Sogger’s Blog

In the previous post, I talked about the beauty and sparsity of pure silence. However, sometimes, it is not so much beautiful as excruciating. Let me elaborate…

I talked about a friend’s girlfriend, let’s call her C. C was going out with my friend, P, throughout our university “careers” and they were besotted with each other. We had a friend in common, B. B was besotted with his long-time girlfriend, J - they had been together, it seemed, since they were toddlers.

Pause for breath and if you are not following, give up now…

For reasons I haven’t really fathomed, B and C became closer and closer - P and J were edged out of the picture, so much so that after a drunken night out, C fell into the arms of B (I love a good euphemism), leading to good old fisticuffs between P and B and lots of tears thereafter.

This led to irreparable damage in P and C’s and B and J’s relationships and very soon, B and C were together and besotted with each other.

Now, C’s best friend was called E. E never quite got over the break and, for more reasons that I cannot fathom (I’m not very good at fathoming), she became closer and closer to P. So much so that after a while she fell for P (it’s euphemism city here). To summarise: C’s best friend is now with C’s ex-boyfriend.

Pause again for breath and if you still are not following, give up now…

Awkwardness ensued as C and E kept up their friendship, trying their hardest to keep B and P apart (which is only easy in an alphabetical sense). After a few years, B and C decided to get married. S (that’s me), E and several other friends, let’s call them F, were invited to the wedding and, inevitably, P was not.

We had a good time, although there was an undercurrent of feeling that it wasn’t quite the same now that P and C were not together. Of course, as it often does at weddings, feelings like that bubble to the surface after several drinks…

The surprise is that it wasn’t S, C, B, F or E that verbalised the feelings that many of us had. In fact, it was C’s aunty, let’s call her, erm, C’s aunty. She was obviously someone who liked a party and didn’t let her 60+ years get in the way (and why shouldn’t she?). After a few polite openers, she waded straight in with, “It’s such a shame that C never stayed with P: all the family preferred him - B is soooooo boring. Do any of you know what happened to P?”.

And now there is silence, nothing like the silence I previously spoke of - the music blared on, people kept laughing and drinking. For us however, time stood still and the silence between us for some time afterwards really did seem deafening. I realised that silence is a physical entity with several hands - hands that reach out, encircling and squeezing your bladder and lower bowels until you can stand it no more. I mumbled something about how we still saw him and that he was doing fine, but it seemed a bit cowardly given that E, his girlfriend of 2 years was sat with us. E kept quiet.

Strangely enough, we never saw much of B and C again afterwards but the remaining members of the group still hung out together. Unfortunately (for E anyway), a while later, P left E after meeting someone I will call ? (because I don’t know her name) and E decided to keep her distance from us afterwards. Unfortunately P also disappeared completely as, strangely, ? felt there was too much history in our rapidly disintegrating group. As I said, friends come and go, but, from now on I prefer to keep silent on the subject (and you probably prefer it that way too).

I had an outdoor experience with a friend’s girlfriend 20 years ago and I always hoped to repeat it, but with no luck until twice in the last two weeks: once in a forest with complete strangers and once, alone, on a ski-lift.

The experience? Silence - complete silence. I had never considered its existence before and, once I had, didn’t realise how difficult it is to come by. Go back 20 years: we had just finished our final exams at university and a group of us decided to go to the Peak District for the day. I have a photograph of the shiny, spotty, cocky lot of us - there are about 10 people in it: I can remember the names of 3 of them (didn’t I write before about how friends come and go?) .

We walked for about an hour up a hill and, for some reason, my friend’s girlfriend and I pulled ahead and reached the summit long before the others. Sitting and watching the others arrive, we both realised that there was absolutely no sound of any kind around us: no birds singing, no wind blowing, no cars in the distance, no planes overhead: nothing. It only lasted a minute or so, but it was overbearing (and don’t suggest it was some kind of sexual tension between us or conversational unease - it was pure silence). Ever since, when out in the countryside, I look out for it (why not look for it - you can’t hear it after all arf arf), but have never been able to repeat the experience…until two weeks ago.

