Sit! And staaaaaay!

I popped into town this morning to post a letter to my Auntie in Scotland. In last Friday's Kent Messenger there was an old photo of the Maidstone Swimming Club from the 1950's and there, smiling away in the back row, was my Auntie in Scotland. And in the front row was my Mum. Not smiling, but I was struck by how much I look like her and how much she has changed in appearance over the years. But my Auntie in Scotland was instantly recognisable. She's having a tricky time at the moment so I thought an old photo of her in her swimming cossie, published in the local rag might cheer her up. No, honestly, she'll be entertained and it might distract her, albeit momentarily, from her current angst.

On the way home from posting the letter, I had to cross a double two-laned carriageway, guarded by many traffic signals that take either a very long, or very short time to change. Waiting to cross the first road were myself, a very tall man, a young woman with a buggy and a visually-impaired lady with a guide dog and someone whom I assumed was the guide dog trainer, supervising this lady's first trip out with her new dog.

'Sit!' said the lady. The guide dog sat and all us fellow pedestrians slammed to a halt at the edge of the pavement, even though it was clear a couple of us were thinking of making a dash across the road despite the absence of the little green man. We all stood patiently and waited. The road was clear. In all directions. There was NO traffic coming. Nothing. I could have driven a flock of vague sheep across that road and still had time to go back and fetch the one that hadn't realised the others had already moved on.

But no. We all stood in a line until the little green man appeared. And even then not one of us moved until the guide dog stood up and led us all safely across the road to the middle island.

'Sit!' commanded the lady and again, we all stood and waited. Still no traffic. 'This is ridiculous,' I thought. 'I am being controlled by the sub-liminal thoughts of a black labrador.' And so I marched across the road regardless, even though the little green man was absent and everyone else was standing still, steadfastly waiting for the next command to move.

And do you know what? I felt as guilty as a puppy next to a pile of poo. Shame on me!

Back home I thought how interesting (if slightly weird) it was that we all obeyed the unspoken command of crossing the road via the guide dog code. I thought, are people really so much like sheep that there is some kind of tacit code of conduct inherent in all human beings that prevents them from taking simple risks because they are afraid of what other people might think of them, because they are 'afraid' of 'doing the wrong thing'?

I was out in the garden yesterday, doing a bit more weeding. And as I was hacking away at the moss between the paving slabs I thought, 'Why am I doing this? I like moss. It's all green and bouncy. It adds a sort of country cottage lived-in feel to the place.' And a voice from nowhere said, 'You're tidying up ready to sell.'

'Oh no I'm not,' I said. 'I have plans for the garden. I'm not going to invest a lot of time and effort in planting and digging and bees and making it all lovely, just for someone else to enjoy, am I? If I was doing it up to sell, I'd cover everything in paving slabs, put a pot of bedding plants by the front door and that would be that.'

The voice sighed. I hate it when a random voice sighs at you. 'You've been looking at houses in Normandy, haven't you?' it said.
'And what if I have?' I asked. 'It was mere curiosity and whilst it was interesting to discover that we could buy a nice property with ample land which would leave us virtually mortgage-free, I ain't moving.'

'We'll see,' said the voice.

And this is what happens. I determine to get on with things as they are. I resolve to make the most of what I've got and then some random force decides to stick its nosey beak into my plans and stir them up. I had reached a point of contentment - we've got a nice house, manageable household bills and mortgage, hens and homegrown veg. We are healthy. I have time for writing, gardening and cooking. I am calm. I am happier than I've ever been and should be content to maintain the status quo.

Yet by leaping ahead of the guide dog this morning, and not waiting to cross safely with the crowd, maybe the powers-that be are saying there is still a bit of a renegade inside me, hiding behind the bushes and waiting to jump out and 'BOO!' in the face of Fate. And then I saw in my diary that exactly one year ago I did a Tarot reading for my Auntie in Scotland that very distinctly said she should move back down South 'for there may be trouble ahead'. And she didn't. She was almost there but she talked herself out of it and now she is in a tricky situation.

Should we listen to random voices?

Only if we want to know what's really good for us.