Attention to detail and coffee

Two questions that I am regularly asked are “do you do food” and “do you do coffee”. The answer to the first is easy I don’t provide any food, the answer to the latter is somewhat more complicated but boils down to ‘maybe’.

I have no issue with the questions themselves but why do people then proceed to tell me why I am wrong?  Let me start with food, I don’t sell any and don’t have any catering facilities or aspirations and my business plan is based on that. The response ‘well you used to’ is pointless and really doesn’t take the conversation any further does it? I could point out that I never have provided food in the Plough but since you are not bright enough to realise that there have been some changes you will probably still try to argue.

Then the greatest challenge of all “are you sure?” well now that you mention it I am not certain, its been at least an hour since I walked around the building so perhaps a pop up kitchen has arrived, fully stocked and with a full ensemble of staff, let me go and check for you. Honestly do you think I am that tired that I would miss this detail? Of course I am bloody sure that is why I said it.

Following up the rear is the old classic ‘you need food that is where the profit is’. Obviously this statement is always proffered by leading figures in the industry rather than random drunks off the street…. There is money to be made on dry sales, there is also significant increases in costs and waste and, in the Plough, massive capex costs. The thing is that as much as it may seem that I am simply winging it I do have a business plan, have done the maths and I do know what I am doing. When you tell me that this person or that person had the pub packed when they did food please forgive me if I point out that they are no longer here, in short they failed.

Next up is coffee or the joy of hot drinks in general. I should point out that I have no automatic coffee machine, I have a kettle and a tin of coffee. I am a traditionalist and believe that a hot drink in a pub, if you are not staff, is a favour. My rule is that if the first question you ask upon entering the property is “do you serve coffee” the answer will be a resounding no. If, however, you manage to purchase a range of beverages and then one of your party asks about the possibility of a hot drink you will more than likely be met by a positive response with the caveat that there may be a delay (cold drinks take priority).

I am not a small village pub I am, in fact, surrounded by venues that serve the various complicated sounding coffees that you may desire. I am a pub and a wet led one at that so my prime purpose is to serve cold drinks, mostly alcoholic ones. This is another subject where I am criticised and people will tell me how much margin there is on coffee nowadays. Whilst it is true that the margin on coffee is better than that on beer the margin on retailing carpets is also better but you don’t see me rushing into that sideline do you? The truth is that the coffee shop brigade would be more than welcomed if I were a seafront establishment providing some form of scenery while the hot beverage is consumed but I am not.

The other genius suggestion often proffered is that the hot drinks brigade could fill the place during the quiet periods and, in my experience, there is some truth to this. The problem is that when I have accepted the hot drinks brigade I have discovered that their drink to time on the premises ratio is seriously out of calibration.  Worse than that there seems to be no embarrassment to sitting with an empty coffee cup like there is if you do something similar with a beer glass, in short they pretty much move in.

So remember what a pub is because in its essence it is neither a coffee-house or a restaurant.

The other world

Well what a weekend! This was the first weekend that I have visited the pub on my own and also the first that I haven’t used a bed & breakfast, the last part of that sentence made me wince by the way. It is hard to say that I made good progress because I have an annoying habit of switching tasks making it difficult to close individual tasks down.

Beer lines were sorted and 6 yards of waste hand balled into a skip so that is a task completed I guess. Turning the water on, with the intention of washing away the stench of 6 month old Guinness*, presented a new challenge though as the abandoned car had been rolled forward and now covered my water meter. The roads team have assured me that it is the council’s job to remove the car and, for their part, the council seem equally convinced that it is not. In the end I reached the police who told me that there is no registered keeper on the system. After some debate over whether it was in fact possible to simply rescind ownership of a vehicle a couple of policemen arrived and gave me a push to get it clear of the water meter.

