The Much Malarkey Manor Guide to Making a Decision
We all have to make decisions. Decision making is part of life. Small decisions to be made on a daily basis e.g shall I have toast or cereal for breakfast, what shall I wear today, what shall I cook for dinner, to occasional large decisions like is it time to change my job, or shall we get a dog for the children? (I've heard that the going rate is currently one dalmation for two pre-teens - sounds like a bargain to me.)
So, if you have a decision to make today, the Much Malarkey Manor Guide could help you on your way. If however, you are reading this and your intent is mere idle curiosity, then you may like to invent a decision so you can play the game along with the rest of us.
1) Gather decision making equipment. Previously I have used Tarot cards, but this is an unreliable form of decision making equipment as you tend to keep turning the cards until you get one that you like. So now, I find a pen, some sheets of paper, a packet of biscuits and a pot of tea do the job very well.
2) Decide on your decision. This in itself can be problematic so I suggest you start by working on the first thing that comes into your head, and then sneak in the really tricky decision of the day whilst your brain is distracted by things like shall I get a new handbag, new shoes or both?
3) Atmosphere is all important whilst making an important decision. Creating the right atmosphere will help concentrate your mind on the task in hand. Flashing lights, road drills, Kerranggggg!! radio and worrying about the gas bill are NOT conducive to good decision making. However, if you want to make a bad decision (and let's face it, sometimes the Devil will get the better of us when choosing between cholesterol-reducing olive oil spread and butter), then fill your boots with loud noises, bright lights and murderous thoughts re: fat cat utility company directors.
4) Try to make only one decision at a time. Sometimes, one's life one can be assailed with enormous pressure to make several decisions all at once. DO NOT BE CONCERNED. It is merely the universe trying to relieve the backlog before it goes on holiday. Even the universe likes to return to work with minimal outstanding paperwork. In such instances, it is best to ignore the universe, pop a CD of rhythm and blues onto your i-pod and dance around your kitchen in a wild and funky manner. On seeing this, the universe will tut, shakes its head and leave you alone for a couple of weeks whilst it goes to Malaga to top up its tan.
5) Having decided on your decision and created a calming atmosphere, you now need to focus. Ideally, you should focus on your decision somewhere near water because water and its movements are well known for their Zen-like properties. In the absence of a stunning Cornish coastline, or the limpid turquoise waters of St Lucia, I generally settle for the downstairs loo or doing some washing up. (NB -a decision involving whether to do the washing up is NOT a proper decision. Washing up needs to be done if you are to avoid getting a reputation as a slattern and a visit from Kim and Aggie, so get over it.)
6) Once you have achieved Beta Zone status (I have no idea what this is - I've only just made it up. If I make sense of it later, I'll get back to you) you will be able to approach your decision in a calm and rational manner. Ensure you maintain your focus. It is during the Beta Zone phase that decision-makers often become spooked and then panic, forcing them to make rapid and therefore irrational decisions about things like the wisdom of getting married or whether they'll look good in a sequinned boob tube.
7) Take a procrastination break. This is where the pack of biscuits and pot of tea come to the fore. Procrastination is an important part of the decision-making process because it heightens that sense of achievement when one does actually make that decision. One gets to think 'I almost didn't make that decision because I indulged in a spot of procrastination, but I battled against it and I WON!'
However, if during your break you catch yourself wondering whether to have coffee instead of tea then I am afraid you have succumbed to subliminal procrastination and there is no hope for you. Return to point 1) and start again. Or regress to childhood and get your Mum to make all your decisions for you.
8) Refreshed by your biscuits and pot of tea, return to the decision in hand. Now, close your eyes and concentrate hard. Of course, this now means you won't be able to read the last two steps in the Much Malarkey Manor Guide to Making a Decision. I once got stuck in the 'Greet the Sun' position from a Teach Yourself Tai Chi book for this very reason. Luckily, no-one was in the house to see me make a complete twit of myself. So you might want to open your eyes just a peek.
9) Take two sheets of paper. On the first write 'YES, I SHALL...' (and then insert the nature of your decision) and on the second, write 'NO, I SHALL NOT...' (again, inserting the nature of your decision). Fold the two pieces of paper in half, put them behind your back and shuffle. Now concentrate really, really hard on the decision to be made. (NB Remember to use the word 'shall' and not 'will', which is gramatically incorrect, or 'must' which is a musterbation and that way lies many a counselling session).
10) Place both pieces of paper in front of you. Shuffle them again. Pick one. Open it.
DECISION MADE!
