Plans for today and tomorrow

Couple of appointments as my normal self, Ina should be out and about after 3pm or so.  Not sure what I’m planning to do today, I think a couple of stills and some preliminary checks in daylight are in order before more a more serious approach tomorrow.

Still do not know what to do about work.  I feel sick that I have upset anybody, even if I don’t know them, which must seem bizarre as I am about to upset the whole country, but there’s the paradox of large scale work. I could try just asking him, but I think I would probably just get a load of double talk.

Still haven’t fully resolved Boris’s eyelashes, but I shouldn’t think it will matter much today.  I just want to pin down whether I can do the whole job myself, which will make life a lot easier.

I have prescribed the film director with megadoses of garlic and mullein, and he is doing well so far.  The NHS, who have had two chances to treat him now, are not taking his symptoms at all seriously.  He is registered disabled.  Unless his surgery continues to be interesting, I do not think he stands much of a chance in hospital now that they seem so deleriously happy to kill people.

Anyway, we are underway.

Must go and do some flag readjustments before we head off.

Smooches,

Ina

 

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Boris the winner

Strangely out of everyone I have ever picked out, creatively or otherwise the highest approval rating from my friends goes to Boris.

Apparently the foreign secretary and I should get it on.  We’re extremely well suited according to the people that know me best.

Poor Boris LOL

Think I will take him out for a spin in Glesga tomorrow.

Image result for boris johnson

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The Problem with Lust

Image result for beautiful arab mare

Lust is a problem for many religions, because of the inappropriate force of desire and the destructive nature of wanting something to the point of disorder.

It is entirely distinct from love.  Love has ‘God’s’ approval because it is about giving, in theory and has ‘good’ aims, whereas lust is more like fire, burning everything in its path to gratify a need.

The problem with lust, is that it isn’t very productive.  It may, as my friend says, be very healthy, but it isn’t particularly useful or pleasant.

The only real way of escaping it is to avoid the object of desire.  Therefore I spent several years not even looking at pictures of Wolfe whilst making artworks and books dedicated to him.  In this way, lust became more productive and, presumably if you look on it this way, God-worthy.

I was not aware of any religious connotations to my work before this.  I tend to describe my work as having its basis in Platonic philosophy, the divine spark of inspiration representing love, although as I have mentioned before, the fact sewing, my hands and being covered in whatever I am using is hugely important to me when creating things means that there is a massive sexual element.  I have also successfully used it to avoid saying or doing anything about my feelings in the past, but then I have always had the option to run away.

Running away, which is my usual preferred option, means that you are free to avoid being cornered.  It means you can avoid the inevitable compromises of having an actual relationship with anyone, and it means you can avoid changes you do not necessarily want.  Running away is usually smart, because if anybody actually gave a shit about you, they would come and get you anyway.  Nobody has bothered yet, which means I am doing the right thing.

I can entirely understand why churches would seek to regulate people’s experience in this way.  Stability depends on it, and any religion is really about social control and a stable society.  Nobody would have heard of Jesus or Mohammed if armies had not slaughtered millions of people successfully.

It does not look as if I am going to get to run away this week, so I will have to tolerate feeling like hell for a couple of weeks at least as it appears impossible to avoid the issue even when trying very hard.  Today I was a bit calmer at least, and then the evil sprite kicked in and tried to persuade me that there isn’t a problem.

There is a problem, and it is me.  I have to remove me as the problem.  Everyone else is just fine.

 

 

 

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Good news and bad

The good news is that I get the car back tomorrow, so I should be able to get some actual work done on the filming this week.

The bad news is that I am unable to get a swift shift change and am expected to sit and be mortified for several weeks even though they are actually looking to fill gaps in the desired shift. This is going to cause problems for several reasons:

  1. I am becoming extremely upset by this job. It is not the sort of job where you can have bullshit emotional crap going on.
  2. I am not secure in this job.
  3. I need to sort out sleep as I don’t think this is helping with either of the above.
  4. I need to be able to get maximum attention on my field trips as Boris.

As usual with creative projects, everything is a mess.

My partner in crime film director ex is extremely unwell and if he does not get medical attention soon, I fear he will die.

In the meantime, I am extremely stressed.  The good part of this is that I cannot eat, the bad part is that I do not know how long I can keep this up.

I have had a good idea for a major (SB) artwork, however it is a two year piece and not remotely practical.  I am resolving issues with this at the moment as I think it is a good one otherwise.

Think I will go and take it out on the garden.  Here is some Nickodemus for Wolfe.

