Capsule of Joy

At the time of writing, I am sat on my sofa, still wearing my work clothes, dressing gown on top, hood up and shivering all the same. I have been complaining for the past 11 plus hours that I have no electricity, and therefore no heating. Whilst bus services are delayed, disbanded or altered due to raging wintry storms, and temperatures reach lows which are oft seen in Scandinavia, I have no means to warm up my flat.

It took me a while to see the funny side of things.

Firstly I don't even own a torch. A pathetic but simple truth. So when the power went off last night I was fumbling around trying to light candles, and brushing my teeth by the soft, romantic glow of phone-light. Oh yes. Once in my bed I convinced myself that things would return to normal soon. The Electric Board had estimated that it would be back to normal by about quarter past ten. As it was half-past I figured they were a little out of synch with their guesstimations.

I had a restless sleep. I was in and out of bed, up and down, testing lights and so on all through the night.

I guessed at 3am, when nothing was working, that it wouldn't be back to normal soon.

So still I huffed and puffed. I ate my breakfast at quarter past six in the darkness. I shoved on my wellies and went out into the pale, moonlit dawn. As expected it was slightly warmer outside. I looked at my watch and was alarmed to see that putting on my hat, scarf, coat and such seemed to have lost my five minutes. Basically, I was going to miss my bus. Again, I huffed, and practically skied to the bus station.

And it wasn't there. The bus wasn't there and there was an hour to go until the next one. My inner monologue might have been Bernard from Black Books at that point in time.

But then came the text that work was cancelled, and I had an idea. I was cold, and I wanted a hot drink, I had some free time....CAFE NERO!

It didn't seem to take me very long to get to Nero once I had made the decision that a strong Americano was in order. I dumped my heavy bags on the chair opposite me and enjoyed my coffee slowly. My handbag was perched precariously on the little wooden table, and it seemed to have given up, like me, and it crashed to the floor, defeated.

A slow and hearty cackle came from somewhere behind me and I turned my head slowly to see a woman in her fifty-somethings throwing her head back and laughing.

“Sorry, but you have to laugh” she said and then she did it again.

She was starting to get on my wick then, but it wasn't long before I had a sort of revelation.

Here was this stranger, a woman who shared nothing but locality with me, with the wisdom, the sense, the right attitude that allowed her to see this little bit of nothing as something to be enjoyed. Whereas my bag attempting a suicide jump off the table was the last straw for me, for her, this was a little capsule of joy on a miserable and cold morning.

I wanted a capsule of joy too. So I shared.

I told her about my lack of power, how work had been cancelled, how I was cold and had come here for at least a hot drink to warm me up. And she listened. She was sympathetic and understanding, conversational and helpful. She gave me some gems of advice, and assured me that I would probably get some sort of compensation for being out of electricity for so long.

Suddenly, I had a capsule of joy too.

A problem shared is a problem halved, and I certainly left the little coffee shop with a weight off my shoulders. It had begun to snow outside, but that was perfect, because my flat certainly didn't seem so cold when I returned, not compared to out in the frozen wind, with the icy flakes sticking to my coat and scarf.

As I shivered on the sofa a little later I thought about how much hardship I had decided I was facing just because I was having to go without electricity. When really I should be grateful that I had somewhere to go when work was called off, that I had a roof over my head and somewhere with clean, running water. That I had the gift of sight – having it restricted by the power cut the night before merely made it seem all the more important now.

So, okay I can't make a cup of tea, and sure my Bird's Eye Chicken Pie is defrosting as I type, but, all the same, at least I have food and drink at all.

For every hour I spend without electricity, I will donate a pound to charity. This money will go to those in emotional, spiritual, psychological or physical darkness. To those imprisoned, to those with no hope, to those with no warmth or love, to those with no clean water, to those with no light to guide them home. I will update with a specific record of money donated and to which charity/charities when I know the total amount of money which is to be donated.

Today, I want to give someone else a capsule of joy.

***UPDATE*** 14:44 The charity will be Save the Children, total amount £16

Spilling beans....

Honesty.

I have a problem with honesty. That's not to say I'm a compulsive liar, rather that I always seem to be on the wrong side of the 'truth/lie' line.

Firstly, I always seem to be getting in trouble for being 'too honest'. You know when your friend says "Do you like my new top?" and you say "the colour makes me feel a bit sick"? Kinda like that.

Then there is the 'accidental lie' that you can't quite seem to correct. When somebody asks me a question such as 'do you enjoy skiing?' I know what the answer is, I know how I need to answer the question, and that the word is 'no' but somehow my brain tells my mouth that the word 'no' sounds like 'yes'. As soon as I've said it, I know that I've got mixed up and need to correct it. However said questioner is soon gibbering away about the alps and log cabins and such like and you can't quite bring yourself to correct the mistake. After all, what kind of person answers 'yes' when they mean 'no'? (Me, apparently)

And the worst one of all, the compromising situation. You have to make a choice, do you tell the truth or do you tell a white lie to save the moment? Sometimes I get that one right, sometimes I get it wrong.

My Mum always used to tell me that honesty was the best policy. Sometimes telling the whole truth doesn't do any good though. But in the face of the truth can you really tell a bare-faced lie?

And of course that one depends on the situation. Telling a lie to save face is pointless, it's better to be out with it - or else it will come out in the wash any case. But when it concerns other people it is even more difficult. Is it your secret to tell? The problem is I've never been a good liar. On top of that, my conscience gets the better of me. I might plan to keep something secret...but then spill the beans because I've been up at night worrying about it.

There isn't much that can be said to resolve the matter. But when in one of these situations, maybe honesty isn't the best policy? Maybe the best policy reads something like 'zip it, lock it, put it in your pocket'?

My conclusion is thus: silence is golden.

Mostly.