Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Duplicity and the Muse
Strange days, when my day to day life is as fickle as the weather. I think the word, 'duplicity', sums it up better than any other I can think of this time in the morning.
In one way, everything is going extremely well for me at the moment, but the going is punctuated by an unending series of irritating problems caused by unreasonable and duplicitous people with skins as thick as a proverbial rhino's.
Don't worry - I'm not going to bang on about the building works - front and back, 24 hours a day - unless I have new developments to report, because I could be banging on about the same thing for the next 6 months, and that would be an abuse of not only your time, but a feckless waste of blogging space as well.
Ok, I know that some of you (Baby John Delores in particular) may take the view that this whole blog is a feckless waste of space in any case, but there is such a thing as a 'delete' button, and I only need be wasting my own time and not yours as well.
Still with me? If so, I am amazed because (and here comes a confession now) I have to admit that I tend to speed-read anyone else's posts when they appear to be shaping-up into a rant like this one, even if the rant stands a chance of of standing up on it's own literary merit despite the subject matter. See what I mean about 'duplicity'?
When a long post is not a rant but beautifully written - as most of Sarah Toa's - I cannot bring myself to speed-read it, even though I need to get on and write my own shit (H.I. says I spend far too long in front of this screen, but I tell her it is my 'art-form' - that quietens her down... sometimes), so I tend to put the literary posts to one side and read them at my leisure later. If everyone else sets aside 'quality time' (yeuch) to give good posts the attention they deserve, then this would explain why Sarah gets so few comments - what else is there left to say? Oh, and (sorry about this) I tend to completely skip anything which has the word 'poetry' in the title, if not actually reach for my gun.
It would be downright selfish of me to deny you all the benefit of an insight as to what goes on inside my head everyday, even though the writing of it may be considered a form of displacement activity. How funny that most professional writers admit to displacement activity which is very similar to the sort of thing I am supposed to be doing when not writing this blog.
Today, I will be (in'sh Allah) battling my way through the wind and rain to deliver about half a ton of intricately carved stonework to a customer who has been so good to me over the years, that I now consider him a real 'patron', in the true sense of the word.
How different to the London client who badgered me every day and night for a month - using both my telephones and my email - to get me to replace a large piece of stone which they themselves broke on site, and who now refuses to pay me.
It is not a huge amount of money owed, but it is enough, and what makes me most angry is that they have put me into the situation of having to virtually beg to be payed, after I have gone to so much trouble by putting on hold much more important work and spent my own time and money on repairing their own stupid mistake.
I think that - if I am not payed by the end of the week - I will post up his email address and telephone numbers and ask you all to badger him on my behalf, and I will be awarding points for the most vociferous badgerer.
Maybe I'll send him a transcript of this post - that should guarantee payment by return of post.