Another of this week’s tasks now will be to pester all of the authorities again with a view to disposing of this vehicle which has been there for months. A good conversation was had with the stonemason and the sign writer which leaves me with some confidence that I can achieve my new deadlines which are to go full time end of June and open end of July. The plan is punishing but if I am not trading in August I run the risk that everything pushes out to next summer and I really don’t want that. Drop dead for notice to work is end of May, only about 6 weeks away! Oddly we can thank Jo for the date as I had managed to slip that detail in my own planning and only set it out when she challenged me.

More wiring was stripped this weekend, locks changed and, as always, more cleaning. The phone line is now active after BT sorted a crossed line and I resolved yet another flood. The latest flood is one of those very ‘pub’ stories. Previously I have had no trouble with the gents, indeed it has been the toilet of choice, I have even witnessed the urinals flush (a strange claim to fame). This weekend though I turned the water on and had taken a call before I heard the ominous sound of rushing water. Racing into the gents I was met with a rain forest as the urinal feed bounced off the ceiling.

After recovering the situation, and finishing my call, I investigated the cistern and discovered that there was no float it was simply left to fill very slowly and then gravity flush. What had caused the water loss was that the service valve was now fully open. This is not a service valve that anybody has touched, indeed it was rather tight, but it couldn’t have been fully open before or we would have had the flood!

A working day that started at 5am (a ‘benefit’ of no bedding) and ended at 1am, shattered, filthy and bruised. If anybody thinks that would be enough to put me off then you don’t know me! I still very much love my little pub on my gorgeous little island.

*other rotten beer products were also involved

Efficient psychosis?

I think that I may have hit upon the real reason that I don’t seem to dream and it isn’t closet psychosis. I think that my mind is generally too busy to waste processing power on things that are not real.

Yesterday afternoon was spent pacing out the dimensions of another possible venue with my friend. It was a useful exercise because it got us both on the same page, previously we had different ideas of how to reconfigure the trading space.

So last night I retired with a mind full of things that I need to address on the current option and gates that would need to be passed to firm up the potential standby. I was half way through the positioning of a bar in order to get the best presence when I fell asleep.

This morning, when I awoke, the first thing that came into my mind, after pain, was the dilema of curved vs angled bars. The topic had moved no further in my sleep but neither had it left my mind it was, in short, as if somebody had pressed pause. Now this makes a lot of sense to me, if you jumble everything up with dreams you must lose your place in the original thought and that would be very inefficient.

Imagine, if you will, leaving the office on Friday and the last thing you do is to move all of your work around and scatter random documents. You just wouldn’t would you? What would be the sense in it, it would just take you longer to catch up with where you were. So when you wake and start recounting your dreams and sorting fact from fiction I am already visualising, in this case, seating plans and angles.

News from the health front this week, for those that follow. My blood pressure remains comfortably low despite some 4 months of not taking medication, I think that we can safely chalk that up as a victory for Dr Gav. I seem to still be suffering quite a bit of pain from the ‘robo wrists’ despite them not receiving as much abuse. Lefty in particular has taken to a viscously sharp stabbing pain to attract my attention, which it does most successfully. I have considered this, in my Dr Gav capacity, and concluded that additional exercise is the solution.

Sandy, inquisitive, sticky, those bloody fingers!

I watched some tourists in the week and they demonstrated again the uniqueness of the coast. This family had decided to visit the coast on a brisk day and were wrapped up in coats and scarves as they clambered over the timber that closes off the gaps in the sea wall during the winter. Amongst the family were a couple of young children, still at the age that would brave hurricanes for a bucket and spade moment, some adults and a young lady. The young lady was in her late teens/ early twenties and she was clearly not happy to be there as was evident by that special slouching sulky walk that all parents recognise. Whilst the family set about entertaining the shrieking youngsters the young lady flattened some sand and sat down at a distance in full on sulk.

