Told what to do…by cheese
As a freelance writer, I spend every single working day of my life being told what to do, more than most people. I say more than most people for good reason, I think: most people only get told what to do by one person, or manager, or boss, or set of children, or wife — unless you have lots of wives, which you clearly brought on yourself you greedy, greedy man — whereas every client I have is telling me something different, and I have dozens of clients; a list that’s growing all the time (I’m not complaining about any of them, by the way — generally speaking I’ve been really lucky with who I’ve worked with. Besides that, this is all my choice so I have absolutely no reason to complain, really).
So the last thing I need is to be told what to do after work. Especially by cheese…even though I have no wife, wives, children or single manager, being told what to do by cheese is just demeaning.
Stay with me. Please. You’ll get the idea soon.
It was the middle of the night. I was tired. Wow, I’m impressive when it comes to stating the obvious. Anyway, when I flopped into bed I was sure I’d fall asleep within minutes, but then, out of nowhere, I started coughing and couldn’t stop. It was the floating spore-like evil hovering over from the oilseed rape fields which I’m always going on about on Facebook, of course (they pretty much surround the village where I live just like the plot of some Maine-themed Stephen King novel, intimidating hayfever sufferers and torturing them callously; you’d go on about it too, believe me). So I was all in a conundrum: shut both windows and attempt to get to sleep in stifling heat, or leave them open and hope that the coughing would pass. Both terrible options, but great training for real life, which is full of terrible options, so it wasn’t all bad.
It refused to pass. Every time I started to fall asleep it — my stupid face — awoke me abruptly. Then followed about 10 minutes of intense procrastination where the cough maliciously disappeared without a single bloody trace, where I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed singing, very quietly, I’m like a bird by Nelly Furtado, except replacing it with hate-filled lyrics directed at my cough, which I had now come to view as a kind of malevolent monster living inside me.
It was time to leave the bedroom.Β I just had to get out of that damn bedroom. And try and forget about Nelly Furtado. For now, at least. That would be difficult, though, for she was presently all over the media like a rash, promoting the hell out of her latest musical offering (which was nowhere near as good as I’m like a bird, but then, nothing ever is).
On the way downstairs, I smiled, as the event which so often grew into some-big-thing passed without incident of any kind. What a relief. Usually, you see, when venturing downstairs in just my boxers, a hell of a situation ensues when Jojo, our dog, sees my pale skin and grows quickly vicious and agitated (she always sees me, even when I creep downstairs and make absolutely zero noise, or what my ignorant ears deem to be zero noise). Greyhounds are rarely vicious dogs, but Jojo — as with many Greyhounds, I suspect — has never been able to grasp the concept that clothes are clothes and skin is skin. She just cannot separate the two! Not that that’s her fault, what with her limited worldly knowledge. I can only speculate about what she thinks when she sees me coming down the stairs, but my guess is that she is horrified and truly believes that someone has skinned me, one of her most beloved human beings, alive. The obvious speculation, I guess, when you see someone you live with wearing what you assume has to be skin all the time, but is actually garments and you could never know it. Oh, to be a hound. I wish I could just explain to her what clothes are, it’d make life so much easier…
I found myself, then, in the pantry. In no way whatsoever was I hungry, but it made sense to do something with my time, and hunting for food and being all manly and primal seemed the obvious thing. I knew there was hardly anything in the way of goodies, of course, but that didn’t stop me. Something about being up in the middle of the night always makes me believe that there might be something hiding somewhere, that the normal rules of daytime life have been suspended, somehow. And so I searched, until I came across some Cornish Wafers — kind of like cream crackers except softer and more round. So actually nothing like cream crackers at all, then. Yes, they really are an anomaly.
