November 19th, 2012


Disordered Border Personalities

Whenever I stay at a luxury hotel in Davos, I seem to be kept awake by the same couple rowing in the next room. It usually goes something like this...

Bob:You used to be so much more fun when we first moved in together. Remember those “friends with benefits” days? What went wrong?

Thelma: Some of us have grown up. Look Bob, I need to know where this relationship is going.

Bob: Why does it have to be “going” anywhere? Isn’t what we have already good enough for you?

Thelma: Because that’s what relationships are like! They mature, and deepen – or they go sour.

Bob [grumpily]: I suppose this is about wanting a joint bank account again.

Thelma: It would be so much easier if we didn’t have to keep moving money back and forth, that’s all. Besides, we already have a kitty for a the housekeeping.

Bob: And you’re always on at me to put more in, even though most of it goes on food for your cats. Anyway, a bit of independence is healthy.

Thelma: You know your trouble, Bob? You’re afraid of commitment!

Bob: And you’re the kind of person who’s not happy unless our CD collections have been merged and every room is painted the same shade of Almost Apricot.

Thelma: You agreed to that!

Bob: I was drunk. It was late. You’d been on at me for hours.

Thelma: I know what this is about. It’s her, isn’t it?

Bob: Who?

Thelma: Oh, don’t act innocent. I heard you on the phone the other night. Giggling about your “special relationship”.

Bob: We were reminiscing!

Thelma: Right! You’re kidding yourself. She wouldn’t look twice at you now, the way you’ve let yourself go.

Bob: Bitch.

Thelma: Bastard. Why don't you just leave?

Bob: One day I'll take you up on that.

Thelma: Ha! You wouldn't last a week...

Etc. ad nauseam

It only occurred to me today how much the arguments between the UK and the rest of the EU echo the clichés of a bad relationship.

But who will be Marjorie Proops?

Palm Readings

This evening I found myself wondering idly whether my mother still has the sailor's palm that used to belong to her father. I've a feeling it was in poor nick last time I saw it - it was kept in a box of odds and ends, and that hadn't done it any favours - but I hope it's not been thrown out.

Come to that, I'm not sure I've ever heard the words "sailor's palm" mentioned outside my mother's house. Is it an object the existence and use of which is known to all? Is it ultra-obscure? Or - as I shrewdly suspect - somewhere in between? There's only one way to found out...

Poll #1879835 Sailors' Palms

Do you know what a sailor's palm is (without looking it up)?

Of course! Doesn't everyone?
Sounds vaguely familiar, but I'm not sure...
It means nothing to me.

What's the most obscure object in your house?