When I walked past the window five minutes later I noticed that whilst her right hand played with a phone, doubtless transmitting her sulk across the ether, her left was busy scoping and shaping sand. You see no matter how old you are, or how miserable, when you are sat in sand in you have to play you just can’t help yourself! I am not even sure if she realised what her left hand was doing but when I checked back a few minutes later she was up and playing with the youngsters. I suspect that there is a reason why all playgroups have sand pits and it is to install this deep hidden psychological switch so that we will always revert to ‘happy child’ when sat in sand, and given our climate that has to have helped generations of parents.

I also want to share with you some exciting news, well it is for me. I rarely complete those silly on line quiz things but couldn’t resist the one that would tell me what type of Isle of Wight stereotype I was and set about it with honest vigour. The result was “pure Caulkhead” and I brought about a genuine smile. For those that don’t know a ‘caulkhead’ is the traditional term for native islanders and, whilst I would normally ignore such silliness, in this instance I feel compelled to take this a divine confirmation of my future plans.

I have mentioned before that there are several distinct generations of internet users and this is seen in the way we interact with it, last night brought me another example. Whilst chopping some vegetables I reached that wonderful moment when the rhythm of chopping makes you appear like a skilled chef. This level of perfection is rare but can be encouraged by the consumption of alcohol, as indeed it was on this occasion. As my brain marvelled at my knife handling skills and I congratulated myself on keeping my knives razor sharp my thumb became to inquisitive and met said razor sharp knife on the down stroke. Since small hand fractures are called ‘boxer’s fractures’ I can only presume that thumb and finger tip slicing is known as ‘chef cuts’ and I had a great example.

Now we are all familiar with this type of injury but key is how you handle it. Firstly the brain will always somehow manage to arrest the progress of the knife before the end of the stroke, this is a latent and useless reaction that results in the frustration of a ‘flap’. Task one is to remove this irritating piece of skin, no matter what people tell you it will die, keep it dry, moist, rubbed in antiseptic or dipped in a bloody grow bag it will die so man up and remove the dead wood. Now that the wound is clear we move to the next stage, staunching the gushing blood using liberal application of any dry material that you have not already soaked by accident, don’t forget to rinse the veg during this stage! After changing several dressings I opted for gauze, kitchen roll and, most critically, tightly wound tape.

Overnight I didn’t bleed through the dressing which was a success that I may have to attribute to the numb thumb but hey any win is a win right? Now what does any of this have to do with the internet you ask? stick with me its coming. This morning I stripped the dressing and all looked pretty good, then came the pins and needles as blood returned whilst I watched like an expectant plumber. It was no good I had a leak, a steady flow of claret leaving the wound site would make the day awkward to say the least so, in true plumber style, we needed a plan B. Obviously I turned to the trusty superglue and, after restricting the flow to the thumb I capped the ‘well’ with a decent blob of the miracle Cyanoacrylate, let it dry and  restarted the flow…… it held and a small dressing completed the repair.

Having effected the repair I took to the internet to research the idea and confirmed that whilst not ideal the superglue trick has been fairly well utilised with equal success . This is the generation difference, the one below mine instantly turn to the web to tell them what they should do but my generation relies on knowledge using the web only latterly to realise how bad a decision we have potentially made.

 

 

Bitten by draughty bugs and nailing it

I visited my old pub yesterday for a couple of pints and was very pleased to meet up with a couple of my very supportive customers. After exchanging the usual pleasantries we got to “what are you doing now” and I explained that I was still working through the fall out of the accident before finding a pub. I think this is the only business where that line is met with a look made up of incredulity and sympathy. Luckily I had Andrew with me who just gave a sage nod to indicate that he understood the ‘bug that bites you’.

The old pub is blooming, doing well despite some significant inflation at the pumps! But what is really nice to hear, some three years after I left, is that “the atmosphere has gone” and that “it’s just not fun now”. That I can generate an atmosphere that people enjoy from no more than a cold draughty building and hard work is testament to my choice of trade and to coin a phrase “you’re too kind”. The old girl is different now, prices reflect the investment that has been made and the place is operating to a long term plan. It is not that it is not fun or that it has no atmosphere it is simply that it is different.

