As mentioned below, the start of this blog has been lost to posterity and the future, in that it was inadvertently deleted after a tussle between me, the keyboard and Google Docs, suffice to say that I lost with one fall and two submissions.
So the following part is, if I remember correctly me starting to rant about the “@” character and the double quote characters being misplaced on the keyboard, but….
…… some loss of information occurred here… please make up something that makes sense to you and fills in the gaps to make sense for you (for me I am heading towards the end of the post where the words and characters are huddled and hiding from this devious software that is wanting to stop the truth being told….
….
[sanity aside - your keyboard is defaulting to US rather than UK - simply select the appropriate keyboard and all will be well….. if only it were that simple.]
Now I am not technologically inept (you may type that but I couldn’t possibly comment - House of Cards ed), though at times I have massive doubts about that, but a certain curiosity and an unwillingness to give in to stupid stupid (did I mention stupid - questionable ed?) user interfaces, usually sees me through.
Though admittedly not after some moments of swearing at various bits of software encased as it is in its protective metal and plastic boxes like PC’s, smartphones and tablets. Software is such a slippery and frustrating entity.
What I Don’t Get
You might think that a door is a simple, non technical object, to use; if you think that you really do need to wake up and smell the roses.
There is either a handle (in which case grab the handle and pull) or no handle at all in which case the only thing that you can do is push…. and if and only if this were the case, life would be so, so (and as many other so’s you need to pull a thread - musical reference ed) much simpler.
Aldershot Station and The Bakewell Cafe Ltd (or confusing doors R us)
Some of you may know, by either talking to me (preferably not, I am quite a private person, though if you do post a comment on this blog, you will get a reply, sometime, and not very quickly and possibly unrelated to your comment but it’s the reply that counts - It’s Not The Circulation That Counts ed) or communicating with me in some unobtrusive fashion (snail mail is much preferred - but I leave it as a task to the reader to find the address - my thought is that if you want to communicate that much you need to make an effort - I am not exactly unfindable - where there is a will there is a postal address to be found)....
….not quite sure where the above got to, brackets, italics, uppercase letters it’s all very confusing…. however, where I am trying to get to is….
Is that some things in life leave me astounded, sometimes my jaw hits the floor, the door or the drawer, depending on where precisely I am standing when a, “I Am Totally Gobsmacked Event (™)”, occurs.
Aldershot Station, a South Western Railways customer drop off/collection point, as it is colloquially known; has a little cafe on the, “Town”, side, that is the entrance and exit to Kublai Khan’s Pleasure Dome - or Aldershot town centre as it is more accurately known.
This is usually womanned (the opposite or manned, I presume) by a couple of very helpful ladies and occasionally a gentleman.
It is only correct that I inform my reader, that from time to time, I do purchase a, “Bacon sandwich, brown bread, brown sauce, no butter and a double espresso”, from them on a perhaps weekly basis, but no more; the red smoked meat quotient is very very strict.
Sometimes the pull of the bacon is too strong for even a man of my inmate self deprivational abilities (do you mean self deprecational abilities? - ed)
The Bacon Is Strong with this cafe, one might be tempted to write - but no not I….
Back to the meandering point about doors and their difficulty.
As with many stations, the doors have been improved to allow those with less able physical attributes to access said cafe. The result of this is that a door that was simply a door, has been improved; now it is an, “Automatic Door”, in big black letters.
There is even a sign on the glass door that tells you that is an automatic door, so it leaves you in know doubt that some kind of automation has been applied (where and how is a totally different ball game ) to said door. With me so far? It gets much, so much harder… really it shouldn’t, but it does.
Now, being of unsound mind (hic, another glass of Dom Perignon did arrive but was ingested rather too suddenly causing a rather large belch, and Bridget one pod in front was heard to effuse, “Are you still drinking Champagne?” and in my best truthful manner, I could quite categorically say, “No, my Darling”, as I had finished drinking said Champagne and so was no longer technically “Drinking Champagne”, did I mentiond I love the English language? ), well not exactly of unsound mind, but the start of this sentence has lead me astray... I had to get up mid-flow, as there was rather an acute bodily fluid crisis that needed to make full use of the word “flow” and my bodily fluids, nuff said I think. On return, I have, as in many points in the past, absolutely no idea what I was about to write.
