Last-Minute Luck
Could Week 35 of 2024 shine a light on how we make our own luck?
To see how Sam Pepys spent this week 364 years ago, follow this link.
I began this week with the firm view that, if something needs doing, you must only ever rely on yourself – a view formed from the fact that, because our former energy supplier never sent a reminder for a mid-year gas meter reading, their outgoing bill to us was over £1,500.
That’s double what they’d led us to believe it would be. They’d estimated that we’d only used around 20 units of gas every month – which, during the summer, is about right. Running the shower barely uses a unit; cooking on the hob, even less.
But that meant some 800-odd units were consumed over the winter just on central heating for this energy-inefficient 17th century listed building. Who’d’ve thought?
Should I blame Anglian Water, though? After all, they’re the folks who led me to assume that utility suppliers will be kind enough to send you a reminder every month for your latest meter reading…
Well. As a result of all this, despite switching to the awesome energy supplier that is Octopus (awesome for both affordability and environmentalism), we now have a payment plan with our outgoing supplier for the next two years. Ek…
Clearly I can’t trust one utility supplier on the standards of another, and need to set myself a monthly reminder to read the gas meter. Like I said: if something needs doing…
Still…
On Tuesday, my brother Jazz and his family were in the process of leaving, having driven up from Hampshire for Monday’s WhiteWood StoryFest. In the middle of this, trustees for the House arrived to further furnish the 17th century half of the House with memorabilia for visitors interested in Samuel Pepys and his time.
After hugging Jazz cheerio, I went back to my office in the Dairy. My office is a bit of a mess at the mo’, since I haven’t had time to sort things out after the festivals of the last few months, so I’d be embarrassed were the trustees to get a glimpse. I therefore closed the door behind me.
Immediately, my heart sank.
The Dairy door currently only has a handle on the outside.
Sure, there’s a hole I might have been able to poke something through to jog the latch on the other side. But would I have something of a workable shape and/or size? Or would I have to swallow my pride and call out to a trustee…?
Just then, I realised that Jazz might not yet have driven away. I briefly thanked God for mobile phones as I pulled mine from my pocket, then dialled.
A few seconds later, Jazz had the door open. After a second farewell, I pulled the door to – but not enough to click the latch this time…
Then, on Thursday, I had a storytelling gig at Hinchingbrooke Park: a private performance for families from the local council’s adoption service. The huge grounds of Hinchingbrooke House are an easy 15min walk away – Sam used to walk past them on his way to school, and often visited them to play with his cousin (and later boss) Edward Montagu – so I figured I’d conserve the environment and walk to this one.
With good time to spare – 40min – I began packing my props and kit, then turned to grab my keys.
Where. Were. My keys.
They weren’t by my desk, where I thought I’d brought them. They weren’t in the kitchen, where I usually left them. They weren’t in our bathroom, where I might have left them if they’d still been in my pockets when I went in for a morning shower.
Nor were they in the bedroom, lounge, dining or utility room, all the rooms I felt pretty sure I hadn’t taken them into.
And now I only had 25min to get to my gig.
Aaak! That’d give me only 10min tops to find where I’d be performing, and set up…!
I couldn’t wait anymore. I had to risk leaving the House unlocked. I went back to the office to pick up my case of props…
…and saw my keys sitting atop a lighting case that hadn’t been put away properly, there on the floor beside my desk.
This prompted me to take Bella instead. Yes, she’s petrol – way worse for the environment than my legs alone. But she is a very economic one – she doesn’t even attract ULEZ charges – so I figured she’d be fine to ensure I didn’t arrive in a rush to set up.
Except…
As I pulled up at Hinchingbrooke House, the car park was decidedly bare for an event which, last year, had given me an audience of some 200. Moreover, the House gates were locked.
I popped Hinchingbrooke Park into the scatnav.
It was a mile further round the corner.