Whenever I have these conversations they are followed by an evening of reflection, I revisit my view of the world and challenge it. Once again I have come out the other side without a shadow of a doubt, I know where I belong and it’s in my pub. It’s been a long road and there are a few more twists in it yet but the destination remains fixed. I look forward to cold nights trying to mentally guide people through the door as much as I look forward to busy nights that fly by. Most importantly I look forward to creating more memories, being an influence and a feature in more people’s lives and writing that story.

As you know I don’t generally promote things on the blog and today is no exception. I would like to make special mention of a friend though because, well because she deserves a special mention. I proof read a small piece that she has written at the request of a hospital, it will be used to help parents come to terms with using the words ‘cancer’ and ‘child’ in the same sentence.

It is but a few paragraphs written in the self-effacing prose of an author who seeks invisibility but it is written from the heart. Short, abrupt sentences bring to life the staccato thoughts that come to us all when something is too dark, too terrifying to process. Despite the eloquence of this emotional script it was sent to me couched in self criticism, challenge and debate as to its value. I just wanted to take this opportunity to say “Barbie you nailed it” 

Approximately painful dream wars

I would like to start this post by assisting train operators with some linguistics. When a service is in a timetable the timings are fixed, in truth that is the purpose of the document. Announcing that the service will arrive at “approximately” does not diminish the delay and there is a danger that you will soften things too much. I arrive at the station in time for the departure not approximately on time but actually on time that is the nature of the game.

I have stumbled upon another potential venue option and am, once again, astounded by how much enthusiasm it sparks. This option is a large building on the Southerly edge of a busy town. The building sparks that interest of gradual change, seeking the right use for each part of a building that was designed for a different time. One thing that really fascinates me about older pubs is working within their fabric to adapt to modern demands. For me this can’t be an instant change, it is not best suited to corporations this should be a slow evolution and a partnership between building and business.

Whilst I am not yet ready to restart my search the mere hint of a venue finds me scouring the web. I have a history for this building, I know when it ceased trading, I have approached it from every angle thanks to streetview. I spent an evening sketching floor plans and considering trading areas last night, it’s just what I do. I am lucky that the trade still holds my attention so much even as I move slowly back to being able to re-enter it, I guess in life we all need something to aim for.

In other news I have an update from the war of attrition being waged by Ms Nature. A recent retreat was just a distraction, she has returned with a renewed vigour of late. My left knee is swollen today having collapsed a couple of times over the week. The walk to work has become a more choreographed activity as I noticed that the stiffness in the knee is translating into an ache in my hip. Clearly I have been letting my gait slip in difference to the knee pain and that has to stop.

Leftie has developed a new trick and I have already developed a countermeasure of sorts. Over the course of several hours the ever present ache in Leftie grows to become quite a distraction the same being true if I get up in the night. The solution to this appears to be to manipulate my left wrist with my right hand so as to ‘crack’ the wrist. This is only possible once the pain has built to a level, I can’t prevent it happening but I can stop it at a lower level.

Before anyone makes reference to arthritis let me remind you that if inherited arthritis wasn’t enough it comes free with the injuries. I think that there may actually be a hidden benefit to this with regards to the doctor’s battle with my blood pressure. When you crack your knuckles it’s the result of moving liquid through the joint so, if my wrist cracks, there must be fluid there. Any fluid not in my veins will result in less to pump and therefore lower BP, Ms Nature didn’t see that one coming did she!

Finally the shoulder injury has developed a habit of putting my arm to sleep. Obviously I accommodate the pain in my sleep by moving, apparently to just the point that the arm goes to sleep. Well this one is a royal two fingers at Ms Nature because I am right handed! Now that I know what is happening I take no notice whatsoever until I get up in the morning.

In summary, Ms Nature may be vicious but she hasn’t got the determination of my stubbornness.