 

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Discarded as useless

For SB, inspired by the amusing poem ‘Big Fat Kaffir Whore.’ Life is messy.

Only a few days ago it seems,

I was a lovely lady,

Bereaved of my mother,

Honorable, sweet, kind

Young for my age,

Imaginative, intelligent, positive

Looking forward to the future

The future without more pain

Careful about what I ate,

Careful about what I wore

But now it turns out

I’m just a

Big Fat Kaffir Whore!

 

Discarded as useless

She is old kaffir whore.”

Why are you saying this? Are you jealous, little girl?”

Why would I be jealous of that old fat bitch?”

It’s always the same. I don’t know what they are thinking when they respond at all. Either they are slappers, they think I’m big enough to handle whatever bullshit they throw at me, or they think I am useless and my feelings don’t matter anyway.” Lydia sighed. “I don’t know why I bother trying anymore.”

Well you didn’t actually try this time.” Tom laughed. “It kind of happened without you.”

Yeah, I don’t remember chemistry like that. I remember being attracted to unexpected people, I don’t remember throbbing all day or hearing myself hitting on people when all I was trying to do was have a conversation about work. Most unfortunate, and most embarrassing. Never mind, I will try and get out of being in the same room with him, since it is now even more uncomfortable than it was before. It would be nice to come home from work not crying for once. I can’t afford to lose this job.”

You still care too much, and you are still painfully shy.”

What sort of useless statement is that? It doesn’t help. Life just keeps getting worse.”

Maybe you worry about it too much?”

Worry about it? What else can you do, when it puts you at risk, no matter what you do for people? He forwarded my email to his stupid bosses, and I still recommended him. I have done everything I can think of doing for this moron. The only option at this point is to remove myself from the situation, and it is the only ladylike response. What the fuck do you expect me to do?” Lydia was irritated. “I was confident enough to be planning the Lucifer project when I started, and now look at me. This is miserable, and a poor excuse to fail to help my friends. The dude is obviously hopeless, so I’m not waiting around for the third strike if I can avoid it. If I get much more crap at this job, they will fire me just to make me feel even worse, and who the fuck cares what happens to me? Nobody.”

Expectations are easy. They are easy because they involve rules, doing what is expected of you. Looking right, taking the obvious route. Expectations do not involve magic, or character, or anything in the way of actual thought. Nobody complains as long as you live up to their expectations. Expectations are a bore. They are what cause you to wake up one day and realise you have locked yourself in a cage you cannot leave, because you saddled yourself with other people’s expectations. Stupid people like expectations, because it removes any need for thought. “Put a bun in my oven and wash the car.” Fuck expectations.

You fed the Prince of Luxembourg?”

Amongst other people. He was nice. I liked him.”

Why don’t you ever talk about it?”

It’s just normal life.”

Istanbul smelt of flowers, exhaust fumes and the smelly Bosphorus. Lydia almost skipped as she walked from the hotel to the hall where they were holding the Backgammon tournament. Men of varying ages and dress stood silently waiting for their numbers to be called. Lydia held her number in her hand. She was very nervous. Backgammon players from all over the world, some of whom she had probably played all waited for their initial games.

You are too young, and the wrong gender. Where is your husband?” Ahmed frowned and growled in an effort to intimidate Lydia. “You shouldn’t have wasted your money.”

Lydia beat him, of course and proceeded to win third prize, which paid for her trip. “Fuck you, Ahmed, see you in Marrakech!” She took a horse and carriage around the city until she got bored taking photographs and returned to her hotel. She would be flying to Muscat for a few insect filled days before heading back via Morocco.

The taxi driver tried to rip her off as usual at the airport. Lydia sighed. “Must we go through this every time? I am not paying 250 dirhams for a fifteen minute trip.”

Ah but it is fun to haggle, no?”

Not really. Give me the real price and let’s go.” Lydia at least managed to raise a smile from the taxi driver. Marrakech as usual smelt of rotting fruit, but she always felt better there, despite the constant chatter.

Shakira! Good to see you again!” Lydia waved to an apparent old friend as she got out of the taxi and headed to her apartment. Lydia looked pretty much like everyone else in Marrakech apart from the hair. Scruffy creative types maintained the level of mess Lydia preferred.

After a few days, she played Ahmed and various other friends again, but failed to win this time. Money was now fairly short. She would have to do better in Tel Aviv.

