Tuesday, 11 March 2014

The Mad Pigeon Lady

In the absence of a soulmate, one from the Guardian or anywhere else for that matter, I am forced to re-evaluate my lot in life. Of course, my colleagues are positively gagging to help.  'You could be one of those women with lots of cats!' suggested Svelte Support. 'No, she's much madder than that'  said Barbie Nurse. In view of this vote of confidence I came up with a suggestion of my own.   Unless I am rescued by a knight in shining armour, who no doubt, will have been described in similar terms himself to be able to cope with me,  I'll transform myself into a pigeon lady like the one played by Brenda Fricker in Home Alone 2. My version will be a bit more raggedy and carry loads of carrier bags of white sliced.  I'd have to get over the fact that I'm really not at all partial to manky birds or having their poo splattered all over me.  I like this picture though.  It seems that being a pigeon lady doesn't necessarily mean instant rejection by small boys so Lou might stick around despite the stench of guano.

As I elaborated on my new life plan there was general agreement that I was indeed as mad as a box of frogs, an affirmation that I am used to hearing several times a week from friends all over the place. Heck,  I even  talk about myself in those terms now as the concept is so ingrained.  On this occasion I stepped back and paused for thought.  I don't really think I'm that far off sane.  After all I look after a house, hold down a responsible job and make a reasonable attempt at being a mother.  'Hey guys', I said 'When you describe me like that what do you mean?'  A perfectly sensible question to put to a band of psychiatric nursing staff don't you think?

'Well, where do we start!' Barbie Nurse was keen to elaborate.  'When you speak seemingly disconnected things all come out at once.  It's like an explosion!  But then, everything gets joined up even though it's totally random.  All these ideas comes out too fast for the rest of us. There's loads of good stuff there but so much of it!' It was a sentiment that Mr Anonymous from Guyana  confirmed later in the day. He'd attended a planning meeting with me at a local cafe where I'd felt particularly inspired. Consequently he came back to the office looking  rather shell shocked and it wasn't all down to excessive caffeine intake.

My colleagues have since gone on to describe my madness in terms my heightened sense of the ridiculous, the myriad of projects that are going on at any one time and my slightly kooky clothing style which, on the day in question involved more than one Nordic patterned fabric being worn at once.  I still maintain that my dress and leggings were well matched and looked pretty together.   Happily, in spite of our differences in opinion over style Barbie Nurse and Svelte Support have concluded that I am not suffering from mental illness.  It seems that I am just prematurely eccentric.  And what do you know? I'm quite happy with this diagnosis. Now where's that Sunblest?

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