The need to crack on

Whilst I have bemoaned the silly season of New Year’s resolutions, and I stand by that rant, it does seem that there is something about the season. It’s OK I haven’t signed up to a diet plan or joined a gym, in fact I’ve made no change or commitment over those that I have had for some time. I do feel doubly frustrated at the stagnation of my life at the moment though and I can only put that down to the season.

I have one potential pub project that remains on the market without any apparent urgency to sell, I know the price and it’s always been kind of my reserve option. Over the weekend I have found myself becoming quite annoyed that I cannot take it off the market right now, January being a great time of year to crack a start on a seasonal venue. Some may say that this is fuelled in part by a desire to leave where I am at the moment and it is true that recent additions to the neighbourhood do make exit even more appealing but it is not just that. There is a floor plan on my PC that I used for the original business plan and it discounts the first floor for immediate trading, this is still the right thing to do. That floor plan has become the subject of much modification over the last few days as I seek to resolve two problems with the layout, or more accurately the commissioning of a kitchen within the current layout. The kitchen being at the rear of the first floor means that it blocks the rear door which is the preferred access to the small garden, the pub needs its own access to the rear for a smoking solution and to attract trade from that direction. There is also the matter of knocking through to internalise the access to the second floor residential, I hate lock up premises, which doesn’t suit the current arrangement.

I now have a plan for this side of the building that involves only one external alteration at the rear, since the building is not listed this should not present a difficulty. So I have a plan for something that is not intended to need doing until year 2 or 3 at the earliest. I also have plans to resolve the fact that the patio extends over the toilet roofs, the original one being a sign over the mirror in the ladies with an arrow pointing up and the legend “Shhh they can hear you”. Obviously my business plan already sets out a trading style and on reflection I think a 4 week shut down will benefit the venue by setting a break point between current trading and the future. This is the passion of the trade that drives me with every opportunity, I sit sketching and drafting plans and then walk to work thinking through options.

I’m not sure if was looking over the files at the weekend or January blues, whatever they are, but I find myself horribly frustrated that I cannot call my agent and proceed today. I know where the venue is and where I need it to be and its annoying not being able to make progress on that path. Like I said it’s not a new commitment, it’s not a resolution it’s just a sore reminder that the slow and painful machinations of the system are still holding me back, lets hope I’m not saying the same thing next January.

To those that follow the other project don’t worry Rahel is currently in the pub, her one not mine, and you will see an update soon.

 

Reverse grocery shopping

There are some people who look guilty, just inherently they do, and there are some that are guilty. I think that the guy walking his dogs by the the station this morning was the latter. At first I thought that the furtive shuffle and clear discomfort at being observed were a result off the task in hand. After all at some point, one presumes, he would have to collect his dog’s mess.

Obviously the older you get, and he was not young, the more of a task this becomes. Getting to and from floor level can be a laborious task and that somehow makes the ‘reward’ even less appealing. He kept a studious distance from the dogs as if hoping that he would miss the event and I got the idea he wasn’t a fan of clearing up. Sure enough dog one did what he was made to do and spent long enough in the act that the walker couldn’t reasonably miss it.

At this stage a grocery bag was produced and the ‘bounty’ dutifully collected. I actually felt a little bad at this point for presuming that he was avoiding the unpleasant task. He muttered a mute grumble but I am sure it was directed at the canine diet and not my proximity as observer. The second dog was not to be outdone in the ‘make the human perform the unpalatable’ game and promptly slunk into high grass. Now this, in itself, is evidence of evolution. Your dog doesn’t use high grass by choice, I guess it tickles, but they know that it complicates the collection.

To make sure that the event was spotted the canine spent some time at it, adopting the posture and grimaces of a woman giving birth. Our man wandered over and then proceeded to use, or attempt to use, the same grocery bag to collect the second load. This was clearly not something that he had done before, or thought out in advance, there was no elegance in the task at all. He took three or four attempts and in one he actually managed to slip his hand through the bag handle and grasp the target!

