glasses covering most of their head, gestured enthusiastically with their hands, feet and midriff I managed to grasp that they were complaining about a common friend. These two men, slightly afeminate in tone and maneurisms, managed to paint a rather lucid picture with flowery words. Never before had I head the use of certain four letter words in such artistic expressions of disgust. It was glorious. I slowed down my pace and as I wandered out of ears length I heard the last exasperated comment emanate from their pursed lips, “and besides….what business is it his?!” Lets face it, asking what business is it his is a form of contemporary Shakespearean language that made my heart beat happily. If these two sassy hoochie men were in any play they would boast a massive success.
As I continued my walk I realized it was time to return to the jenny blog. From now on I am back with my life commentaries, I have fresh stories up my sleeves and much to tell….
For now I am off to shower and dress for a dinner with some people Carlos and I met at a restaurant a few weeks ago. Inspired by my Shakespearean hoochie men a new phrase has been born just in time for the weekend. Say it loud, say it proud, “what business is it his?!”