Showing posts with label difficult decisions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label difficult decisions. Show all posts
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Monday, 25 May 2009
The Mad, the Bad and the Chicken to Go...
It appears we may have been too hasty in the pointing of the accusatory finger. In fact, if I had gained better insight into the situation, I would have been wise to don protective handwear before pointing the finger in the first place. It seems, dear blog followers, that the ROGUE chicken in the coop, the shi...er, I mean muck stirrer extraordinaire, the true EVIL MINX might not be Mrs Slocombe after all. Oh no, the swing-o-meter of doom is erring very definitely in the direction of....
...MRS POO!
You see, following Mrs Miggins and her scraped bottom and only having one cage to house injured chickens, we had to release Mrs S from her psychotherapy regime in order to free up bed space for Miggo. Back to the coop Mrs S went and was immediately laid into by Mrs Poo.
'That's okay,' we thought as we supervised the fracas. 'They're just sorting out the pecking order that has been re-established since Mrs S was taken from the equation. This, after all, was part of the plan.' But then it became obvious that Mrs Poo was being more than authoritative or dominant. She was being down-right vicious.
As it was early evening, we needed to make a quick decision. We didn't want to risk Mrs S spending the rest of the evening with Mrs Poo who, it seemed, was intent on drawing blood. So we called our friend Jean and asked to borrow her dog cage as a temporary holding bay for either Poo or Slocombe. Only by this point I was happy for Mrs Poo's holding bay to be a casserole dish. She always has been a bit quick with the beak. You have to be firm when handling her and feeding her from your hand can be regarded as a bit of an extreme sport best avoided if you want to keep the skin on your fingers.
Anyway, we collected the dog cage from Jean. Jean lives by the river and Andy and I are both insanely jealous of her fantastic garden and quirky layout house. We stopped for a quick cuppa and told Jean our theory re: Mrs Poo.
'Would you eat her?' said Jean.
'She's a pet,' said Andy.
'Yes I would,' said I. 'But its only a recent thought.'
Furnished with the cage, we went home. We decided that Mrs Poo should be incarcerated for the night given her sudden cannabilistic tendencies and we wanted to see how Slocombe and Pumphrey got on together before bed-time.
My writing room was rapidly becoming a chicken hotel.
And although Mrs Slocombe tried to annoy Pumphrey by making an occasional jump at her, Mrs Pumphrey's elevated status within the pecking order meant she told her off sufficiently to stop the malarkey but without the vicious streak shown by Mrs Poo.
The following morning, Andy made a more substantial partition fence than the quick mock up we had to hurriedly contruct the day before. Pumphrey and Slocombe had survived the night together and were pottering amicably together. Mrs Poo was placed on the other side of the partition and showed no interest in getting through to Slocombe and Pumphrey although they (idiots!) were keen to get to her. In the afternoon, we opened the partition and it became evident that whilst Slocombe is clearly mad as a box of frogs and will, I feel, always be so, it is Mrs Poo who is the true baddie.
So what do we do? Do we carry on with all four of them, mopping up the occasional injury because these things happen in chicken world and need to be accepted and dealt with accordingly? Do we make Cluckinghen Palace semi-detached with equal facilities at both ends and let the hens live in pairs, because pairs seem to work okay? (And then, whom to pair with who?) Or do we say 'goodbye' to one in a 'one-of-you-must-go-for-the-good-of-the-others' kind of way? And if we go for this option, which one do we re-home? The mad, highly strung feather-plucker or the finger ripper dominator?
('Does that mean we are safe, Mrs Miggins?' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'I think so,' says Miggins. 'Phew!')
This is where chicken keeping has to be practical, not sentimental. This is where we have to be poultry keepers instead of pet owners. Oh dear. The decision wouldn't be so bad if there were 3 who obviously go on together but the only 2 who can really be trusted together are Miggins and Pumphrey. And in hindsight, which is a wonderful thing, when Mrs Bennett died we should have got a single replacement (which, ironically, would have been our Light Sussex, Mrs Pumphrey)and everything would probably have been fine. But lessons have been learned. And we shall know better next time.
Of course, we could convert Cluckinghen Palace into a block of flats, each hen with their own facilities, the only annoyance they could cause each other being banging on each other's ceilings with their walking sticks and holding late night parties. (See, I'm going mad in my desperation for a solution!). Meanwhile, Mrs Miggins is allowed into the fenced off area for daily exercise whilst her scraped bottom heals because Mrs Poo can't get at her. So that's good. And the whole flock have been put on my healing list with special mention for batty Mrs Slocombe. I know I should give special mention to Mrs Poo, too, if the Universal energies are to be used fairly, but I still can't quite forgive her for attacking Miggo.
