Category: Communication

Travel ideas for the New Year?

Inconclusive travel plans for 2014

The following was sent to me by long-term friend, Bob Derham, who has contributed other wonderful items to Learning from Dogs. It had, in turn, been sent to Bob by a good friend of his. Well worth sharing.

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Travel plans for 2014?

I have been in many places, but I’ve never been in Cahoots. Apparently, you can’t go alone. You have to be in Cahoots with someone.

I’ve also never been in Cognito. I hear no one recognizes you there.

I have, however, been in Sane. They don’t have an airport; you have to be driven there. I have made several trips there, thanks to my friends, family and work.

I would like to go to Conclusions, but you have to jump, and I’m not too much on physical activity anymore.

I have also been in Doubt. That is a sad place to go, and I try not to visit there too often.

I’ve been in Flexible, but only when it was very important to stand firm.

Sometimes I’m in Capable, and I go there more often as I’m getting older.

One of my favourite places to be is in Suspense! It really gets the adrenalin flowing and pumps up the old heart! At my age I need all the stimuli I can get!

And, sometimes I think I am in Vincible but life shows me I am not.

People keep telling me I’m in Denial but I’m positive I’ve never been there before!

I may have been in Continent, but I don’t remember what country I was in. It’s an age thing. They tell me it is very wet and damp there.

I have been in Deep s*** many times; the older I get, the easier it is to get there.

“Life is short. Smile while you still have your teeth.”

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Priceless. Thank you Bob (and Andrew).

Happy Birthday to my lovely wife!

The book! Chapter Fifteen.

Philip’s life continues to change and adjust.

Just a little reminder that as from next Monday, December 2nd, the remaining nine chapters will be posted here on Learning from Dogs at the rate of three per week: Monday; Wednesday and Friday. On those same days, I will also be posting my regular style post.

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Learning from Dogs

Chapter Fifteen.

Jeremy Stanton’s forecast had been accurate. At eleven-thirty on that Tuesday morning, he called Philip.

“Philip, it’s Jeremy from Fulfords. Mrs Fuller has signed an agreement to purchase Tristford Barn, subject to survey, for the sum of five-hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds, with vacant possession in effect from Tuesday, 1^st May, 2007.”

“Wow, I better get my skates on! Jeremy, do you know how long it will be before Mrs Fuller has the barn surveyed?”

“Not been arranged yet, but because of the shortness of the time before the exchange of contracts will need to take place, hopefully within the next seven days. I will obviously confirm that with you. Unless you and Mrs Fuller were to agree a shorter contract period, the exchange of contracts would be expected thirty days before close, the 2^nd April in this case.”

“Thanks Jeremy. I’ll look forward to hearing from you with regard to the survey date.”

With that Philip and Jeremy ended the call. He turned to Pharaoh and exclaimed, “Wow, my furry friend, now things are really going to change.”

His next call was to Liz Jones over at Diptford. He quickly brought her up to speed about what had just happened.

Liz then asked, “So, Philip, when are you looking for accommodation?”

“From Tuesday, 1^st May to be blunt about it. How does that work for you? Or rather how does that tie in with your existing tenant?”

“Philip, after our last call I did speak to Mary, that’s her name, and she is likely to give notice on or around May 1^st, vacating towards the end of the month. Is there any way you can find temporary accommodation for the month of May?”

“Not sure, to be honest, Liz. But can’t imagine I can’t work something out. In fact I was thinking of going to California around that time. Leave it with me. But, Liz, can I confirm with you that as soon as Mary vacates I will be able take over the tenancy? Happy to pay a deposit straight away, of course.”

“Philip, come on now, you don’t need to put a deposit down, for heavens sake! As far as I’m concerned as soon as Mary vacates it’s yours.”

“Oh, just had a thought, Philip.”

“What’s that, Liz?”

“I have a decent size barn that is empty and weather-proof. Would it help for you to store your house contents there until your future plans become clearer?”

“Oh, Liz, you are an absolute sweetheart. That would take a huge burden off my shoulders.”

Philip and Liz finished the call agreeing that she would double-check Mary’s plans and him saying that he would arrange things for May and go forward on the basis that the rooms wouldn’t be free until the week commencing the twenty-eighth of May.

It was time to take Pharaoh for a walk and soon they were parking up at James’ woods and enjoying the afternoon air. It gave him an opportunity to think things through; so much had happened in the last few days.

First up would be to work out finding somewhere for him and Pharaoh to stay during the month of May. What came to his mind almost immediately was calling Danny and seeing if his invite to ‘get his arse out to California’ would extend to him coming out in May. If he could get his belongings sorted and over to Liz’s barn in late April, then perhaps spend a few days with Diana and John in early May, and then fly out to California more or less returning to England at the end of the month. It seemed like a plan.

After their time in the woods, he decided to pop in on the way back and see sister, Diana. Both she and John were at home, as they so often were, and Philip gave them the news of the sale of Tristford Barn, then outlined his thoughts about the month of May. As he anticipated, there wasn’t a problem. Far from it, because John had long ago admitted that he enjoyed having Philip’s company.

Then back home to the barn, with a quick call to Sandra Chambers at the kennels establishing, as Philip anticipated, that there would be a kennel for Pharaoh in May.

He went to the fridge and opened himself a beer before coming back and picking up the phone again. Time to call Danny.

“Hey Danny, it’s Philip”

“How are you man, how’s it going?”

“Listen Danny, you remember telling me to get my arse out to California. Well you know I always hang on to your every word, so how about me coming out around the 8^th May for a couple of weeks or so?”

“Hey that’s cool, no problem at all, we would love to see you out here. Will you want to go and see Lisa and Don up in Los Osos?”

“Yes, that would be wonderful. Haven’t seen your sister for a while now.”

“OK, Philip, I’ll call her, but can’t imagine it will be a problem. Want to use one of my cars?”

“Danny, is the Pope Catholic! That would be fabulous. OK, I’ll look into flights and give you a call before I go firm on them. You sure it will be OK with Georgie? Don’t want to cause your dear wife any issues?”

“Hey, Georgie loves having you stay with us. And she’s been so worried about you these last few weeks. Trust me, no problem. Give us a call with those flight details.”

Thus it was that a week later Philip was back on the phone to Danny and within thirty minutes of finishing the call with him, he had booked tickets for the flight out to Los Angeles for the morning of the 8^th May, with him returning back to London on May 27^th.

This all set in motion an incredibly hectic few weeks. Essentially, in a little over a month all the contents of Tristford Barn had to be packed up and taken over to Liz’s barn at Diptford. There was another aspect as well. One that he wasn’t looking forward to. That is that he had no choice other than to speak with Maggie and have her come over and remove many of her personal belongings that were still in the barn. A couple of evenings later, he called Maggie’s parents home.

Her father, David, answered and, much to Philip’s surprise, Maggie was over at her parents house. She came on to the phone.

“Maggie, it’s Philip. Won’t take any of your time but need to let you know that Tristford Barn has been sold and it has to be emptied and vacated by the end of April.”

“Yes, I had a call from my solicitor to say that the house was close to being sold. When do you want me to come across?”

They swapped a few dates around and agreed for Maggie and her father to come over on the 14^th April, a Saturday. That would suit him as much of his stuff would have been taken over to Liz’s barn by then.

After he had put the phone down, he wondered just what his emotions would be when Maggie came across. Plus he was unsure whether her coming over with her father was helpful or not. There was not long to wait to find out.

Saturday, the 14^th dawned clear and bright, thank goodness. Philip took Pharaoh for an early walk around the village and had been back in the house for about thirty minutes when he saw David’s car arrive and Maggie get out of the car to open the gate. He wasn’t sure what to expect but the one thing that he didn’t expect was to see someone he was married to for over six-and-a-half years come across not only as a person utterly remote to him but almost practically a stranger. He noticed that Pharaoh was unusually quiet as well, as if he was picking up on Philip’s feelings.