A neighbour asked me if I’d like to go mountain-biking with him and some friends. After a while, struggling to keep up, I was separated from the group and found myself alone in the forest listening out for them in the distance. I was breathing hard, so held my breath and heard - nothing. It only lasted a few seconds. In this case, it was perforated by quad-bikers in the distance - fat blokes on fat bikes chewing up the countryside.

I supposed that this would be an experience for which I’d have to wait 20 years to experience again, but it happened again this week while on a skiing holiday. Late in the afternoon, I took a ski-lift alone to get to the top of the mountain and make the most of the late afternoon sunshine and the quieter slopes. Close to the top, I got the same sensation - just for a few moments there was no swish of skis slicing through the snow, whoops of joy or cries of pain. With Mont Blanc in the distance and the sun shining it was a great moment, all too rare.

I can’t wait to experience it again - I am a silence junkie who was finding it harder and harder to get a fix but I’m sated for the moment.

No polemic about noise pollution to finish this post, just a trailer for the next one, in which I’ll tell you about another type of silence that I experienced not with, but about the above friend’s girlfriend: pure embarrassed silence in this case…

I’ve been in denial for 20 years - Adrian Wright saved my life and I never acknowledged it! Who is he and how did he save me?

It goes back to my first job after graduation. A northern lad, full of energy, I moved to the south where I found southern lads with more energy and work colleagues with no energy, waiting for retirement. Adrian fitted somewhere in between: he was neither overtly northern or southern and had lots of energy, very little of which was dedicated to his professional life. By day, he shared an office with a pot-smoking intellectual and a girl I thought was a lesbian until the day I left the company (she wasn’t). By night and weekend he was a keen windsurfer and he was kind enough to take me and others along with him and to give us lessons.

I had never been windsurfing before, but of course, was already an expert before I tried - “It’s just a question of balance”. Unfortunately, this is not quite true. Balance comes into it, but an understanding of wind dynamics and some technique plays a large part. I paid no heed to this - why would I need to? A few tries and I was able to go in a straight line. Learning to turn (or “tack” as us nautical types like to call it), could come later - speed is the buzz, tacking is boring.

So one evening after work, off I set. The tide is on its way out (or “ebbing” as us nautical types like to call it). Wow, I seem to be going faster than ever. Either my technique is improving or the tide is ebbing with a following wind…erm, wait a minute, that seems to be the case. Now I’m going really fast - those people on the shore are waving to me; and shrinking at an alarming rate. Actually, balancing is getting quite difficult too - the water is a bit rough (or “choppy” as us nautical types like to call it). Time to sit down and try to remember what Adrian told me about tacking. Something about not going directly into the wind, but kind of zig-zagging across it. OK, let’s give that a try. Wait a minute, what’s that ripping noise? Ah, that would be the top of the sail coming apart from the mast. I think that means that, essentially, I am floating on a plank towards Belgium…

Adrian had evidently noticed this and borrowed a board from a bystander and was balancing and tacking for all he was worth towards me. I was sat down on the board, having realised my predicament. I didn’t really fancy going to Belgium - I had work tomorrow and, in any case, hypothermia would claim me long before I got to sample any of their chocolates. So along came Adrian, like a knight in fluorescent rubber armour. He pulled alongside and told me to hold onto the back of his board. He then tacked against an ebbing tide and the wind pulling a useless rigid weight (and the windsurfing board that he was sat on) with its ripped sail dragging in the water. This was in the days before high-tech, low-weight equipment. It must have been incredibly difficult for him because we were well out into the estuary.

After a while he made it back to the shore where I was able to play the comedian, give a brief thank you and not realise just how much danger I had been in - until now. I left the company shortly afterwards and have never seen Adrian again.