Tel Aviv bustled. There was no actual tournament here, they played private games. She did OK, enough for the next flight to New York, where she had an appointment with a banker for a game. “I don’t do sex with strangers.” Lydia cautioned the small but beautiful man.

Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.” he said hopefully.

Let’s get drunk.”

They ended up lying in Washington square, stargazing after a long night of staggering from bar to bar playing more and more backgammon. It was nice not to gamble for a change.

The next day she flew to Pittsburgh, where a rebel Amish man who played online had an apartment. They played and he made some half hearted attempt at banging her before she took off with a gang of bikers, travelling around Pennsylvania for a week. It was nice, but Lydia realised she could never live in America.

By the time she got to South Carolina, she was sick of gamblers. Lydia did not like gambling, she liked backgammon, and the game for her was chatting, scoring points and seeing how long you lasted. Her friends in SC were both keen gamblers and lived in a tree house. Lydia spent most of the week watching multicoloured birds flying up through the tree.

Look at her skin! How do you get your skin like that! Look at it!” Lydia quickly grew tired of being pawed in America. Chewing gum for the brain. She much preferred the pre-Islam middle eastern mentality, not as hard to find as you might think from watching your conformist TV.

When she returned to New York, the staff at Icelandair saw that she could not deal with the heat, and gave her a free ticket home. Glacial, unsmiling, gorgeous blonde people with plane seats. How Lydia loved them for doing that. She returned home early, glad to leave the USA.

When she got home, her father was ill. He had not cared about anything since he stopped work. Lydia was glad of the dog, who made sure her father at least walked every day. He had probably got an extra six years from that dog. Her mother, not a nice person, was horrific for the next four years, constantly reminding Lydia how useless she was, how she had no friends, how she should live. Lydia was patient, because she knew that unless she took care of them, nobody would. It was hard, but Lydia was so glad not to have to deal with violent and stupid men that she did not mind. Most of the ones she ended up with were one of the two. The others were just more bullshitters.

The only job that paid decently that Lydia managed to land, as jobs were in somewhat shorter supply in Scotland when you were restricted due to your family issues, was senior management at a bank. She was sparing with details about herself, because she was aware the other contractors had very restricted lives, travelling from contract to contract. She felt too much information would frighten them.

The day after this job ended, her mother had a stroke. A month later her father starved to death, drugged by the NHS.

Ten years later her mother was killed by the NHS, also at the palliative stage. Lydia fought them off for eight months before they managed it.

She canny live on fruit, dear. You don’t know.” the old nurses said as they tried to start the death process at home.

She lives on 100 different herbal ingredients from all over the world which have kept her infection and pain free for months, unlike your bullshit medicine. What is wrong with you? Why are you in my house talking this rubbish?”

We have tae look after you, too. You can’t live like this.”

That’s funny, because I’ve had to hide for twenty two years from my asshole siblings. I seem to have survived without your intervention. Please leave us alone.”

Four days before Christmas Lydia saw her mother die from stupidity and people ‘just doing their job.’ What happened to ‘first do no harm?’

Inevitably, the asshole siblings discredited Lydia at the hospital, which hugely assisted in their decision to just kill her. They didn’t even bother to hide it this time.

Lydia is useless, and nothing she does will ever be meaningful in comparison with your bullshit expectations. Fuck you.

 

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More decisiveness

Had to go and pick up some live food from work as it would have exploded by Thursday.

I couldn’t take it away when I left at the end of my shift as I was surplus to requirements for whatever social stuff was going on in the office.

Sadly, my glimmer of hope picked expectations over appreciation, so in the spirit of decisiveness, I have offered to change shifts to avoid vibing out the entire room.

It is unfortunate, but not something that I can help.  If I am happy, everybody in the room is happier, if I am sad the same applies.  It would be better if I do not see this person again as clearly there is some weird chemical reaction between us that neither of us have much control over.  He has just demonstrated that it isn’t at all voluntary, and he would rather be with Girl that speaks Arabic.  Good luck to them, and now I would like to exit the scene please.

Why I seem to be shown male tail feathers as they prepare to bonk other people I do not know, but it isn’t anything new.  I am tired of wasting magic on people like this.  At least Wolfe is honest.

Glad not to have any more time wasted, sad to be lonely and embarrassed again.  I am sure they all had a great laugh behind my back, but frankly who the fuck cares?  I probably have a lot more fun in my craziness than they do.

It’s all a bit sad, really, but at least not prolonged.  Apparently more help is available on the other shifts.