Those feelings persisted as he went down to the front door and let David and Maggie in.

After offering them both a hot drink, Philip said to Maggie, “You’ll find in each of the rooms that I have put your stuff more or less together. Of course, if you think there’s something not there then shout out. I’ll be sitting up here in the living room so come and see me if you want to open any drawers or cupboards.”

Maggie nodded in a reflective manner, her father seemed to want to stay away from any emotional aspect of this visit to Tristford Barn.

Thus over the next hour or so, David and Maggie were back and forth between the house and David’s car. It came to the point where it looked as though they had finished removing Maggie’s belongings.

David came up the stairs to where Philip was sitting, Pharaoh curled up next to him.

“Philip, we’re all packed up so soon be out of your hair. Thank you and, how can I put this, I’m really sorry as to what happened. I shall miss your company.”

Philip hadn’t expected that. “David, thank you and I feel the same way. We saw eye-to-eye on many things. You and Gwen welcomed me into the family despite the age difference between me and Maggie and that’s something that will be treasured in the future. Give Gwen a hug from me and tell her I’m already missing her home-made cakes.”

He and David hugged. Pharaoh had come up to them and David stroked Pharaoh’s head. Then went down the stairs, let himself out of the front door and within minutes he and Maggie had driven out of the cul-de-sac disappeared from sight.

As Philip continued looking out from the front window, Pharaoh came and sat on his haunches next to him. Once again, this furry, loveable creature had picked up on his feelings and sensed Philip’s need for the closeness of Pharaoh.

What was he feeling? It wasn’t clear but it did have something of the feel of a termination. Or was it more like rejection? He wasn’t sure but it did bring uppermost to his mind that he should speak with Jonathan and try and get a session with him arranged fairly soon after he returned from his trip California which, with a start, he realised was coming up in just over two-weeks time.

On the Monday, Philip was able to have a quick conversation with Jonathan and agreed that his first session with him, in his counselling capacity, would be Friday, 1^st June, just a few days after his flight back from LA, hopefully with the worst of the jet-lag behind him.

Thus Philip’s new life was taking shape. His sister, Diana, and John, were happy for him and Pharaoh to stay with them as soon as he had to vacate Tristford Barn; most probably on the last weekend in April. Liz, bless her, had offered storage space for all his furniture and belongings. Then within a week, he would be going up to London in order to catch the flight out to Los Angeles on May 8^th.

The book Chapter Fourteen.

The book is completed; appropriately by Thanksgiving Day!

Yes, at 3pm yesterday, I wrote the last sentence of the epilogue: Back to the beginning. Sturdy followers will recall the prologue In the beginning published here on the 4th November.

Still can’t believe it, to be honest. A total of 53,412 words written in 27 days, or an average of 1,978 words a day.

Now the first thing that has to be said in bold: THIS IS THE FIRST DRAFT! The professionals recommend taking at least two weeks off before starting the equal challenge of editing, refining and finishing. There was another pep talk on the NaNoWriMo website that I would like to post here; it seems to illustrate the game of being a writer so well.

But before that, thank you to everyone who kept me going. It meant a great deal.

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Dear Authors,

The Shining may be the best film ever made about being a writer—not because Jack Nicholson’s character went bonkers, but because he had the work ethic it takes to build a career. Sure, he just typed “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” thousands of times. But he worked every single day—even when the creative juices weren’t flowing.

I’ve never bought into the self-indulgent notion of writer’s block, a grown-up version of “The dog ate my homework.” The fact is that some people have nothing to say and will never be writers. But if you need inspiration, try perspiration. If you’re meant to write, you’ll write. Sure, we’re all stymied from time to time, struggling over how best to shape a character or how to bring a crucial scene to life. But the best way to confront such problems is to sit down and start typing. Things happen when you make them happen.

Sure, it’s gorgeous out, your friends are partying and there are errands that need to be run right now. Or there’s more research to do, or another urgent email that needs a response. There’s always an excuse not to write—but if you make a habit of grabbing excuses, you’ll never become a pro. Better to type up slop, throw it away, and start again the next morning, than to duck your daily battle with the keyboard.

There have been days when I just could not bring myself to sit down at the computer, but such days have been rare. More often, I may not feel like chaining myself to my desk, but I sit down and get to work, anyway. I’m a writer. This is my job. Often, I’ve wanted to quit but stuck to the mission… only to find, after many a barren hour, that I’d written something so good I asked myself the most satisfying question a writer can spit out: “Jeez, where did that come from?”

Many an aspiring writer is just in love with a glammed-up idea of being an author, but not enthused about the actual work. Well, the only way to learn to write is to write (and to write a lot). Sit down and get started. Even if you just type, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Writing is wretched, discouraging, physically unhealthy, infinitely frustrating work. And when it all comes together it’s utterly glorious.

In these last days of NaNoWriMo, get to work.

Ralph

Ralph Peters is the author of 30 books, and has published extensively as a journalist and essayist. He pays the bills by writing.

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Learning from Dogs

Chapter Fourteen

“Hallo, Jonathan, it’s Philip.”

“Philip, how are you? Listen I heard about you and Maggie splitting up. I’m so sorry. Must all still be very raw in your life at the moment.”

“Yes it’s been hard. I’m very slowly coming to terms with all the implications of what will be a divorce in due course; without doubt. Nonetheless, I think there’s a long way to go for me. At times it feels like more than I can handle.”

He paused, “To be honest, Jonathan, that’s why I’m calling you just now. Over the last few weeks, going back over and over again about Maggie’s behaviour has been stirring up a whole pile of strange and often conflicting feelings. I just wondered if there was any chance of us reversing roles; of me becoming your client?”

“Oh Philip, that’s a question I would much prefer you hadn’t asked. Because fundamental to how a counsellor and a person adopt a counselling relationship is that they are not familiar to each other from previous times. I’m really sorry but I have to decline your request. It’s for your sake, you do understand.”

“Jonathan, guess I hadn’t considered that but it does make sense, even though I hate to admit it. But there’s something about you, something about your, what’s the word you use, your mindfulness, that engages with me in a manner that previous counsellors have so lacked. Is there any way that I could see you that was appropriate to our circumstances?”

There was quite a long pause. It was clear that Jonathan was deep in thought. Finally, he spoke, “Philip, the only way that it could happen is like this. That is that you agree to let me be the judge of whether the counselling is working for you and that if I have the slightest question about that you will allow me to terminate the relationship, possibly at quite short notice. Let me be clear. If I decide that your best interests are not being served by me, then not only will I ask that we no longer meet but that you won’t do anything other than to gracefully accept that. Plus, of course, you could no longer mentor me with regard to my own business plans.”

Philip had no doubt in his mind. “Jonathan, that’s completely understood and I give you my word that I would accept seeing you on that basis. Plus our existing mentoring relationship is not continued.” He then added, “To be honest, we had covered most of what needed to be covered in terms of your own business anyway.”

“Philip, do you have a feel for when you would like to start coming to see me?”

“To be honest, Jonathan, not a clue just now. Chances are that the house is going to be sold. Then there’s the game of disposing of much of what’s in the house, finding rented accommodation, although that may have been sorted, then probably around May time, I’ll be going out to California for two or three weeks.”

“OK Philip, well just let your life run as smoothly as is possible in this difficult period and when you see the window opening in terms of coming to see me, something that will be very clear to you at that time, I don’t doubt, then give me a call and we can work out a schedule that is suitable for you and me.”

Came the following Saturday and Philip welcomed Jeremy Stanton who was accompanied by a Fulfords assessor, or so that’s what Philip gathered. It was a dry morning so he walked Pharaoh around the garden two or three times before sitting on the bench in front of the house. Not too long after, the Fulford duo came outside.