The Park’s car park was on the fringe of a small forest, which I then had to walk through to find the performance space. Consequently, I still arrived in a rush to set up…
Thus were two examples of times I’d been solely relying on myself when “something needed doing”. The first, I could luckily rely on my brother instead. The second, I found myself pleased I’d misplaced my keys – had I not, I probably would’ve walked, and then been stupendously late!
Now on the other side of these three dilemmas – the hefty gas bill, almost getting locked in, and almost arriving late – I realise only one thing could’ve been sure to prevent all of them:
Planning.
Do you have any examples of last-minute saves, from family, friends, blind fortune, or otherwise?
I’d love to discuss your thoughts with you, so please shoot me a reply. $:-)
I didn’t want to record this week without noting the amazing happening that took place during WhiteWood StoryFest on Monday. One of our guests was the young Noah who inspired my Kickstarter project of 2021. Although this lad found his voice at school and come to enjoy literacy thanks to his mother reading my stories to him, he still preferred to play on his tablet or run around the garden instead of listening to me tell a story.
The same was true at the beginning of this year’s WhiteWood. However, while he sat relaxing with a drink, I took the opportunity of asking him if he’d like to play a role in my story. To my surprise, he jumped at the chance, and did everything required of him – even spending a good chunk of the tale in disguise as a bush.
He then invented a story of his own during our ‘open mic’. Neither of his parents had seen him speak publicly in front of strangers before; this was a new level of awesomeness.
Afterwards, I asked Noah if he’d write down the story he’d improvised. “Nah,” he replied, “I’ll probably forget it.”
All my assurances to the contrary wouldn’t sway him, so in the end I ventured, “Would you like me to write it down for you?”
His face lit up – and from then, he wouldn’t speak to me of anything else. He was insistent on reminding me what needed to go in, and I resisted pointing out the irony of this…
Here’s how it opens so far…
Vegging Out
Once upon a blade of thyme,
Beneath a duvet made of slime,
There slept, but never moved or snored,
A perfect rounded yellow gourd
(At least in clever boffin terms –
It’s “melon” to all us mere worms)
And next to that, a larger fruit:
A pumpkin, fat but rather cute.Each vegetable was feeling super
(And no, I haven’t made a blooper –
‘Fruit’ is a class of veg, it’s true,
That’s just not taught in Key Stage 2!).
They loved to bask beneath the sun,
But even rain couldn’t spoil their fun,
For if the heavens chucked it down
They drank the best free takeout in town.But then, one day as dark as night
Because a storm blocked out the light,
Something fell, not rain nor snow,
From sky to farmland down below,
And landed in-between the fruit –
And suddenly began to shoot
Bright and crackling sparks at each
Which first went BANG! then FIZZ! then SCREECH…!The melon was the first to quake,
Then turned into a massive snake!
Away were other melons flung
When flicked its red colossal tongue.
Its scales were gold and highly shiny
From its head down to its heinie,
And on, for it could now avail
Itself of one big pointy tail.Next, the portly pumpkin stirred,
And turned into an Arctic bird.
Antarctic, sorry – he was a penguin
(Please don’t call pedantic men in…).
His shape was like a furry egg
So plump it covered up each leg –
And on each side, this fuzzy chap
Had less a wing, more like a flap.The penguin known as Pumpkin faced
His friend, a Melon now debased
And cursed to slither on his belly
Through filthy fields so rank and smelly.
“My friend, it seems some horrid magic
Brought to us a fate so tragic!
Gone our days just vegging out –
Now we’re doomed to move about!”
Maybe I’ll share more later, but I wonder… Could this be a thing? Me helping young minds create stories, and then co-authoring with them?
I’d love to know your thoughts on that – is it something you’d pay for…?
Weekly Productivity Score: 61%
Quarterly Best: 74%
Annual Best: 74%
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You’ll then get two bonus smiles: one for bringing joy to your friend, and one for my mahoosive gratitude. $:-D
Do you have any examples of last-minute saves, from family, friends, blind fortune, or otherwise?