So the the only list Mrs Poo is currently on is 'My Favourite Chicken Recipes.'
...MRS POO!
You see, following Mrs Miggins and her scraped bottom and only having one cage to house injured chickens, we had to release Mrs S from her psychotherapy regime in order to free up bed space for Miggo. Back to the coop Mrs S went and was immediately laid into by Mrs Poo.
'That's okay,' we thought as we supervised the fracas. 'They're just sorting out the pecking order that has been re-established since Mrs S was taken from the equation. This, after all, was part of the plan.' But then it became obvious that Mrs Poo was being more than authoritative or dominant. She was being down-right vicious.
As it was early evening, we needed to make a quick decision. We didn't want to risk Mrs S spending the rest of the evening with Mrs Poo who, it seemed, was intent on drawing blood. So we called our friend Jean and asked to borrow her dog cage as a temporary holding bay for either Poo or Slocombe. Only by this point I was happy for Mrs Poo's holding bay to be a casserole dish. She always has been a bit quick with the beak. You have to be firm when handling her and feeding her from your hand can be regarded as a bit of an extreme sport best avoided if you want to keep the skin on your fingers.
Anyway, we collected the dog cage from Jean. Jean lives by the river and Andy and I are both insanely jealous of her fantastic garden and quirky layout house. We stopped for a quick cuppa and told Jean our theory re: Mrs Poo.
'Would you eat her?' said Jean.
'She's a pet,' said Andy.
'Yes I would,' said I. 'But its only a recent thought.'
Furnished with the cage, we went home. We decided that Mrs Poo should be incarcerated for the night given her sudden cannabilistic tendencies and we wanted to see how Slocombe and Pumphrey got on together before bed-time.
My writing room was rapidly becoming a chicken hotel.
And although Mrs Slocombe tried to annoy Pumphrey by making an occasional jump at her, Mrs Pumphrey's elevated status within the pecking order meant she told her off sufficiently to stop the malarkey but without the vicious streak shown by Mrs Poo.
The following morning, Andy made a more substantial partition fence than the quick mock up we had to hurriedly contruct the day before. Pumphrey and Slocombe had survived the night together and were pottering amicably together. Mrs Poo was placed on the other side of the partition and showed no interest in getting through to Slocombe and Pumphrey although they (idiots!) were keen to get to her. In the afternoon, we opened the partition and it became evident that whilst Slocombe is clearly mad as a box of frogs and will, I feel, always be so, it is Mrs Poo who is the true baddie.
So what do we do? Do we carry on with all four of them, mopping up the occasional injury because these things happen in chicken world and need to be accepted and dealt with accordingly? Do we make Cluckinghen Palace semi-detached with equal facilities at both ends and let the hens live in pairs, because pairs seem to work okay? (And then, whom to pair with who?) Or do we say 'goodbye' to one in a 'one-of-you-must-go-for-the-good-of-the-others' kind of way? And if we go for this option, which one do we re-home? The mad, highly strung feather-plucker or the finger ripper dominator?
('Does that mean we are safe, Mrs Miggins?' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'I think so,' says Miggins. 'Phew!')
This is where chicken keeping has to be practical, not sentimental. This is where we have to be poultry keepers instead of pet owners. Oh dear. The decision wouldn't be so bad if there were 3 who obviously go on together but the only 2 who can really be trusted together are Miggins and Pumphrey. And in hindsight, which is a wonderful thing, when Mrs Bennett died we should have got a single replacement (which, ironically, would have been our Light Sussex, Mrs Pumphrey)and everything would probably have been fine. But lessons have been learned. And we shall know better next time.
Of course, we could convert Cluckinghen Palace into a block of flats, each hen with their own facilities, the only annoyance they could cause each other being banging on each other's ceilings with their walking sticks and holding late night parties. (See, I'm going mad in my desperation for a solution!). Meanwhile, Mrs Miggins is allowed into the fenced off area for daily exercise whilst her scraped bottom heals because Mrs Poo can't get at her. So that's good. And the whole flock have been put on my healing list with special mention for batty Mrs Slocombe. I know I should give special mention to Mrs Poo, too, if the Universal energies are to be used fairly, but I still can't quite forgive her for attacking Miggo.
So the the only list Mrs Poo is currently on is 'My Favourite Chicken Recipes.'
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