Jeremy came forward and spoke to him. “We’ve had a good look around and, frankly, we like what we see. Yes, the floor area of the house is smaller than average but that comes down to the fact that it was once a barn, and that’s a huge plus. Nonetheless,it’s fully a three-bedroomed home with a nicely appointed kitchen and, of course, that wonderful living room area overlooking both the village in one direction and classic Devon countryside in the other.”

Jeremy turned towards his colleague. “Dick and I are of no doubt that your property should be listed at just a shade over five-hundred thousand pounds. Was that in line with your own thoughts?”

“To be honest, Jeremy, I still can’t get my mind around how prices have risen in recent years. How would a sale price in that region compare with other properties for sale in the village?”

“No question, we are pricing it a little higher than the few other properties for sale in Harberton. But when you compare it to those others, your place is the genuine article, a real Devon stone barn converted into a good-looking home. Then when you add good vehicle access, plenty of parking space on your property, a real scarcity in the village, no passing traffic, a very quiet location right on the edge of the village but just three minutes walk from the pub and the church then the price we have in mind is certainly not fairy-tale land.”

Philip and Jeremy kicked around a few other aspects of the house market, how Spring was just around the corner, and it was decided that Philip would come into Fulfords on the Tuesday to sign their agreement.

Later that Saturday afternoon, Philip wondered if he should brief Maggie, either directly or via her solicitor, about his likely intention to sell the barn. But just the thought of dealing with Maggie had his blood pressure rising and, thank goodness, while she had some of her money in the house, it was his name alone on the deeds. He would do what he damn well wanted to do!

Thus on the Tuesday, a little after ten-thirty, Philip was poised, pen in hand, to sign the agreement for Fulfords to market Tristford Barn, Harberton, for the asking price of five-hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds. Fifteen minutes later it was done. His home of the last eight years was for sale. Philip had requested that a For Sale sign not be put on the property; well not for the meantime. There had also been discussion about the best way to handle viewings. It seemed to make a good deal of sense for Philip to take Pharaoh for a walk, or out away from the barn, when Fulfords had someone who wanted to view the property, thus ensuring that Pharaoh wouldn’t be ‘speaking’ to strangers coming up the drive. He would leave the barn neat and tidy, wood stove lit but closed down, flowers in the kitchen, and the rest. He had already passed a spare set of house keys across to Jeremy at the time he signed the agreement.

Philip had no idea of the level of interest there would be in the barn. However, Jeremy had suggested that it was the sort of property that would attract quite a number of viewers in the early days; converted Devon barns didn’t come around that often, plus Harberton was a much sort-after village.

True to his prediction almost as soon as the sales particulars had been printed and distributed, appointments were coming in to view the barn. Philip did his best to leave the barn warm, with lights on, and as welcoming as he could make it. Pharaoh was clearly puzzled at all this unusual activity yet didn’t complain about the walks he was offered, often at short notice.

He was out walking Pharaoh for just the reason of a viewing of the barn early in March. It was a Thursday, Philip recalled, and he had taken Pharaoh to the beach at Torbay to allow him a dip in the waves, something Pharaoh never failed to enjoy. He was just putting Pharaoh back on the leash when his mobile phone rang in his coat pocket. It was Jeremy.

“Philip, good time to talk?”

“Yes, not too bad. I’m over at the beach but can hear you pretty clearly.”

He signalled to Pharaoh to sit, pulled his coat collar closer around his neck.

“Well, I’m in my car parked in your driveway. I have just been showing a potential purchaser, a Mrs Fuller, Tristford Barn. In fact it’s the second time I have shown her around. No question, she loves your place. She’s single, no home to sell, has the cash, will pay the asking price but here’s the rub; she wants to be in by the end of April.”

Philip had sunk to his knees, oblivious to the wetness of the sand, his free arm around Pharaoh’s shoulders. Pharaoh was licking his ear.

“Bloody hell! Sorry Jeremy, didn’t mean to be coarse. Just a lot to take in.”

“Understood,” replied Jeremy. “but clearly it was right to call you straightaway. Mrs Fuller is still in the house. I said I would try and call you. Presume you are happy to go with with this and to be frank Mrs Fuller is about an ideal a buyer for you that you’ll ever find.”

Philip confirmed his support for the offer and Jeremy rang off saying he would call later once Mrs Fuller had been in to the office to sign the various documents.

The book! Chapter Thirteen.

Just this and two other chapters before the end of November!

Where did the month go!

As I explained yesterday, I shall change chapter publishing from next Monday.

From next Monday I will revert to publishing the range of articles and essays that I have been doing since July 2009. In other words, a new post every day of the week, just as before. But, in addition, I will be releasing three of the forthcoming draft Chapters, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

So if you are not into reading the book, just pass those posts by. If you are, poor soul, then read away to your heart’s content.

Any reactions or comments would be wonderful.

With that, on to the story!

As so today.

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Learning from Dogs

Chapter Thirteen

It was February 14^th, 2007; Valentine’s Day. What would have been his seventh wedding anniversary for him and Maggie. Eight weeks to the day since she had blown his life apart.

Rather than mope on his own, he had decided ahead of time deliberately to arrange something unusual and different for this potentially disturbing day. A chance remark with friend, Julian, who lived in Exeter, revealed that he was a private pilot and, coincidentally, also a single man; his marriage having failed a few years previously. So when Julian offered to fly Philip and him to Guernsey for lunch he could hardly believe his luck. It turned out to be a wonderful experience even when soon after climbing out from Exeter Airport Philip was blown away by the incredible views of the broad reaches of the English Channel and the Atlantic way beyond. Julian demonstrated the remarkable ease with which two people can travel to a place in a light aircraft, in this case an island no less, enjoy a few hours of food and fresh air, and be back home in not a lot longer than it would have taken a ferry to steam one-way from Poole in Dorset to Guernsey. Philip had often wondered what becoming a private pilot would be like and Julian’s generous gift had triggered a little thought that maybe, once the crap of the divorce was behind him, he might enrol in flying lessons.

Thus upon their return to Exeter Airport and later when Philip collected Pharaoh from Sandra’s kennels and set off home to Harberton he felt good that he had not succumbed to the regrets of his lost relationship with Maggie, that could so easily have hung over this day.

Back home, with both him and Pharaoh fed and watered, fire burning brightly, he reflected on the past sixty days. It had been an incredible roller-coaster of feelings, moods and emotions.

At the root of Maggie’s unfaithfulness had been her longing for another child. Her first child, a daughter, had chosen to go and live with her father before Maggie and Philip had met. He knew that Maggie had been conscious that her child-bearing years were almost over. He guessed that with him having had that vasectomy so long ago, and being significantly older than her, that Maggie had been drawn elsewhere.

It didn’t lessen his anger towards her, not in the slightest, because he truly believed that trust was fundamental to any relationship and trust was impossible without the openness of one’s concerns and worries.

That day after the terrible day of December 20^th, Philip had rung Diana, his elder half-sister; James’ mother. He explained what had happened. Her reply was immediate and all and much more than Philip had expected. Diana told him to put some things together and to come straight over to the house, with Pharaoh of course. Philip replied by asking if it would be alright with John, her husband, to which Diana had simply told him not to worry, she would speak with John and to come across now.

So that’s just what Philip did later that Thursday afternoon. Leading to him spending eight days of being loved and cared for by Diana and John. He had known them for more years than he cared to remember. In fact, Diana and her sister, Rhona, who died a few years previously, were the primary reasons why Philip had settled down in South Devon after returning to England from overseas in the early 1990s.