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Appreciation versus Expectation

What I always liked about being in love with Wolfe was the lack of expectation.  Love distilled to its purest form, which means minus the sex and the dirty coffee cups is all about appreciation, and nothing at all to do with expecting anything.

Expectation is the price you pay for actually fucking someone.  That moment of finality which many people experience the minute they have their first kiss is the beginning of the end because that is when the rules kick in.

I think I covered it in Best Romance Ever when Kira says ‘the pink romantic period is the most productive bit.’  I was making a comment about art as well as about love, the pink romantic period being the bit you tend to capture when you take on a muse and produce work.

Now that these things are kind of fused with me, I often wonder if I am capable of sustaining appreciation rather than expectation.  In the past I have sort of achieved this by having multiple ‘sub-relationships’ where it is all about actually turning up.

I am tired of the futility and time-wasting of this strategy, however, it doesn’t achieve very much.  Wolfe is right and I am wrong, as usual.  He has managed to bring commitment into it, whereas I have never bothered even trying that.  I think this depends on the culture you live in and your resources, however, and I was never interested in that side of things as I never really had to be.  I always looked on it as more of a beehive, with some bees taking quite a few years to return from pollen gathering.

Wolfe I think would agree that I would never have been happy or effective being wifelet number 44 and a half, or whatever, we just don’t have that quality of interaction, whether you view this as good or bad.  I am very time consuming and a bit too stimulating, and then I just ignore you for your trouble. Two giant egos who do much the same thing are unlikely to work out unless they are at a very relaxed time of life where they have learned to appreciate themselves and others.

From a personal perspective, and I state this upfront because it is my opinion, and possibly not one you will agree with, expectation is a conformist state where you have a set of rules that you apparently have to follow to achieve a desired aim, whether that make you happy or not is less important than how things appear.

Appreciation, on the other hand, happens less often, has no rulebook, does not require much in the way of maintenance and is a lot more appealing generally. Here is how I thought about it earlier today, as I was walking home:

“How dare you compliment my significant other!”

“Sorry?”

“How dare you!  He/she is mine!”

“Right, so what you are saying is that I should not inspire happiness in your partner by expressing my appreciation?”

“Yes!  How could you!”

“So, just to clarify, you want your partner to be less happy as long as they stay with you? Is that not a bit demented?”

“But, but, but, the rules!”

“Uh huh, that’s why I’m single.”

Basically what I am saying is what I have always said; jealousy is futile, negative and deeply unattractive.  It is far better to approach things from a perspective where the interaction is more along the lines of “Yes, he/she is fabulous.  I am very fortunate.”  If you aren’t doing that, then you aren’t really in love at all, you are a victim of expectation and should basically fuck right off until you learn the difference.

Climbing down from my soapbox in three, two, one seconds……………

 

 

 

 

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Realities of being me

Once upon a time, I was an absolute work nazi.  The real reason for this is that work was the only place I was safe from my repellent siblings.

Eventually, it turned out that I was not at all safe at work, around about the time I have previously referenced when one of the utilities companies decided to steal information rather than simply allowing me to inform them how to deal with their data issues.

Nobody is likely to do any big career favours for me, and I am unlikely to get anywhere via employment.

It then turned out that my repellent siblings even used my interest in work against me, at which point I was broken hearted for several years, especially when it also turned out that they were lazy and corrupt.

I didn’t really care about anything else until I met Wolfe, wanted to do the book, could not get anybody to discuss it with me and realised that everything I do is a waste of time, so unless I want to do it for nothing, it isn’t worth doing.

And here we are.  I am tired, very lonely, sick of coming last and apparently useless.

Now I am in a position where I am not particularly great at my job, I have seemingly limitless lust (seriously, I do not remember actually throbbing all day before) for some poor dude I barely know, and I am extremely frightened.

I don’t really like being in this position, and I think I deserve better.  Life ought to be a lot nicer, all things considered. I need to do something about that.

 

 

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Long Day

Check out the books page, I tarted up all the covers.

Managed to write a short story, update all the covers, upload them to one publishing site, think about the second one for SB, get an update on the camera cabling issue, apart from that a very lazy day as I wanted to get things done.

Lucifer Ogilvie is high on the priority list until we get this cabling issue sorted out.  Still waiting for the car to come back from car hospital as it had axle issues and is costing me a fortune.

I have a few appointments tomorrow, otherwise I think we are seeing marginally more progress.

