Car manners
I recently gave a new colleague a lift.
Before we'd gone too far, he'd rummaged in my door map holding
man-drawer thingy, and commented on a couple of cds that were in
there.
I immediately knew that we weren't ever
going to get along very well. Personal space. You just don't stick
your uninvited beak in. Unless you want a broken and bloodied uninvited
beak. My mum does the same, without the slightest hint of “I
shouldn't be doing this but...”. Straight in with the nose.
How is it that I can drive all the way
to, and around, and back from the Isle of Wight with three different
guys in the front at different times, and all they do is lob their
kit in the back, take it out for the game, and lob it back in again,
without any of them feeling the slightest temptation to have a delve?
Then, minutes after returning, I pick up the newboy and he's having a
poke around.
He's not the only one without the
personal space awareness, but I do wonder why us low-empathy guys
have untold syndromes heaped upon us, while the question after
question after pointless, needless unnecessary question, and
nose-ache part-time coppers get to go along their merry way without
being labelled, spectrumed, or made to feel unusual. I may not
understand why you're quite so attached to that particular pot plant
or soft toy, I may struggle to understand why people want their thick
kids to go to university like the clever kids do, there's whole
shedloads of stuff I don't get, but I'm not going to be looking
through your glove compartment unless you ask me to.
So it was a long drive with the newboy,
and it didn't take long to suss him out as a nervous passenger. It
was raining (pouring down at times) and we were doing the speed limit
(or thereabouts) of 70 mph. When I answered the first phonecall
(which involved finding the phone, hitting the right button, then
talking on the handsfree jobbie) he started to squirm a bit, and so I
couldn't help but start reading the odd email (“shall I do that?”
he offered) and making the odd outgoing call (“shall I do that?”)
and watching his unease escalate (lesson here – don't stick your
nose where it don't belong). Eventually he assumed the crash position
when I had both hands off the wheel swapping the cd in the player
with another from the carry-case. He wasn't crying, but the “shall
I do that” was a bit more urgent and high-pitched. I know it was
wrong, but I couldn't help myself, particularly as he'd volunteered
us for the long drive there and back.
Arsene Wenger and Ivan Gazidis
(whatever it is he does)...
...cost Arsenal £10,000,000 a year in
wages. So, without those two expensive non-achievers over the last
eight trophyless seasons, and given a bit of sensible investment, we
could now be outbidding Real for Gareth Bale.
Wenger, in a press conference, compared
Arsenal to Chelsea and United in terms of the search for, and
purchase of players to add to their squads. This weekend has shown
how false that comparison was. United didn't play well but still beat
a decent Swansea side 4-1, away, and Chelsea won and, apparently, had
a fantastic, blistering first half. We lost. At home. To almost
relegated Villa. No, Arsene, we're not in the same ballpark as our
supposed peers.
Oh, and Citeh are 2-0 up against
Newcastle and cruising.
I don't understand how...
...Cam-moron can have disc problems. A
career politician with a backbone?
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