Luckily, Diana and John’s house and small-holding, just up the lane from Littlehempston, was only six miles from Harberton so it had been easy for Philip to pop back home to pick up clothes and food for Pharaoh over the Christmas period. Pharaoh thought that every one of those days over with Diana and John was Christmas Day!

He didn’t have that talk with Maggie the day after she went to her parents and, frankly, he wasn’t bothered. All that mattered was getting his mind around this new phase of his life that had been thrust upon him and, in his own time, moving on to Plan B, as it were, whatever that turned out to be.

Which, in a very real sense, was what Philip was musing over that evening back home after his Valentine’s Day flight and lunch with Julian in Guernsey.

When he had first spoken with Julian back in January and the idea of the flight had been mentioned, Julian had also recommended avoiding person-to-person contact with Maggie. His argument was that the wounds would more quickly heal by appointing a solicitor to handle the legal separation and eventual divorce, than having to have continued contact with Maggie. That’s what he had done.

But there was one aspect that did not hang easily over Philip; that of what to do with the house. He was torn. It was a lovely converted stone barn in a popular South Devon village. If he stayed there, inevitably there would be some pay-out due to his ex and that galled him, seriously so, as it had been ninety percent of his money that had paid for the house. He resolved to go and talk to some estate-agents in Totnes over the coming days to see if that made the decision of to sell or not to sell easier.

It turned out to be the next day. He had run into Totnes in the morning to pick up some food from Safeway, then walked the short distance to Fore Street at the bottom of town. It had been ages since he had looked through the windows of an estate agent, at the many panels advertising properties for sale, and he just couldn’t believe his eyes. The prices were astronomical. It was the same in all the agents’ windows: Rendells; Fulfords; Michelmore Hughes; Luscome Maye. Curiosity overcame him. On the way back down Fore Street he went into Fulfords and was quickly seen by a eager young, slick-haired sales assistant. Philip explained where he lived and that he was curious as to the current price. The young man asked him to remain seated and went across to speak to someone whom Philip presumed was one of the partners. They both returned to the desk where Philip was sitting.

“Hello, my name is Jeremy Stanton and I’m a partner here at Fulfords. How may I assist you?”

“Jeremy, my name is Philip, Philip Stevens, and I live in Harberton, in Tristford Barn in the cul-de-sac just off Tristford Road.”

“Yes, I know where you are. Isn’t your house that old, converted stone barn that overlooks the other properties around you? That beautiful barn, to my eyes anyway?” replied Jeremy.

“Yes, that’s the place. I purchased the barn privately from the owner who did the conversion, bought it back in 1999, and just wondered what it might be worth these days.”

Jeremy paused for a moment, “Oh, wasn’t that Barry Williams who did the conversion?”

Philip was impressed.

Jeremy indicated to him that they both go to a small room towards the rear of the open floor area.

“Philip, would you like a coffee or tea?”

“Well a tea would go down very nicely.”

Jeremy stepped outside the room for a couple of minutes and to Philip’s great surprise came back with a couple of mugs that obviously held freshly-made tea, not of either the instant or machine variety.

“I made us a couple of mugs of the proper tea. Can’t abide the instant stuff.”

Philip took a careful sip from his mug. The tea was hot to his lips yet very welcome.

“So Philip, you purchased the barn in 1999, I guess going on for eight years ago now. Do you mind telling me what you paid for it?”

“I paid one hundred and sixty thousand pounds, that I’m pretty sure was a little over the odds at the time. But, as I’m sure you know, properties in Harberton don’t often come on to the market especially a converted stone barn right in the middle of the village.”

“Philip, I couldn’t agree more. Now, of course, we would need to come over and take a look in order to give you a more accurate estimate but I would say that today’s price, especially in these times of significant demand for village properties, won’t be far off five hundred thousand pounds.”

The look on Philip’s face as he heard that estimate from Jeremy said it all. He was staggered.

“I had no idea that prices had risen to that level.”

“So, Philip, do you want us to come over to Harberton and give you a detailed analysis and estimate?”

Philip could hardly quieten his mind and stammered out, “Er, er, yes, I suppose so. No, sorry, of course you should come out. That would be very helpful.”

They settled on a date, the coming Saturday, just the day after tomorrow.

Later that afternoon, when out walking with Pharaoh, he thought more about his future. It seemed to be pretty clear to him that selling Tristford Barn made a huge amount of sense. There were strong and persistent rumours that property prices were overdue for a correction, that selling the barn would allow him to settle with Maggie and pocket a tidy amount of cash while he worked out where his life was going. Going on to reflect that if it turned out that it might be a while before he bought another house, then the present savings rates would reduce the pain, big time, of paying for rented accommodation. That last thought of his being immediately tempered by Pharaoh barking at something up in the trees; squirrels most likely. Of course, renting somewhere dog-friendly might be a challenge. The thought then crossed his mind as to whether the place that he had been renting over at Diptford, before he and Maggie had bought Tristford Barn, might be available and, more importantly, would they accept a dog; after all it had been a farm property with sheep and livestock. Upper Holsome Farm, that was it. What was the woman’s name?

As he drove back home her name came to him. It was Liz Jones, of course. He recalled how she had explained that her husband had died from a tragic tractor accident back in 1990 and Liz had decided to keep the farm running but to let out a wing of the main house to ensure some steady money coming in.

Liz’s phone rang a few times before it was answered.

“Hi, is that Liz?”

“Yes. My goodness, is that you Philip? How are you?”

Philip summarised what had happened over the past couple of months.

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. Gracious, it only seems like yesterday that I was at your wedding at Harberton Church.”

“Liz, it was seven years ago yesterday. Anyway, moving on. I’m kicking around the idea of selling Tristford Barn and perhaps renting somewhere while I take stock of things. So just wondered if you were still renting out your rooms. But, Liz, it wouldn’t be just for me. I now have a beautiful German Shepherd dog: Pharaoh. He’s the love of my life. He’s four this coming June. So I didn’t know, assuming you are still letting your rooms, whether or not a dog could be included.”

Liz’s reply was direct. “For God’s sake, Philip, this is still a working farm and you’ll will remember the dogs we have here. Of course your dog would be welcome.”

Philip felt a ray of emotional sunshine lighting him up. Pharaoh sensed it as well, coming over to where Philip was sitting with the phone and laying his head across Philip’s leg, so typical a gesture for him. What a sensitive dog he was.

“That’s fantastic. Let me see how things develop but whatever, I’ll stay in touch, Liz.”

“Yes, please do. I have a professional woman in the rooms at present. She’s something to do with Plymouth Hospital. But, as it happens, it wasn’t that long ago that she was saying to me that she might be facing a job move during the year. I’ll quietly sound her out. Oh, and Philip, the best of luck. You’re a good man and it will all turn out fine, trust me.”

“Thank you, Liz, thank you so much. Will be in touch.”

And with that Philip rang off, stroked Pharaoh’s soft warm head and felt a whole lot more contented than he had done for quite a while.

Again the evening, after he had made a meal for himself and fed Pharaoh, was a time for more inner reflection. One of the things that had been troubling him was the incredibly intense emotional reaction that he had had to Maggie’s announcement of her miscarriage back that last December.

When he had been staying with Diana over Christmas, they had had long talks about their father and the consequences of his death all those years ago. Diana had said to Philip that while she had been aware of the trauma it must have caused him, she had never shared with him her concerns about the long-term possible emotional consequences. The suddenness of their father’s death, the way he must have felt shut out from everything, even though she had no doubt that everyone was doing their best to protect him.

Philip knew that Diana had been stirring up some deep feelings because of the way he had such trouble even listening to her words. So, as he sat before the warm wood stove, Pharaoh fast asleep on the rug before him, he thought that now might be a good time to seek some personal counselling. The last thing he wanted to do was to carry baggage, known or unknown, into the next phase of his life. He resolved to call Jonathan Atkins in the morning.