Not sure where I am going with the second SB story, I formulated the one I did this morning without really thinking about it – to explain, they kind of happen without me, the only thing that has changed since 2013 is that I actually write them down rather than dismissing them. I do reject a few, as I know many of my readers are very sensitive and they are just too dark for Ina. I may start another name eventually for those ones, but I don’t think being too dark is particularly healthy for me.  I do know that there is another one sitting waiting for me to write it, but I have no idea what it consists of right now.

The visuals for the artwork usually require emotional pain of some sort.  Not really in a hurry for emotional pain so I will see how that pans out.  I have plenty of stuff to get finished urgently so I would rather take a rain check on the emotional pain stuff right now.  That being said, I may wake up with a stupendous idea, and then I will have to run with it.

Lucifer Ogilvie is a step towards the original book for/with Wolfe, so I am quite keen on moving it on.  The games are also significant in mapping the breadth of work required, although I have a much better picture of how the information has to be organised now.

I also need to get to work on the shoes, as they are likely to provide an income.  The SB issue seems to be giving me some sense of urgency, thankfully, so am happily getting on with it at a somewhat better pace.  When you know you are about to get hit with another huge worklist, you tend to get on better with the old ones.

I do see that Boris has been on a few times – worry not, I should still be on time for late summer, but in the meantime it is prudent to get on with the stuff I can do pending being more mobile.

In the meantime, still obsessively listening to music to avoid worry.

 

 

 

 

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The Bitch Wrangler

The Bitch Wrangler

Another Short Story from Ina Disguise

For SB, who rocks my world.

And for goodness’ sake, don’t forget the milk this time. I don’t have time for this. You’re so careless.” Una glowered at him.

William sighed. He dimly remembered a time when his wife was happy. It had been some time ago. When did she turn into such a nag? Every interaction ended with “You’re so…”

Yes dear. Can I fetch you anything else?” William tried as best he could to sound neutral. He squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the response.

Don’t even think about getting sarcastic with me. Just hurry up. Your parents are coming at eight.” Una pursed her lips and turned her back on him.

William headed for the garden, got into his car. Thank goodness the weekend was nearly over, and he could get back to the relative sanity of work.

The following day William arrived at the office to find uproar. A histrionic actressy-type they had taken on was throwing a tantrum, apparently because of some unknown issue with the team leader. She was strutting around the large open plan office, having thrown her sunglasses vaguely in the direction of her desk and was flouncing sufficiently for her cape to be hitting the heads of the other staff, who otherwise seemed to find this spectacle quite funny.

Titanic Dickhead!” she exclaimed as she stamped and snuffled her way to pick up her workpile and associated stationary. Peter, William’s assistant, motioned to him to come into his office.

What are we going to do? She can’t carry on like this all day.” Peter wrung his hands and looked anxious.

I guess we’ll have to speak to the team leader.” William sighed. “Ask him to come into my office.”

The team leader, a quiet, studious and usually geeky man, was duly summoned to the office.

Can you tell me what is wrong with your staff member?” William tried to look stern. “She seems upset.”

It’s nothing, sir. She’ll be fine tomorrow.” the titanic dickhead remained calm. “It is an impressive display of fury, don’t you think?” he smiled.

William looked nervous. “Can you tell me what it’s about?”

I could, but it’s not really relevant. If she is still like this in a couple of days, we can talk about it then. You can discuss it with her if you want, but you are unlikely to get much sense out of her.”

Ok I’ll do that.” William was confused. “Thanks.”

Later that morning, Willam called his assistant and the female staff member to his office.

We couldn’t help but notice that you seem a bit upset? Could you tell us what the problem is?”

Upset?” The lady peered over the top of her sunglasses. “No, I think everything is fine?”

With your team leader. You seem upset. Is there anything we can help you with?” William looked stern. “We have no HR function here, but we were a bit concerned.”

My team leader? Oh, no he’s amazing. Keep him.” she nodded in agreement with herself. “Best manager I’ve ever worked with. Understands the job, very serious attitude, thoughtful, positive, organised the list goes on…..”

Oh, oh good. We’ll tell him to keep up the good work.” William smiled. “So no further problems you want to discuss?”

None that I can think of.” the lady smiled. “Can I go back to work? If I don’t hit target, he might stare at me with a look of slight bemusement, and I couldn’t bear it.”

Yes, yes that’s fine.” William was now intrigued. The plot thickened.

The following day, after a few more run-ins with his wife, William arrived at work to find that the actressy type had come in an hour early and was quietly working. An atmosphere of happy calm pervaded the office. He called the team leader to the office.

Ok how do you do it?”

