In which I am committed to serving the machinery of Government.
In this week I dedicate myself body and soul to the furtherance of local government, achieving a sense of accomplishment but also robustly crashing out. Here’s what went down…
Monday:
This Monday was the one the bangles were warning us about. Manic. Not manic in the cute way one might imagine comes with the territory of a “busy day in the office”, manic in the visceral sense of the word that comes with stress sweats, pressure headaches and a short lunchtime break to go out into the garden and scream.
I generally enjoy being busy, imagining my working week like a lake of tasks to be crossed in a little kayak, stroke by stroke. This week, however, the lake is expansive, the weather has turned sour and my little kayak is taking on water. I grip valiantly to the paddle and thrash haphazardly at the surface of the lake but it’s no good. My kayak planes away, careening at speed into the murky depths and I am obliged to relinquish the paddle and rely on the manual power of my body to swim to the other side.
This is, of course, a metaphor, but completion of this Monday did leave me with the distinct impression that the Water Safety Forum might be a part of my portfolio best avoided for a beat.
Tuesday:
Industry and toil carry on into Tuesday, but I managed to replenish my vigour in the night and take to the day with great forbearance.
At some point in the afternoon I remembered that I was booked in to model in the evening. I messaged Michael to confirm the time, and he let me know he’d booked another model for the same slot. If I felt any resentment it evaporated immediately on my learning that the slot had been allocated to a great treasure of the Dumfries social scene, the inimitable and ethereally beautiful Joanna Le Vin. If ever another creature (besides myself and Princess Diana) was put on the earth to be beheld and celebrated in multi-media, it is Joanna Le Vin.
Therefore, on completion of my day I went gladly into my evening and paid a social call to my mother. Over tea in her kitchen I launched into an excoriating account of my working schedule, before detouring into other matters. At some stage during the conversation my father appeared and quietly but expertly attached his new sphygmomanometer, otherwise known as a blood pressure cuff, in a theatrical gesture advising me to worry less about trivialities; indeed, the machine told me my blood pressure was high in a sanctimonious robotic voice.
I took the advice in the spirit in which it was given and retired to my bed in a snit to watch a BBC documentary about the history of the Romanov dynasty.
Wednesday:
As a working day this one, too, was full of the kind of ironies and dark coincidences which I am certain belie the fact that I am subject to a curse of the sort often seen in dark Slavic folk tales designed to warn against sin and caprice.
I spent a gruelling afternoon nit-picking over policy and protocol matters, scurrying back and forward between my desk and the desks of my higher-ups to present them with complexities and anomalies I’d unearthed during the course of what, I promised, was my general daily working pattern; for some reason, in these last few weeks I have been sniffing out systemic weaknesses and protocol loopholes with the success margin of a prize truffle sow.
When I was finally done picking holes in the seamless coat of government and making representations to colleagues across a plethora of public agencies (I am certain gaining me the moniker across the Scottish public sector of “that meddlesome foppish bitch”), I journeyed across town to meet the evergreen treasure that is Madame Jo Mama, or, under certain unmasked conditions, my best friend Jordan.
As co-hosts of a Podcast on all matters Queer living, we decided it was time to resurrect “the pod” for season 3, and passed a pleasant and camp evening recording the first two episodes which robustly include trashing Taylor Swift’s new album and interviewing a team of spirit hunting drag queens.
Thursday:
As the machinery of Government continues to operate, I dressed myself for a Thursday supporting the committee attached to my portfolio. As is my habit, I made a special effort and dressed myself in jeans paired with a Ralph Lauren shirt and Vee Neck combo with a smart blazer on top.
I took my place at the committee, seated behind the tables where council officers make their representations to the members. To the eagle eyed enthusiast of local politics, I can often be seen on the livestream of the relevant committee, right there behind the members, invariably sporting a pained Melania Trump-esque expression as I try to remain cold and impassive and give away not a shred of the invariable hunger which is ravaging me from the inside.
Today the hunger was so prolific that, as soon as was permitted in keeping with the etiquette at the closure of committee, I ran with all my might to the nearby Subway to buy a foot-long sub. Determined to then head to my usual place to buy an iced coffee before going back to the office, I tried to eat the sandwich en-route but teriyaki sauce erupted from the baguette and left dark shaming stains all down the front of my blazer and jeans. The blazer could be appropriately removed, but as I was going back to the office the jeans had to stay on, calcifying my shame.
Disgraced, exhausted, and well-seasoned I completed my day and retired home after a stop off for a brief shame calming spritzer at the Dougie Arms.
Friday:
After spending the work-day frantic to complete a plethora of tasks before the weekend swallowed me up, I allowed myself to revel in the victory of completing the week and opened a bottle of wine.
By the time I had sucked down three quarters of it, I was prepared to betray my earlier promise to myself that I was staying in with a book, and I set off at a complete whim for town and the Douglas Arms.
On arrival at the Pub I was greeted by a joyful pick n mix of the gems of social scene and, fortuitously, a bag of lollipops. The night unfolded blissfully in a tapestry of joyful laughter, prosecco, and cherry Chupa-Chups.
Saturday:
Without planning or agenda, I pottered in the garden briefly before spontaneously deciding to visit my parents.
I sat with my father for the early afternoon and listened to his teachings on history and global politics which was incredibly enriching and comforting, and then installed myself quietly in their living room to watch Australian period dramas for the afternoon.
Later, my sister arrived for dinner before jetting off to Ibiza, and so we descended on the room of our youngest sister to hassle her which eventually turned into all of us doing nose pore strips and gossiping about the dislikable fools and unworthies we each have encountered since last we convened.
Sunday:
After a brief visit to my parents to collect my nose ring which I left there the night before, and a brief but pleasant chat with my uncle who popped by for a visit, we journeyed off into the Galloway wilds for another Sunday adventure with the children.
We spent a joyful and pleasant afternoon in the crisp gold of the Galloway autumn, exploring such landmarks on the Raider’s Road as the “Otter Pools”. The children swam and frolicked and made merry amidst the rocks and the shrubs, and Derry proved his worth by producing a picnic.
With the children exercised and entertained, we returned home for me to produce a new experimental foray into cookery with my aloo anda curry, pleasantly ending a week of trials.