Sights and sounds.

Just a collection of items that I hope you will enjoy.

So enough of the book this week for you dear readers.

It’s the week-end and time to offer you some odds and ends that have come my way in recent days.

First up is some really glorious singing.

Some years ago, I was working with a colleague and subsequently got to know that his wife was a brilliant singer/songwriter enjoying a good singing career. Her name is Rebecca Bains and there is a website here although still under construction according to the home page.

So to Rebecca’s singing.

Now for something completely different.

It’s an advertisement for Volvo Trucks. Sent to me by friend, Neil, from my Devon days. The short video has been seen over 45 million times! If you haven’t seen it, prepared to be wowed!

Now back to Rebecca’s singing. But with this introduction from me. Many know that here in Oregon we have nine dogs. Four of those are dogs that were rescued by Jean from earlier days in Mexico and two from the shelter in Payson, Arizona where we were living before coming to Oregon. There are many, many others who adopt rescue dogs or care for homeless dogs in countless ways.

So as we approach Christmas, the Season of Good Will, please do everything you can to help man’s best friend and companion for, literally, thousands upon thousands of years. If you are thinking of adopting a dog, or a cat, please visit your local shelter or the Pet Finder website.

OK, now to a short video with the singing from Rebecca Bains.

Trust me, this will rightly grab your heartstrings.

Well done, Rebecca.

The book! Chapter Eleven.

Ouch, ouch and more ouch!

In yesterday’s chapter I wrote of what, perhaps, was one of the better times in the lives of our hero, Philip, and his wife Maggie. But as we move to Chapter Eleven the phrase ‘first impressions may be misleading’ does come to mind.

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Learning from Dogs

Chapter Eleven

Later that evening, after he and Maggie had eaten their evening meal, a rather poor affair that Philip had to admit, Monday being his turn to prepare dinner, he couldn’t shake off something approaching a cloud over him. Most likely associated with the forthcoming fiftieth anniversary of his father’s death, he guessed.

It was the same every year. Whatever he was involved in, however interesting and engaging his life was during the last few months of the year, Philip knew that the period between his birthday in early November and the date of his father’s death on the twentieth of December had some ill-defined greyness about it. Then as soon as the twenty-first of December dawned, he was back to his usual brightness. Indeed, he was always embarrassed by the fact that his pre-Christmas mood never arrived until the twenty-first of December, frequently a bit on the late side to engage properly in the annual ritual of present-buying.

Still that’s how it had been for every year of his adult life and, privately, he wondered if that was his way of treasuring a father he never really knew.

Thus so it was this year. In the sense that it was about a week before Christmas Day, probably around the eighteenth of December that, again, he had to pull himself up sharply and start thinking as to what he should give Maggie as her main present.

What really caused him to focus on Maggie and Christmas was a very strange, decidedly untypical, interaction between Maggie and Pharaoh. Up until then, whenever Maggie had gone out somewhere on her own, Pharaoh would always bark as her car turned into the driveway. On their upper floor, the main living room area, there was a floor-to-ceiling pair of glass-panelled doors overlooking the front of the house, the garden and their short driveway and their five-bar, wooden gate. The glass doors would have been wooden shutters back in the days when it was a cow barn. Today, the doors could be opened during hot summer weather; there was a wooden rail across the opening to prevent any falling accidents.

Pharaoh’s usual routine with arriving cars was to bound up to the windows barking furiously when he heard the latch on the gate being handled and when any car drove up the driveway. If it was Maggie returning home then as soon as he recognised her he would bound down the short, single flight of wooden stairs from the living-room level to the hallway and stand inside the front door, also glassed from head to foot, wagging his tail furiously until he was let out whereupon he would run joyously to her.

However this day, Philip was pretty sure is was the Monday, Pharaoh did his usual barking act as Maggie drove in. Then there was the sound of Pharaoh coming down the steps to the front door with a growl in his throat. That’s what made Philip look up from his computer screen; he was certain that he had heard Maggie’s car but then the growling suggested otherwise.

Pharaoh’s growl became quite intense, practically a sound from him that Philip had never heard before.

He quickly pushed his office chair back on its wheels and stood up from his desk. Within moments, he was beside Pharaoh looking out at Maggie walking back down the driveway to close the front gate.

“Pharaoh, quiet!”, Philip said with a sternness to his voice. Pharaoh reduced the constant growl to a sort of angry muttering in the back of his throat. Philip had no doubt that Pharaoh was not playing around. To the point where he practically dragged Pharaoh by his collar back into the small office and firmly closed the door on the two of them.

Pharaoh pushed to the office window, also full length, his eyes, ears and full body stance continuing to signal a great unease. What on earth was happening? Philip just couldn’t fathom it out.

He left his office room, closing the door with Pharaoh inside, and went out to meet Maggie who was walking towards the house with a semi-full bag of groceries in a cloth shopping bag.

“Hi, is that all there is to bring in?”, Philip asked.

“Yes, only a few items that I needed from Safeways.”

As Maggie came up to the front door, Philip continued, “You know, there’s something weird about Pharaoh just now.” He went on to explain what had just happened, continuing, “It’s almost as though he didn’t know it was you.”

They climbed the stairs up to the open-plan kitchen area that was at one end of the living room, to the right of the stairs, the main living room area to the left. Philip then went over to the log-burner in the corner of the living room and fiddled with it for a while. In fact, his mind was still on Pharaoh wondering if his angst had now subsided. Only one way to find out.

He returned to his office room and opened the door. Pharaoh was lying on the rug. He looked up at Philip and, again, very strangely, only raising himself from the floor and following Philip upstairs to the living-room after a great deal of coaxing.

It was all very peculiar.

Wednesday, the 20^th, dawned to reveal a bright pleasant morning with soft, cumulus clouds across a broadly blue sky. A great morning to be over at the woods for a walk.

After breakfast, Philip called out to Maggie, who had been in the bathroom for a while, actually more than a while when he thought about it, that he and Pharaoh were off to James’ woods. Philip just heard Maggie call out that she had heard him.

It was a wonderful walk. Pharaoh was in his prime chasing squirrels, a fairly pointless task Philip always thought, then sticking his nose down the many rabbit holes, sniffing such large lungfulls of air that Philip wondered if Pharaoh thought he could suck the poor rabbits out of their burrows.

The date, fifty years to the day that his father had died, seemed to rest much more easily with him than he had feared. It was all so, so long ago. It crossed his mind to buy Maggie a bouquet of flowers on the way home.

A couple of hours later, he and Pharaoh bounced into the house, a fresh bouquet of flowers newly purchased at Safeways in Totnes in Philip’s right hand.

“Hi sweetheart, bought you these. Just thought you looked a little off-colour earlier this morning and that some flowers might cheer you up.”

As he was offering the flowers to Maggie he realised that whatever it was that had been afflicting her earlier that morning was still troubling her. Frankly, she looked very pale and drawn.

“Maggie, what’s the problem? You don’t look at all well.”

“Philip, do you mind if I lie down on the bed for a little while, just not feeling that brilliant.”

“No, of course not,” came his reply. “Look you go and lie down, I’ll put the flowers in water, make us both a nice cup-of-tea and bring them down to the bedroom.”

With that Philip went upstairs to the living room, dug out a glass vase and put the flowers in water, placing the vase with the flowers on one of the work surfaces in the kitchen.

He also noted that the fire was pretty low and needed rejuvenating. Thus it was nearer thirty minutes before he returned to their bedroom with the hot teas. Maggie’s body was under the bedspread, her head back against a pair of pillows, still giving the appearance of being significantly out of sorts.

He put Maggie’s cup down on the bedside table next to her and cradling his own mug of tea in his hands sat down on the edge of the bed, just adjacent to where Maggie’s knees were under the cover.

