Out for a jog yesterday, as part of my annual ‘thing’ whereby I get thinner during the summer and fatter during the winter, like some sort of reverse squirrel. Fitness gradually increasing – made it to General Wolfe and back!
Just as I was bounding across Blackheath heath, a car pulled up to ask me for directions, causing me to interrupt my enjoyment of OMD’s ‘Dazzle Ships’, which is surprisingly motivational jogging music (‘Efficient, logical, effective – and practical! Using all resources to the best of our ability!’)
Now, I don’t know about you, but I have a fatal flaw when it comes to giving directions, which is this: Even if I don’t have the faintest idea as the location of the place the person is looking for, even if I don’t have the first clue how to get there, even if I’ve never even heard of it, I feel behoven, in the spirit of wishing to be helpful, to give out some directions regardless.
Yes, it would probably be more helpful not to give directions if I don’t know what I’m talking about, but somehow that seems rude. Better, surely, to think of a place that you do know, that might possibly be the place they are looking for, and give directions to that instead. It’s not that I deliberately give out the wrong directions. I give out the right directions – to entirely the wrong place.
So if you’re ever lost, and seeking help – don’t ask the fat guy in the Tintin t-shirt making strangulated ‘Aaaav got a telly-graph, in my hand!’ noises.
Other things. Watched the first episode of the Sarah Connor Chronicles last night. It’s all Skip’s fault. It was very good, but – aaaaargh! – it started with a dream sequence! Thematically valid and ingeniously done, but still. Aaaaargh!