Eventually he had collected a good bag full, he attached leads to the dogs and departed complete with heavy bag. It may be that he made a mistake this morning and took one bag instead of two, he may have always intended collecting all the waste produced but for my money he’d been carrying that bag for weeks with no intention of using it.

As a side note to evolution, given we now all understand that it is our duty to collect and dispose of our dog’s waste isn’t it time that they came to the party? We all like seeing them run and play but can’t they be a little more civilised and use a designated toilet. Perhaps they could always perform that task first at least, then we could all get on with the fun things like chasing sticks, just a thought.

The stupid ones come first, it’s all in the preparation ..

Am I becoming more pedantic or are the news agencies becoming lest strict when vetting their stories? Like a grumpy old man I am finding that some news articles grate on me with a level of annoyance that I find hard to justify. Some recent examples that you may recognise:

• During the Christmas Eve travel chaos in the UK there were repeated scenes where a studio cut to “their reporter on the scene”. A pristine looking reporter would then describe what they saw as the camera panned “these people have been listening to announcements all day”, how is that news? We look to the news agencies to provide us information, when there is travel chaos I know that all of the terminals will be full of people waiting for information that does not count as news!
• Some idiot started a small fire on a ferry which subsequently had to return to dock. All very dramatised by the press, but I accept that is their job, and lots of coverage. There were hundreds on board so how long did it take the press to find Mrs Bell who said “I think I will stay in the UK from now on, it’s a lot safer”. This woman had gone on holiday with her husband and we can only hope that is the entire extent of their gene pool. They went on a weekend break to Holland, some drunks set fire to a duvet and for that she has condemned the rest of the planet as uncivilised and dangerous! New York? Vienna? hell no that’s just Syria by another name for Mrs Bell.
• The final one, of many, is the revelation that painkillers have been found in ice cream manufactured by the biggest manufacturer in Europe. The pain killers were found, still in their tablet form, inside wrapped ice cream cones so we clearly need an ‘expert’. Our expert tells us that this “looks like a case of contamination” well I checked the ingredients and it doesn’t list painkillers so that’s a pretty safe bet. There were two tablets found, one each in two separate cones, the expert thinks this may have been deliberate, clearly he is an expert in stupidity then. This is obviously somebody that has dropped a couple of pills by accident and either been unaware or too scared to stop the line. If you are trying to poison people it is accepted good practice to crush the poison especially if you are hiding it in something soft like ice cream! Two contaminated items from such a huge supplier lends itself to accident rather than malicious and it was paracetamol, surely a simple peanut would have been more devastating if the intent was malicious?

I don’t know if it is the multiple news sources all fighting for the same story or it is a feature of the instant availability of news that we have today but it is definitely losing its value. During the travel ‘chaos’, they are delays unless it is Christmas Eve, we were faced with television screens full of idiots demonstrating that were idiots. Let me be clear it is not the fault of the public, we knew they were idiots that’s why they are public! It is the idiot that, employed to seek out newsworthy quotes, stuffs a roaming microphone randomly at these buffoons. “We’re just like trying to get home for Christmas” and there’s me thinking that you had headed out early for Easter! “I don’t want to spend all night here” oh no, quick summon assistance there is someone in the throng of bodies at check in that didn’t intend to spend 24 hours here!

When I was younger the news was full of insightful information and explanations. Whilst these poor people were eating the weak  and setting fire to belongings to stay warm at Heathrow a suited newscaster would explain the weather trends and the fact that it was all Coca Cola’s fault, we learnt something that was the point. Is it perhaps that I have now reached an age where they can teach me no more? I don’t mean that I know everything I mean that I have reached an age where I can see through the well scripted news readers and realise that they don’t know any more than I do.