Philadelphia made them come alive, I tell you! On their own they’re a bit dry and boring, but with Philadelphia — which is a soft cheese you can buy here in England, if you didn’t know — they’re something–
Something was wrong with the packet. It was confusing me. Confusing me because I was a) wandering around somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness and b) the packet, the lid to be precise, wasn’t like it should be. I like my Philadelphia simple and normal in the packet it has always come in. Don’t get me wrong, I can handle a new typeface or change in graphics…but this…this wasn’t just a slight change…this was something more fundamental.
When I leaned slightly to the left or the right, the word on the top changed from Philadelphia to Macaroni cheese.
At first I smiled, thinking it clever. It was one of those holograms I remembered from childhood, where the image morphs into something completely different.
Then, I started to feel unsettled. Much as I like my macaroni cheese — home-made, I can be a real snob about the crap ready-made stuff, but so sue me, I’m the one who’s gotta eat it! — I don’t want anyone putting thoughts about in my head. And that was precisely what the big boys at Philadelphia HQ were doing here. It was being thrusted upon me and in the middle of the night, all tempted and with nothing much else to do, I was helpless. I was right on the verge of just making it there and then like some kind of midnight-cooking-renegade (fortunately my good senses kicked in, though, as I remembered what a nightmare pans are to wash-up).
Here are some more reasons why I don’t want to be coerced into making macaroni cheese:
1) I may not feel like it. I may have already had macaroni cheese that day and eaten way too much of it; in which case, coming across a should-be innocent tub of Philadelphia becomes a nightmare scenario which makes me feel sick.
2) That’s about it. I think I’ve just run out of reasons. I actually really love macaroni cheese…
Nice post Chris – made me :)smile:)
Interesting observation about JoJo/skin/clothing….
And ready-made, tinned Macaroni cheese really is complete bob (home-made ROCKS) so I too will get my ass sued now!
M:)
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Hello mate!
Thanks Mik. Glad it made you smile, wahoo!
Yes…and it’s very true about Jojo…I hope she’s not disturbed…
You’re right. It’s terrible (I assume that’s what Bob means, but I don’t know, I be southern π
I will fight with you if there is a suing, don’t worry.
Will do my best to get back to you soon on the email…stretched right now and need to go out later so in a bit of a rush. Take care Mik and Sue, we’ll catch up soon.
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bob (b-ob) Vulgar Slang
n.
1. Rubbish.
2. Complete and utter pants.
3. A total waste of space.
intr.v. bobby, bob-like, bob-a-licious
Not much cop at all.
interj.
Used to express disaproval or displeasure about something that is inferior.
Phrasal Verb:
‘Bob Cake’
Something that is of no use whatsoever.
(My own dictionary entry! Hope it helps!!!!)
π
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Well well well, Mik Mik Mik, that was mighty comprehensive I might say! (And I do. I think I just proved that by saying it and then proving it doubly, just to make sure.) I’m going to mull over this and see what happens, see if I might adopt it for my own conversational methods. Well done you, well done π
Yes, it does help π
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I LOVE PHILLY CHEESE! (See I even wrote it in caps to emphasise just how much). I try to sneak it into everything I make. Philly pasta sauce, philly chicken, philly and bacon on pasta, philly in a sandwich and on and on and on π
Oh, and I now have quite a clear image of you as loincloth savage man so thanks for that hehe π
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KAREN, I CAN QUITE CLEARLY SEE JUST HOW MUCH YOU LOVE PHILLY CHEESE AND HAVE CHOSEN TO DO THE SAME THING WITH MINIMAL PUNCTUATION HERE JUST BECAUSE I AM TOO EXCITED TO GO BACK AND EDIT THIS SENTENCE HONEST! You sound like a real philly maaaaaaaniac, I mean, it’s rare I ever come across someone who loves philly as much as you do.
Ahh, good to know I’m good for something π Thanks. I believe the word is LOL!