Sorry?” the team leader looked quizzical.

She was furious yesterday, and then turned around and told us how marvellous you are. How do you do that?” William squinted at the team leader

Oh that? Oh it’s not difficult. They’re a bit like horses.”

Horses?”

Yeah, when I was young, I used to help my father training horses. Ever tried arguing with a horse?”

No?”

Exactly. There’s no point. So, generally speaking, I apply the same principles with women. Arab horse training is very different from the American concept of ‘breaking.’ We like our horses fearless and loyal, so its a different process. Very much applies to women as well, I find.” he stretched out slightly in his seat. “That one was a very nervous horse, so she was a bit flighty yesterday, but she’s OK now. You just have to be a bit patient.”

Right, so you’re saying think more like a horse trainer?”

Yeah, you show them what you want, you give them space to think about it, let them freak out a bit, then you show them again until they get the idea. Let them play with the bridle for a bit, if you see what I mean.”

So, was she objecting to something that you want?” William was curious now.

Not at all, she is just frightened. The spirited ones are so much fun though, aren’t they?”

Ok, so if I want my wife to be happier, I should show her what I plan to do in advance?”

Yes, put a bit of thought into it, decide what you want and then demonstrate it. There’s no point in discussing it.”

I’ll try that. Thank you.” William turned to his computer. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Later that afternoon, William thought about what he wanted from his wife. More sex would be nice, he thought. He considered buying some sex toys and leaving them lying in the bedroom, and quickly decided that she would not like the look of that at all.

Less nagging, how should he go about that? Nagging presumably indicated discontent on some deeper level, since he considered himself pretty good at putting up shelves, or shopping, or whatever. More sex was presumably the answer to that, too, but the more he thought about it, the less she would like that as a leading part of the wish list.

From this, William eventually got to cuddling as being an issue. He had read somewhere that cuddling improves female health, so perhaps that might be something to consider? How would he demonstrate his intention to cuddle her when she was so hostile? He decided to see if there was anything on the Ikea website, and isolated a giant bean bag that might work. He purchased it, and then wondered if he could make further improvements, and bought some scented candles.

He then considered how he would persuade her onto the bean bag with him, and realised that he had skipped a step or two. At last he had a plan that might work.

William put some relaxing music on as he drove home, and happily considered how to make his wife happier. She was already complaining as he entered the house.

You’re late.” she bristled “You’re dinner is probably ruined.”

I’m sorry, dear.” William smiled. “Would you prefer to go out?”

What? No!” his wife looked furious.

Would you mind taking a look at my hand?” William smiled at her again, making sure he met her eyes.

Is there something wrong with it?” she looked confused.

Have a look at it for me, and see.” William held out an outstretched palm. His wife duly inspected his hand from where she stood. She looked at his hand, and then looked at him, slightly perturbed by this odd request.

It looks fine to me.” she turned away slightly. William had not realised she was this withdrawn.

You could try having a closer look?” he tried. He moved slightly closer. This was way more exciting than he expected it to be.

I’ll maybe take a look later, when we are watching TV.” his wife looked nervous and quickly left the room.

William considered this to be a good start. Who knew where this strange mini-adventure would lead? The team leader had been right however, William realised that his wife was a very unhappy horse that needed gentle handling. Even flowers would probably come as a shock.

The next day William thought it was probably too early to pursue the issue of actually touching his hand, so he decided to invent a reason for her to dress up. He booked afternoon tea at a local hotel, and made a point of wearing a tie she had chosen.

She was furious, of course, at not being given any notice, but William happily ignored it. He noticed her slightly dispirited air as she donned her twinset and skirt. He wondered how he would restore her confidence? This was turning out to be a lot of work.

He presumed that improving the confidence of horses involved a lot of grooming and whispering, so this meant the hand issue was probably quite urgent. He made a point of ushering her through doorways to reaffirm the message about his hand. She seemed to be slightly less alarmed by seeing it, but she wasn’t really connecting with it yet. He felt that they had made a bit of progress towards making use of his giant bean bag, however, so he was reasonably pleased with himself.

When are you going to do the garden? There isn’t much of the weekend left?” his wife sounded slightly less fractious. Things were looking up.

Don’t worry, I will do what I can with the rest of the afternoon, and then we can relax.” William was rather proud of this small advance. Taking charge would be a slow and delicate process.

William relayed his progress to the team leader on Monday, who smiled and reassured him that he was doing well. William glowed with happiness. Perhaps tonight his wife would forget to nag him and actually touch his hand!

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