Maggie heaved herself up, leaning back against the headboard and reached for her tea. “Thank you, Philip, that was very kind of you.”

They both sat without saying a word, Philip conscious of the hot tea reminding him of an empty stomach not yet having had lunch.

Maggie took a breath, put her empty cup down on the bedside table, and looked at Philip.

“Philip, I don’t know how to say this. The reason for me being unwell this morning was that I have just had a miscarriage.”

Philip’s world came to an instant, shuddering halt. Of course, that’s what Pharaoh had picked up, the impending breakup of his home. Because, after the birth of his second child with his first wife in 1972, Philip had opted for a vasectomy.

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Have to wait until Monday to see where it all leads to.

Voices of reason.

Tried hard to avoid a grim reality post, but failed!

As last week, I thought that wall-to-wall book chapters were a bit much and that Wednesdays should be a break. Ideally, a light-hearted break. But failed! Sorry!

For a long time, I have followed George Monbiot’s writings. Like a number of other correspondents that come to mind, Mr. Monbiot writes with a clarity and intellect that takes some beating. Rather tentatively I wrote to him asking if I might republish some of his essays, including those that are published in the UK newspaper, The Guardian. To my great pleasure, George replied that so long as his essays did not appear in print then permission was given.

Before going on, it may do no harm to remind me and so many millions of others, of the opening preamble of the US Constitution:

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Whatever the country, the concept of ‘by the people, of the people, for the people’ takes one hell of a lot of beating.

So to the essay. I was struck by a recent essay from George Monbiot that seemed to touch on something that more and more ordinary folk sense; that many so-called democratic political systems are not functioning in the interests of the people. Thus with no further ado, here it is.

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Why Politics Fails

November 11, 2013
Nothing will change until we confront the real sources of power.

By George Monbiot, published in the Guardian 12th November 2013

It’s the reason for the collapse of democratic choice. It’s the source of our growing disillusionment with politics. It’s the great unmentionable. Corporate power. The media will scarcely whisper its name. It is howlingly absent from parliamentary debates. Until we name it and confront it, politics is a waste of time.

The political role of corporations is generally interpreted as that of lobbyists, seeking to influence government policy. In reality they belong on the inside. They are part of the nexus of power that creates policy. They face no significant resistance, from either government or opposition, as their interests have now been woven into the fabric of all three main parties.

Most of the scandals that leave people in despair about politics arise from this source. On Monday, for example, the Guardian revealed that the government’s subsidy system for gas-burning power stations is being designed by an executive from the company ESB, who has been seconded into the energy department(1). What does ESB do? Oh, it builds gas-burning power stations.

On the same day we learnt that a government minister, Nick Boles, has privately assured the gambling company Ladbrokes that it needn’t worry about attempts by local authorities to stop the spread of betting shops(2). His new law will prevent councils from taking action.

Last week we discovered that G4S’s contract to run immigration removal centres will be expanded, even though all further business with the state was supposed to be frozen while allegations of fraud are investigated(3). Every week we learn that systemic failures on the part of government contractors are no barrier to obtaining further work, that the promise of efficiency, improvements and value for money delivered by outsourcing and privatisation have failed to materialise(4,5,6). The monitoring which was meant to keep these companies honest is haphazard(7), the penalties almost non-existent(8), the rewards stupendous, dizzying, corrupting(9,10). Yet none of this deters the government. Since 2008, the outsourcing of public services has doubled, to £20bn. It is due to rise to £100bn by 2015(11).

This policy becomes explicable only when you recognise where power really lies. The role of the self-hating state is to deliver itself to big business. In doing so it creates a tollbooth economy: a system of corporate turnpikes, operated by companies with effective monopolies.

It’s hardly surprising that the lobbying bill – now stalled by the Lords – offered almost no checks on the power of corporate lobbyists, while hogtying the charities who criticise them. But it’s not just that ministers are not discouraged from hobnobbing with corporate executives: they are now obliged to do so.

Thanks to an initiative by Lord Green, large companies have ministerial “buddies”, who have to meet them when the companies request it. There were 698 of these meetings during the first 18 months of the scheme, called by corporations these ministers are supposed be regulating(12). Lord Green, by the way, is currently a government trade minister. Before that he was chairman of HSBC, presiding over the bank while it laundered vast amounts of money stashed by Mexican drugs barons(13). Ministers, lobbyists – can you tell them apart?

That the words corporate power seldom feature in the corporate press is not altogether surprising. It’s more disturbing to see those parts of the media that are not owned by Rupert Murdoch or Lord Rothermere acting as if they are.

For example, for five days every week the BBC’s Today programme starts with a business report in which only insiders are interviewed. They are treated with a deference otherwise reserved for God on Thought for the Day. There’s even a slot called Friday Boss, in which the programme’s usual rules of engagement are set aside and its reporters grovel before the corporate idol. Imagine the outcry if Today had a segment called Friday Trade Unionist or Friday Corporate Critic.

This, in my view, is a much graver breach of BBC guidelines than giving unchallenged airtime to one political party but not others, as the bosses are the people who possess real power: those, in other words, whom the BBC has the greatest duty to accost. Research conducted by the Cardiff school of journalism shows that business representatives now receive 11% of airtime on the BBC’s 6 o’clock news (this has risen from 7% in 2007), while trade unionists receive 0.6% (which has fallen from 1.4%)(14). Balance? Impartiality? The BBC puts a match to its principles every day.

And where, beyond the Green Party, Plaid Cymru, a few ageing Labour backbenchers, is the political resistance? After the article I wrote last week, about the grave threat the transatlantic trade and investment partnership presents to parliamentary sovereignty and democratic choice(15), several correspondents asked me what response there has been from the Labour party. It’s easy to answer: nothing.

Blair and Brown purged the party of any residue of opposition to corporations and the people who run them. That’s what New Labour was all about. Now opposition MPs stare mutely as their powers are given away to a system of offshore arbitration panels run by corporate lawyers.

Since Blair’s pogroms, parliament operates much as Congress in the United States does: the lefthand glove puppet argues with the righthand glove puppet, but neither side will turn around to face the corporate capital that controls almost all our politics. This is why the assertion that parliamentary democracy has been reduced to a self-important farce has resonated so widely over the past fortnight.

So I don’t blame people for giving up on politics. I haven’t given up yet, but I find it ever harder to explain why. When a state-corporate nexus of power has bypassed democracy and made a mockery of the voting process, when an unreformed political funding system ensures that parties can be bought and sold, when politicians of the three main parties stand and watch as public services are divvied up by a grubby cabal of privateers, what is left of this system that inspires us to participate?

http://www.monbiot.com

References:

1. http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2013/nov/10/gas-industry-employee-energy-policy

2. http://www.theguardian.com/society/2013/nov/10/planning-law-changes-help-bookmakers-minister

3. http://www.theguardian.com/business/2013/nov/08/g4s-expand-contract-freeze-government-work

4. http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/aug/05/privatisation-public-service-users-bill

5. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/9742685/Total-chaos-after-pet-dog-counted-on-translators-database.html

6. http://www.theguardian.com/society/2013/jul/22/disabled-benefits-claimants-test-atos

7. http://www.theguardian.com/society/2013/nov/07/government-outsourcing-problems-g4s-serco-a4e

8. http://www.theguardian.com/public-leaders-network/2013/jul/17/ifg-government-outsourcing-privatisation-skills

9. http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/jan/09/financial-transparency-privatised-nhs

10. http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/nov/04/rail-privatisation-train-operators-profit

11. http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/feb/07/public-sector-outsourcing-shadow-state

12. http://www.theguardian.com/politics/2013/jan/18/buddy-scheme-multinationals-access-ministers

13. http://www.theguardian.com/business/2012/jul/24/lord-green-hsbc-scandal

14. http://downloads.bbc.co.uk/bbctrust/assets/files/pdf/our_work/breadth_opinion/content_analysis.pdf

15. http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/nov/04/us-trade-deal-full-frontal-assault-on-democracy

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Nothing that I can add to Mr. Monbiot’s essay, that’s for sure.