Just to let you know
From time to time, the keyboard on Google Docs goes into some strange mode, some sort of highlight mode, which is a bugger to get out of, and has unintentionally to my mind (bloody useless software in my opinion, as I have now lost the start of this witter… can’t seem to find the undo key combination, the previously backed up document to allow me to cut and paste the is now missing start of this post.. so am I furious, am I angry, have I started raging against the dying of the light… nope, the lovely Thai Hostess has just refilled my glass of Champagne again and so I will attempt to reconstruct the beginning of this post - or maybe and as most of you are all hugely aware, this is all a Stream of Unconsciousness Blog (™) where it just flows forth with no rhyme or reason (Hit me with your rhythm stick - blockhead ed)
Back to the Door Into Consciousness (or I can’t believe its not butter)
So in November, after many entries and exits from the door into Bacon Sandwich Heaven, I was put under test, my abilities were put under the microscope and sadly I was found wanting. The door had changed.
For a start it was SHUT, with lots of capital and bold letters. As I had stepped off the train, been complimented on my Shirt of the Day (™) by the slightly Hippy Looking Gent with a Look of the Music about Him (™) . I can’t remember the exact shirt, but as you may or may not be aware I have moved into what is now know as, “Full Shirt Mode (™)” where every day is a colourful shirt day…. but more on that later, probably on another post to be called: The Shirt, The Shirt and Nothing but the Shirt, remove a letter and it could be all about Donald Trump (Shirt -> Shit for those challenged by my letter removal meme)
Back to the Door of Unintended Difficulty.
When presented with a shut door ( and with the voice of Larry Grayson echoing in my mind - really, yes, you do need to be of a certain age to get that really vague reference.), ones first thought might be - is it a “Push” or “Pull” door, that is, if there is, “No Handle”, it has no option but to be a, “Push Door”, sadly even this fails to be true when it is an, “Automatic Door”, i.e. it will open as you approach, without so much as a, “By Your Leave”.
So I stood in front of the door, it said, “Automatic Door”, I waited a moment or two and nothing happened ; so seeing that it had a handle on my side I “Pulled The Door Handle”, with the sure and certain reasoning that it would open towards me. It did not. It did nothing. The door stood there and in a slightly alarming way, grinned at me.
It tooks this was a challenge. I would not be beaten by a simple door. Inside the door the lovely, “Bacon sandwiches are available here, really”, ladies were waving and hooting strange noises. Perhaps, I needed an owl to help me.
A Fistful of Bacon Sandwiches
I looked worriedly around Aldershot station for any clue as to how to get into Bakewell Cafe Ltd. The ticket inspector, patrolling the automated gates, gave me a knowing look,
I intuited that I was not the first to be confounded by The Door Of Bacon Sandwich Hell and that he might have the information that I was looking for.
I raised an eyebow (to shoot venomous arrows perhaps - ed) , ok eyebrow at him, he raised one back.
I raised another, he raised another back.
The ticket hall went quiet, if the passing train hadn’t moseyed through the station you would have been able to hear a pin drop.
As it was, everyone started watching us, the music to a, “Fistful of Dollars”, could be heard over the passing noisy train.
Tension rose, the music got louder, the inspector went for his pocket, I went for mine, a pair of gloves, a snood, a woolly hat pulled from my pockets was simply no match for his lithe and practised movement.
He mimicked pushing the door.
It clicked. Not the door, but my brain,
The, “Automatic Door”, with the handle was a, “Push Me”, and not a, “Pull You”!
I waved a limp red snood in his general direction to acknowledge his superiority and there was a sigh of relief in the ticket hall, as the watching commuters exhaled and after a blood curdling standoff went about their secretive business.
I turned from the Ticket Inspector, and after a generous nod of appreciation, I pushed the door handle, it fought back momentarily and then leapt away from my hand as it opened automatically.
The ladies of the Bakewell Cafe Ltd broke out into spontaneous applause as another customer had fought through the Door of Unintended Difficulty into the room of bacony delight.
As I approached the counter, the younger of the two ladies said, “You wouldn’t believe the number of people who are having a problem with that door!”. I nodded and sagely said, “A door once opened, can never be closed”.
I have no idea what I was talking about, but she took it as a fundamental truth and from that day has always asked me, “Is there more knowledge you seek to share with us mere bacon sandwich and coffee vendors?”, to which I generally reply, “Just what are you on about?”
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