A Tale of Christmas Spirit

Christmas is here, a time for fun, family, and feasting. Especially feasting. This is the one time of the year I don't watch every single thing I eat. (People think I'm naturally thin. I'm really, really not.)

It also means that thems of us as do the organising are busy. This year I ran three Christmas Dos, all of which went generally well, except for the fact that dragging people out of the office to celebrate in a year when half the team has left or been made redundant was really a bit of a non-starter. Still, the ones who turned up to the two work dos enjoyed them.

The other one was a truly heartwarming experience. I won't go into too much detail out of respect for privacy, but one member of my group chose the Christmas meal to reveal an aspect of themselves to us that was clearly a great challenge for them personally, and took a lot of courage. (I also had no idea about this, proving that no matter how clued-in you think you are, there's always something happening that you don't know about.)

I'll admit, when I first got the email about their attendance at the group meal, my first thought was "Is this... possibly... a wind-up?" I then discarded this as being one of this first reactions to a situation that actually isn't very helpful. I sent what I hope was a light-hearted message of encouragement, and turned up early to the meal*. As the clock ticked on, and person in question did not appear, I started to hope that they hadn't backed out or had a nervous fit.

But then they arrived.

I have spent a fair part of the past ten years organising this group, though I'm far from the only one to do so. It's patronising to be proud of other adults, but if it wasn't, I'd say I was hugely proud of my group. We smiled, we made welcome, we were happy to see our friend. It was one of the best Christmas meals I've ever attended.

Afterwards we received a very sweet email, with one sentence I'll quote: "There was not a single iota of discomfort. I am still on a high from it."

No matter what happens, this Christmas is a success.

Peace, goodwill, and love to all humanity, in our many unique forms. 




* Well, early for me. I'd be the first to say that time-keeping is not my strong suit.

Happiness Ain't Good For Blogging

Yep, it's the inevitable blogpost about not really having anything to blog about. I'm not really cycling or diving at the moment, due to the weather. It turns out that the very tiny downside of being secure in your job is that the war stories are less interesting. "I wrote a press release as part of the job I'm now sure I've got" is more fun for me, but less interesting to an audience than "Half of my team will get fired in a few months, and I might be one of them".

This is not a complaint.

I could try writing that "What It's Like To Be High-Functioning With Asperger's Syndrome And A Few Other Funny Personality Traits" article I keep meaning to do, but right now that doesn't seem like as much of a priority as getting on with Christmas.

Possibly Christmas will provide a few funny stories. Until then, I'll be entertaining myself by mastering the fine art of Munchkin. A game that can be best summed up by the following exchange between me and an experienced player during my first time playing it:

Me: "So, at this stage I could use this Wandering Monster card to send the Plutonium Dragon to defeat the coalition Alex has put together to fight the Bullrog, but my only reason for doing that would be to be a complete dick to Alex?"

Experienced gamer: "Yep, you're getting the hang of the game."

Done This For Real Four Times...

So, I spent a weekend refreshing my knowledge of Emergency First Response, or First Aid as we more usually call it over here. Nothing I hadn't done before, but you do need to practice, or you lose your skills. After a day and a half spent pounding the chest of a dummy and faking collapsing (I can do a really good convincing faint - practice makes perfect), I now have a shiny card. Much of the EFR course is spent teaching the following principles:

1. Thou Shalt Not Endanger Thyself
2. Thou Shalt Call The Ambulance
3. Thou Shalt Not Make The Patient Worse Whilst Awaiting The Arrival Of People With Actual Medical Training and Drugs

As is oft the way with divers, we could have treated it with more solemnity. Probably the most solemn comment was from my friend T, who used to be a mental health nurse, and commented that he'd done CPR for real four times "and they all died". Realistically, if your heart has stopped, the odds you'll be coming back are about one in ten. Still, the point is to try, and make sarcastic comments, as follows:

"He's hit his head, so he'll need to go to hospital so they can shine a light in his eyes and check his brain's still in there."

"There will be no flashing of boobs."

"Mate, the way you're coughing... I'm not giving you mouth to mouth!"

The Strangest Conversation I Have Ever Had About Paperweights

It looked a bit like this, but with a diving helmet.

I should have written this up last week. Whilst at the York Diving College, you are offered the chance to buy some of their souvenirs by viewing them in the display cabinet. (You're offered it several times - they really like you to know where the list for the souvenirs is. Which is fair, since running any form of diving operation can be insanely expensive.)

I already own more T-shirts than I need, but I did fancy a keyring. I also fancied a rather nice perspex paperweight with the image of an old-fashioned diving helmet inside it, as a Christmas present for AuntOfCyclingDiver, who was a diver long before I was. I wrote "keyring and big perspex box with old-fashioned diving helmet" on the list.

An hour later, just before we went in the decompression chamber, the lady running the bar appeared through the door and started handing out the souvenirs and collecting the cash. All went smoothly, until she got to me.

"Are you the lady who ordered the paperweight?"

"Yes, if we're talking about a big clear block with a diving helmet in it, that was me."

"Sorry, I'm afraid we're out of them. The supplier's dead."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. Which is awful, but it was the sheer unexpectedness of it. I was expecting "We've run out" or "We don't make them any more."

"Okay, is there any chance you could sell me the one in the display cabinet?"

"Afraid not. Sorry."

"Okay." [beat] "If you don't mind me saying, maybe if it's not for sale, you could take the paperweight out of the display cabinet."

"Okay. Well, you know how the light in the cabinet doesn't work?"

"Ah." [beat] "Is the key lost?"

"Afraid so. Sorry."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if all the locksmiths in North Yorkshire were also dead, but fortunately diplomacy prevailed.