The book! Chapter Nine.

Life is full of surprises and that seems to apply to writing a book as well!

I was chatting to Jeannie yesterday afternoon taking a break from, yes, you guessed it, book writing! Speaking about another aspect of ‘write a book in November’ that had been unexpected; that of the range of emotions associated with the task.

First up was excitement that I had committed to the idea. Next was surprise that I had actually got stuck into it. Then came the feeling of being over the worst, that I really would write a 50,000 word book. But what followed next, to a certain extent reflecting my present mood, is that writing words for words sake is one thing, writing something that would result in a compelling and engaging story is something completely different.

As you can see my emotions are rather at odds with what NaNoWriMo published yesterday:

Wrimos, congratulations. You’ve made it through the strenuous Week Two, and emerged (mostly) unscathed. Not only are you past the halfway point of the month, but you’re far enough into your novel that actual things are (likely) starting to happen.

I’ve always found the shore of Week Three to be the most exciting place to stand, and the trip through it the most exhilarating portion of the month. You’ve gotten to know your characters, the story has a discernible shape and trajectory, and it’s just so thrilling to go play in that world you’ve crafted.

That being said, a brief addendum: if the bogs of Week Two sucked you in a bit, and you’re behind on word count, don’t despair. Week Three’s momentum is fantastic for helping get back on track.

Ah well!

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Learning from Dogs

Chapter Nine

Philip easily found the house, a relatively modern brick-built detached house in a suburban road just off the Torbay Road, the road that connected Torquay with Brixham and then on to Dartmouth. Indeed, as Philip turned into the concrete drive that lead to the garage door, a neat garden on his left, he realised that a much shorter way back home via Totnes would be along the Preston Down Road just a couple of turnings from where the Atkins had their home.

Jonathan opened the front door just as Philip’s hand went to the bell-push.

“Ah, excellent timing. Helen has just left so there’s been no need to ask you to park at the kerbside. Do come on in.”

He led Philip into a front room that seemed to be set up as an office room or study.

“Can I get you a warm drink? Coffee, tea?”

“I would murder for a tea, missed my second cup of the day to be here on time.”

“Oh, apologies, hope this wasn’t too early to meet up?”

“Jonathan, not at all, I was just kidding. Well, maybe partially kidding!”

This levity from Philip came naturally and spontaneously, reflecting a sense of openness that he couldn’t put his finger on. That same feeling that he had had when listening to Jonathan’s presentation back, golly when was that now, he had to think for a moment, back in the Autumn some two months ago now.

Over the hot cup of tea, Earl Grey as Philip noticed, a favourite of his, Jonathan outlined his background. That he was a registered psychotherapist with a Master’s degree in Core Process Psychotherapy, whatever that was Philip mused, and, interestingly, a qualified teacher with a teaching degree from Exeter back in 1989. Going on to add that he was a member of the Institute of Transactional Analysis and a licensed practitioner in neuro-linguistic programming.

At this point Jonathan paused noticing that Philip’s eyes had started to glaze over.

“Sorry, Philip, guess this all is a little mumbo-jumbo for the uninitiated,” going on to suggest that Philip can look up the full details on his website. Philip made a note of the web address.

Philip then paused before saying, “Sorry, Jonathan, I’m sure your background is crucial in terms of your professional way of life. But the challenge for me before even thinking of being your business mentor is that there is nothing in my background that would allow me to understand your experiences, to know your world.” Philip paused, and then added, “Well, I guess I now know who to call if I become even sillier than I already am.”

“Philip, just stay with me for a little longer while I explain what my situation is.”

Philip looked down at his notebook, drew a line under the website address he had just noted, put down the time and date and looked back up at Jonathan.

“I have been working as a psychotherapist for a number of years on the payroll of an Exeter company; Cowdrays. It was something I needed to do in terms of becoming fully accredited as a psychotherapist. It’s a long and drawn out process.”

Just as well Philip thought.

“I am now very close to the point where I want to stand on my own two feet and run my own business. That’s why hearing you speak at that Exeter event was so useful. I appreciate you saying how you don’t understand my background in detail.” Jonathan took a couple of breaths and continued, “But while I’m clear about the services that I can offer and where I would like to operate, when it comes to starting, running, and more critically, marketing my own business, frankly I haven’t a clue.”

Wow, Philip thought, still looking down at the page on his knee.

“So it occurred to me when listening to you speak whether you were still taking on clients and whether you felt you and I could work together?”

Philip let a few moments pass, trying to listen to the quieter, inner parts of his brain.

“Jonathan, In principle, I believe I have the experience and background that you are looking for. But here’s the rub. My knowledge of your market is practically zero. OK, I’ve been on the receiving end of some counselling, some relationship counselling, but many of the terms you used when explaining your background, terms like neuro-linguistic programming, did I hear that correctly?”

Jonathan nodded.

“Those were terms I didn’t understand at all. Even the phrase core process psychotherapy didn’t mean much to me. So what bothers me is whether or not I could properly and competently understand your clients, in other words your potential customers’ needs. Because if I can’t within reasonable time understand exactly who your potential customers are, what they have, what they don’t have, what they need, what the payoff is, sorry to use such a clumsy term, and more, I can’t competently mentor you.”

Philip went on to add, “Back in my old days of selling for IBM, we described the process of selling a product to a customer as the business of understanding need, feature and benefit. OK, I was only selling IBM Selectric typewriters, you know the old golfball typewriters, but the principle is still the same. That for every aspect of a service that you wish to sell to a customer, you need to understand fully what the customer’s need is for that service, how it can be described in terms that the customer understands and, finally, why the Jonathan Atkins’ service is better than your competitors. Sorry if that sounded too much like a lecture.”

Philip realised that he had become quite agitated in those last few minutes and consciously breathed in and out a few times to settle himself down. Jonathan had noticed but instinctively knew that Philip had a few more thoughts to offer.

Philip smiled, “Sorry, I got a little passionate just there,” and went on to say, “I think what I was responding to was the potential appeal of working with you but, at the same time, realising that I just didn’t have the appropriate experience of your likely market segments; to use some more jargon.”

Jonathan looked Philip in the face and said, “How well do you understand business people?”

“Er, that sounds like a trick question,” Philip replied with a smile across his face.

“No, it’s not. For the area that I wish to be in is the area of the relationships that professional persons have in their workplace. Let me explain.”

Philip sensed something significant was about to happen.

“Professional people, managers, directors, even lawyers, those that are more likely than not to be driven people, they are much more likely to have some interesting childhood experiences, various levels of parental issues of one form or another, than people in general. In a very real sense, those backgrounds give them the edge, the fuel, for want of a better term, to succeed.”

Again, Philip felt a breath of something blow across his consciousness.

“However, the very drivers of success are also the root causes of the many issues that these people have in managing their teams and, frequently, in getting the best from their suppliers and other key business relationships including, of course, their relationships with their customers.”

Jonathan added, with a wry smile on his face, “You see I can dish the jargon just as well as you.”

Philip smiled back and could sense where this was leading.

“So, it’s my guess that first as a salesman for IBM, then when running your own company selling software around the world, and now mentoring those already running their own businesses, you have a much better idea of this group of people, the personalities, the frequent lack of mindfulness, what may be expressed as their emotional ignorance, than you first thought.”

Philip got it.

“Well, yes, of course. I just hadn’t thought of it in those terms. As a salesman both for IBM and then for my own company, I must have met on a personal one-to-one basis, thousands of business people. In fact, it got to the stage where I could make a private guess as to whether or not I was going to sell to that person within the first couple of minutes of meeting them.