So, Adrian, if Google ever brings you across this post, I would like to say thank you, and please accept my apologies for not thanking you properly at the time - put it down to long-since evaporated youthful arrogance (as us non-nautical types like to call it).

It’s Monday; the working day starts at 8:30. but I am a little late today, arriving at 8:40. I am the first to arrive. Towards 9:00, my colleagues wander in and the daily routine of greeting each other begins, adhering unerringly to the following logic:

1. Greet your colleague. This can be one of “ça va” or “Bonjour”, abbreviated to “B’jour”.
2. If the subject is male, shake hands
3. If the subject is female, a kiss on both cheeks.

It doesn’t matter if you hate each other and will spend the rest of the day insulting each other, you must always begin like this. The fact that you saw them 15 hours ago is not important. There are no exceptions to this rule.There are 30 people working in the office, so the day begins as follows:

B’jour, shake shake; B’jour, kiss kiss; B’jour, shake shake; B’jour, shake shake; B’jour, shake shake; B’jour, shake shake; B’jour, kiss kiss; B’jour, kiss kiss; B’jour, kiss kiss; B’jour, kiss kiss;B’jour, shake shake; B’jour, kiss kiss; B’jour, shake shake; B’jour, shake shake;

…and so on.

The first half-hour of the day is therefore spent congregated around the coffee machine, so the cramped kitchen area resembles a polite orgy as people arrive and head off for their offices.

A management meeting is first on the agenda: planned start time, 9:00; actual start time, 9:40. This is a very important meeting - important decisions for the next weeks will be made. Required attire: Blackberry telephone and laptop, preferably open with MSN up and running. “What’s first on the agenda? Me to start? OK, I would like…”. Interruption by phone ringing, so the Big Boss (Europe) leaves the office to take it. Everybody else takes the opportunity to read their mail or send a message organising the first coffee break. 5 minutes later and the Big Boss (Europe) returns. “Sorry, we will need to cut the meeting a little short - the Big Boss (Worldwide) arrives today”. “OK, but I have a couple of points I would like to make first…”, “OK, let’s push on, but make it quick”.

My slightly contentious point is raised, leading to raising of voices and stress-levels. As eyeballs pop, stand-up arguments begin and much finger-pointing ensues. After 5 minutes, we all agree with each other. British Telecom said “It’s good to talk” but I don’t remember France Telecom saying “It’s good to shout”. After another hour of Blackberry-watching, we all decide to stop. No decisions are made, but we have all taken the opportunity to catch up with our email. It is 11h30.

The CEO has another meeting with the “Délégues de Personnel”. These are a breed apart, their aggression surpassing that of a rutting stag. They are the “untouchables”, people elected by the staff to once a month ask questions about toilet cleanliness and staff training, preferably in a loud voice, in the sure knowledge that employment law allows them to go as far as they like, short of physical abuse, without the fear of sacking. These questions fended off by the Big Boss (Europe), it is time for lunch. It is midday.

It’s been a hard morning, so what better at lunch than a nice Pastis…or two. Lovely. It is 14h00 and I am sleepy.

Today is an important day - the Big Boss (Worldwide) has flown over from the US to address the French employees. He will be outlining the major achievements of the last year and the goals for the coming year.

What the Englishman heard:

“Blah blah-blah blah [Baseball metaphor] blah blah blah [Another baseball metaphor] blah blah blah [Yet another baseball metaphor] blah blah [I've got a big yacht]…

…1 hour passes…”Let’s not be good, let’s be great”

What the Frenchman heard:

“Blah blah-blah blah [Blah blah] blah blah blah [Encore blah blah] blah blah blah [Et encore blah blah] blah blah [Blah blah bateau]…

…5 hours pass…”Blah blah blah”

Phew, time for coffee. “Is it time to go home yet?”. It’s 17h00. Time to read the abusive email from customers, customer support and management before heading for the door. I am the last to leave.