Twentieth letter: Living with slow processes and Mr Sunshine
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| My lovely hire car |
Well, I finally went and did it, I took the test that will
define me for the rest of my life. I arrived excited and breathless, after a crushing
and bad tempered flight from the Nederlands to East Midlands airport. Hired the
American equivalent of a Fiat Panda, contended with the British driving on the
other side of the road, a malfunctioning satnav, and the terror of getting lost
in Nottingham city centre. All so I could be informed that I’d undermined my
own intellect for the last 40 plus years. In an embarrassingly honest way, that’s almost
what I expected to happen. You see it’s
a dreadful thing, to be told by your parents that you’re wonderful as you’re
growing up, because you spend the rest of your life waiting for someone else to
confirm their opinions. Maybe, just maybe a dyslexic assessor.
Once at the Open University
regional centre, I was greeted by a lovely male receptionist who raved
excitedly about the merits of living in the Nederlands.
‘What did
you enjoy most?’ I asked, making polite conversation as he unlocked the toilets.
‘Oh everything, it is simply an
amazing country, the people, the culture, the architecture, the landscape and
food.’ He said beaming and following me into the toilets. Was it unisex? I hadn’t
noticed.
Ummm, something didn’t sound right- the landscape and the food? ‘So
- how long did you live there?’ I asked, wondering if he intended to follow me
into the cubical.
‘Three weeks (ah), but I’d go back in a heartbeat.’ He
said, and then pointed to a giant green button by the door. ‘You need to press this
to escape.’
Alarm bells should have started
ringing then – why did they need a giant green escape button?
I found my assessor five minutes
later in one of the conference rooms, two grey hospital crutches propped up
against the table.
‘I’ve just broken my ankle, but I’m
controlling the pain with my mind.’ She announced reassuringly.
Great! My assessor was not only a
bit peculiar, she was also in agony, this didn’t bode well. The next four
hours, yes four sweat inducing hours, were spent in a nightmare of puzzles and
impossible bizarre tests. Too quickly I grasped the idea, that my well hidden genius
wasn’t about to be uncovered. I decided I would accept whatever she told me, as
long as she didn’t say I was slow.
The first test: putting together a
dissected Rubiks cube(well similar), and my idea of hell, I wanted to go home, especially when she muttered ‘slow
processes’ under her breath. She followed the dissected cube with an assortment
of questions and tests, the worst of which was a page of colours which she
asked me to read out within a time limit. Simples? No not bloody simple, and
slow processes was muttered again. By the time we got to the spelling test I was
frustrated, but ready, I would show her! Watching her face, I thought I saw a flicker of pity
as she looked at my answers.
‘How was that I asked?’ I asked
hopefully, ignoring the flicker of pity.
‘Well diabolical obviously, it’s
to be expected with your slow processes, but then you know that don’t you.’ She
said. I didn’t know whether to cry or kick her broken ankle.
Clearly I spent the next few days
brimming of confidence. All I wanted, to go home, hide behind my laptop and
pretend to write. Five days later, back in Breda, Andy and Alfie were waiting at the train
station. This time I didn’t stop Alfie’s inappropriate greeting and scooped him
into my arms and allowed his wet kisses to rebuild my confidence.
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| Dogs understand how to repair a broken self-confidence. |
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‘I’m not kissing you now.’ Andy
snapped. Ah, of course.
‘For God’s
sake what have you got in here?’ Andy said picking up my bag. Just smile.
‘So how’ve you and Alfie been?’ I
asked, trying to change the subject.
‘He’s been a &*’@-ing
nightmare.’ Alfie the canine rug? Really?
‘He won’t listen to me.’ This is my fault obviously?
‘I haven’t had time to do anything
I wanted.’ Oh dear.
‘All I’ve done is work and walk
the dog.’ Oops
‘Do you know how much time it
takes out of my day walking the dog?’ I have no idea.
‘I can’t find my &%$@-ing
black top.’ Wardrobe or wash basket.
‘I’m sick of the Hijgend Hert(café
next door to us) all they play is @%$&-ing jazz music on Sundays.’ Ah, my Mr Sunshine, how did I
manage the last five days without him.
Need to rush off now, got to find a cheap flight
back to the UK and make peace with my slow processes.
Trace
xx
p.s. Right, I’m going to try and slip this one under the radar, and hopefully my Mr Sunshine will be too busy looking for his black top to notice. 