Philip reflected for a moment, then went on to say, “In fact, my very good Californian friend, Danny Mitchell, who was my US West Coast distributor and with as many years of selling experience as me, used to say exactly the same thing. That he knew whether or not he was going to close the deal within the first five minutes.”

This was starting to be very interesting.

“Philip, you don’t need to worry yourself about all the strange terms and descriptions that are wall-to-wall in my line of work, you need to understand that what I seek to offer are reliable, people-centred, sorry another term, ways of allowing professional people to realise that a better understanding of self, of who they are, can offer huge dividends in understanding others. That, of course, if we are talking about a business, has a direct and hugely positive effect on the performance of that business.”

“OK, I’m sold,” Philip said, as he threw his arms up in mock surrender, going on to add in a light-hearted almost frivolous mood, “Of course, you do know that the easiest persons to sell to are salesmen!” He noted how comfortable this new relationship with Jonathan seemed to feel.

They then talked through the mentoring aims, agreed on the financial terms, and the usual other bits and pieces that such a new relationship often entailed.

“So, Jonathan, in terms of a schedule, when you do want to get started?”

“Frankly, Philip, there’s going to be a slight delay. I’ll tell you why. Namely, that it’s not going to be possible for you and I to work together until not only have I resigned from Cowdrays but then worked out my notice.”

Philip showed with a nod that he understood this.

Jonathan continued, “What I am thinking is once the New Year is here and the coaching programme for the early part of 2006 is settled, then I will know what my obligations are to Cowdrays and when would be the appropriate time to give notice.”

Adding, almost as an afterthought, “And my inclination is that I should offer three months notice but appeal to Cowdrays that if it makes no difference to them, could I be released earlier. So it could well be heading towards the middle of 2006 before I can come to you unencumbered, as it were.”

“Jonathan, that’s not an issue at all. In fact, it will give me plenty of time to think things through. Because, what’s clear to me is that building your own business will require much more sensitivity than a classical start-up. It’s not as though you can shout across the roof-tops, ‘are you a professional person who screws up relationships, because, hey, here’s someone who can really help’, much as it would be nice to do so.” There was a hint of a giggle in Philip’s voice.

Philip made a few notes, closed his notebook, and started to rise from his chair.

“Once again, Jonathan, thank you so much. I’m going to enjoy working together; hugely enjoy. You and your family have a wonderful Christmas and a very Happy New Year. Going to be quite a year, me thinks.”

“Philip, you too. Be in touch just as soon as I can.”

With that Philip bade farewell to Jonathan, unlocked his car door, started up the engine and reversed carefully out on to the street.

Yes, 2006 looked like being quite a year.

A Saturday smile fishy story!

But on this Saturday in November it really is a fish story, or so I thought.

Earlier in the month, I received an e-mail from Dan Gomez. It told of this tale from Grand Lake St. Marys:

A guy who lives at Lake Saint Mary’s (60 miles north of Dayton, OH ) saw a ball bouncing around kind of strange in the lake and went to investigate.

It turned out to be a flathead catfish that had apparently tried to swallow a basketball which became stuck in its mouth!!

The fish was totally exhausted from trying to dive, but unable to, because the ball would always bring him back up to the surface.

The guy tried numerous times to get the ball out, but was unsuccessful. He finally had his wife cut the ball in order to deflate it and release the hungry catfish.

You probably wouldn’t have believed this, if you hadn’t seen the following pictures:

oooo

Be kinder than necessary because everyone bites off more than they can chew sometime in life…

oooOOOooo

I loved the story but then wanted to know: was it true?

Sadly, the story is true but the location is false. Snopes.com researched this back in 2005. Hoax-Slayer.com wrote about it in 2007 after it “went viral”.

The true story originated in the Whichita (Kansas) Eagle on May 30, 2004. The man in the photo turns out to be Bill Driver, a fisherman at Sandalwood Lake who discovered the catfish with a taste for hardwood glory.

Two wonderful lessons to be learned from both the story and the story behind the story!

Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet and there’s always something fishy about a fisherman’s tale.

Have a great week-end.

Smart animals!

It’s not just dogs who can read us so well.

Millions of dog owners know how well their animals can read us humans; it’s been mentioned on Learning from Dogs many times before.

Try elephants.

There was a fascinating article on the BBC news website a few weeks ago that went on to explain:

10 October 2013

Elephants ‘understand human gesture’

By Victoria GillScience reporter, BBC News
African elephants have demonstrated what appears to be an instinctive understanding of human gestures, according to UK scientists. In a series of tests, researcher Ann Smet, of the University of St Andrews, offered the animals a choice between two identical buckets, then pointed at the one containing a hidden treat.

From the first trial, the elephants chose the correct bucket.

The results are published in the journal Current Biology.

The item included a short video that I am delighted to say is on YouTube. Here it is:

Published on Oct 10, 2013

African elephants have demonstrated what appears to be an instinctive understanding of human gestures, according to UK scientists.

In a series of tests, researcher Ann Smet, of the University of St Andrews, offered the animals a choice between two identical buckets, then pointed at the one containing a hidden treat.

From the first trial, the elephants chose the correct bucket.

The results are published in the journal Current Biology.

The scientists worked with captive elephants at a lodge in Zimbabwe.

Prof Richard Byrne, a co-author on the research, said the elephants had been rescued from culling operations and trained for riding.

“They specifically train the elephants to respond to vocal cues. They don’t use any gestures at all,” said Prof Byrne.

“The idea is that the handler can walk behind the elephant and just tell it what to do with words.”

Despite this, the animals seemed to grasp the meaning of pointing from the outset.

Ms Smet added that she had been impressed by the animals’ apparently innate understanding of the gesture.

“Of course we had hoped that the elephants would be able to learn to follow human pointing, or we wouldn’t have done the experiment in the first place,” she said.

“But it was really surprising that they didn’t seem to have to learn anything.

“It seems that understanding pointing is an ability elephants just possess naturally and they are cognitively much more like us than has been realised.”

Prof Byrne said studying elephants helped build a map of part of the evolutionary tree that is very distant from humans.

“They’re so unrelated to us,” he told BBC News. “So if we find human-like abilities in an animal like an elephant, that hasn’t shared a common ancestor with people for more than 100 million years , we can be pretty sure that it’s evolved completely separately, by what’s called convergent evolution.”

The researchers said their findings might explain how elephants have successfully been tamed and have “historically had a close bond with humans, in spite of being potentially dangerous and unmanageable due to their great size”.

But the scientists added the results could be a hint that the animals gesture to one another in the wild with their “highly controllable trunks”.

Ms Smet told BBC News: “The next step [in our research] is to test whether when an elephant extends its trunk upwards and outwards – as they regularly do, such as when detecting a predator, this functions as a point.”

That BBC article goes on to highlight:

Prof Byrne said studying elephants helped build a map of part of the evolutionary tree that is very distant from humans.

“They’re so unrelated to us,” he told BBC News. “So if we find human-like abilities in an animal like an elephant, that hasn’t shared a common ancestor with people for more than 100 million years , we can be pretty sure that it’s evolved completely separately, by what’s called convergent evolution.”

The researchers said their findings might explain how elephants have successfully been tamed and have “historically had a close bond with humans, in spite of being potentially dangerous and unmanageable due to their great size”.

But the scientists added the results could be a hint that the animals gesture to one another in the wild with their “highly controllable trunks”.

Ms Smet told BBC News: “The next step [in our research] is to test whether when an elephant extends its trunk upwards and outwards – as they regularly do, such as when detecting a predator, this functions as a point.”

Now just where did I pack my old trunk.

Travel plans for 2014?

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Elephants ‘understand human gesture’

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