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haha I think I could actually name my next child Philly or Phill (one day in the very distant future :D) and the cheese can actually tell me anything it wants and I will gladly follow it wherever it may go π
I’m certain you are good for lots of things – like making me laugh hehe π
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Follow the cheese, follow it wherever it goes! (And where does it go, exactly? Sounds like a very worldly, well travelled and well-intentioned cheese if you ask me, which you did not. I’d say it was a stilton child.)
Fantastic. I am so pleased my blog is playing a part in your family planning π Thanks for the compliment. I can make people cry too, but that’s a special skill I only bring out for special people π
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okay, just don’t make me cry, not a pretty sight π
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I’ll bear that in mind Karen, I promise. But I wouldn’t worry, it’s not a skill I bring out very often at all (at least I think so, but you never know if people cry after you’ve just had what you thought was a lovely conversation, right?).
Hope you’re having a good weekend π
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haha indeed! Nearly the end of the mid term break so can’t wait for monday really π
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Wow. Now there’s a sentence I didn’t expect anyone I know to say…impressed π
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you have obviously never spent every day of a holiday with a 6 year old and rainy weather π
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Is it that obvious? You’re right π
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Do you do poetry at all? If so, check out http://poetscornerblog.wordpress.com/ and leave a comment to say you want to join π
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Karen, well done, you have just uncovered one of my darkest secrets: I am awful at poetry in dozens of unique ways! Who’s blog is it? Yours? I do love reading poetry however, so I’m just off in a minute to check it out…
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It’s Harry’s (the dribbling pensioner). I am a contributor. So far only contributed one poem which is also on my blog but hopefully will be inspired enough to do more π He was looking for more people to contribute but I think he has quite a few now anyway π
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Ah, Harry. I saw his face and saw you’re a contributor. Very good π I didn’t see your poem but will soon be going back to view it. I’m sure it’s good.I don’t think I had better join as my standard of poetry may bring the blog down I think! Haha, I do like writing poetry sometimes, but I can’t resist making jokes, and I’m not sure that’s quite the idea, but what the hell, to each his or her own π
By the way, still no news on the wordpress comment situation. I wish it could be simply resolved, but everyone I email tells me it’s nothing to do with them…
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You could always check it out on my blog π On Poets corner, it’s under the category Karen on the left hand side π
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I will do that, most certainly Karen! Thanks for the instruction π
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haha π
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HAHA!
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I see you’re really busy today π
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Hmm, maybe I am, hard to tell. I enjoy what I do so it’s never a chore. I like the sound of that last sentence π
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Sounds a bit like you’re going to launch into prose π
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La la la la LA!
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that’s song I want more prose π
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demands demands demands! It’s the weekend. I’ll see what I can do but it takes time π
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haha I am rather demanding π Now get to it π
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I could so easily write something now about women and how they can be demanding at times. Instead, I shall take the higher ground.
That was difficult!
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haha I bet you are writing something about it now π I’m so inspirational π
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and your modesty is overpowering too, anyone ever tell you that? Ha! Come on Karen, you asked for that π
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I know I’m modest, no denying it π
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It’s well-known fact that only modest people ever admit they are modest, just to make sure everyone knows π
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hehe π
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Ah, I love blogging and commenting. Makes me smile π Happy Saturday night to you and your 6-year-old and husband π
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Thanks and I hope yours is
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Mine is
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Thanks and I hope yours is an exciting one, more so than startrek on the plus channel π
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Only messing about! Well, mine is hardly what you’d call exciting — just watching TV while typing this — but I did just go out for a good bit of exercise and that felt great π
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Sorry still getting used to new touch screen phone π
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No sorry! It’s fine. Ah, the joys of touch screen. I love it now that it’s actually good. Not like when touch screen technology first came out…keep smiling Karen π
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Always π oh that half comment turned out to be quite embarrassing am now red cheeks hehe
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Ain’t nothing wrong with red cheeks. It’s when you get a red nose that you REALLY have to worry, ha!
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Haha don’t have one of those yet! Have a lovely night x
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Then that’s an achievement. I will do, same to you x sleep well π
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