I think that the news studios are more cunning than that, or perhaps they are cleverly aligned with other state departments, they are preparing for the zombie invasion. When the living dead are roaming our towns the reporters will be dispatched and we will be fed a series of inane and moronic statements from roaming hoards of flesh eaters. To us at home it will be business as normal, we will watch the news and then pop out shopping thereby feeding the growing army of the living dead. They are conditioning us to see morons on the streets, the next step will be the worsening make up and then the scuffles in the back ground, by my predictions we will see this in the New Year’s Eve coverage. Slowly but surely they are conditioning us so that the invasion is not a shock, I’m off to polish my zombie bat……

The practicalities of ice cream murderers and fizzy giraffes

I have written before on the subject of dreams or, more specifically, my lack of them. Quite simply I don’t ever recall dreams. The emphasis here is on the word ‘ever’ I don’t mean ‘rarely’ or ‘not often’ I mean never. When you explain to me that you dreamt that a leopard made of ice cream dressed in your wife’s stockings was chasing you through a lemon flavoured fog I presume that you’re mad. As a reasoned adult I can think of no other explanation except that you are insane. Frankly you must be madder than a whole box of frogs to have these experiences. 

The odd thing is that people are so confident in their delusional ramblings that they share them! What is the matter with you, are you hankering for full board in the local asylum? I do have to concede though that there are a lot of you around. Most weeks somebody will make mention of a dream and, let’s be honest, they are rarely normal. My conclusion, the logical conclusion, is that I am surrounded by lunatics. Everywhere I look there are mad people whose minds are filled with giant, car driving hamsters and candy floss that attacks you in your sleep. 

If it wasn’t bad enough being the sole sane person in a world full of fruitcakes you tell me that I am wrong. A conversation with a friend who was a psychology student revealed that not dreaming is a mental illness. Apparently not dreaming means that we don’t process subconscious thoughts and that is a key indicator for psychosis. Whilst I am dubious that anyone that dreams of cats that have their mother’s face and cook dinner is in a position to judge it is the accepted position. 

Because I’ve never been able to process the desire to fly, to eat the sun or to conduct an orchestra wearing nothing more than a clown’s nose I am at a disadvantage in the world. Or so the lunatics would have me believe. I understand that this works because dreams are our exploration of alternatives. As an example, when you dream that the television tastes like roast beef you are exploring the idea. Having explored the idea you discount it whereas I still think that the television may be flavoursome. Be that as it may I have never felt the need to chew a Sony. At the extremes are when you have a bad day and you dream of coming into the office and shooting everybody, that is actually meant to be healthy. The theory has it that you have explored that option and realise that it won’t work I, on the other hand, remain unconvinced. Apparently those people that fall off the deep end and slaughter their colleagues are normally not dreamers. Worth thinking about when you see me sitting quietly in the office. 

I read something recently that prompted this post. I didn’t really want to write a post that gave the impression that I was quietly waiting to slaughter the madmen that surround me since that could have been misunderstood. The article looked at the reasons why people don’t dream and there were several. The most common is not entering rapid eye movement (REM) sleep; this is a reflection of poor quality sleep. People who work erratic and long shifts commonly find that they don’t recall dreams until 3 or 4 days into a vacation which is when they have repaid their sleep deficit.   

Alcohol, nicotine and prescription drugs can, of course, alter sleep patterns such that you don’t recall dreams. But there was one that stuck out to me and that was simple logic. The theory goes that whilst we all dream some of us don’t waste our resources remembering them. So after the 8ft chocolate bar chases me around the racetrack riding a carrot I have an extra stage. Whilst you file it for later use I consider the benefit and discard the experience. I simply review the madness of a dream at a subconscious level and since I cannot find a use for the knowledge that cats aren’t made of custard I don’t bother saving it.

In conclusion I was correct all along, you, the dreamers, are bonkers. My theory was slightly off though since I thought that the process of dreaming was the mad part when in fact it is not. The madness comes when you review the world around you and think “hmmm I really should file the fact that an apricot can eat a 20ft long snake because one day that will be usefull”. When the zombies come* you may want to be on my team because while you have been wasting you’re time with fizzy giraffes I have a plan……

 

*For clues as to zombies iminent arrival please see other posts