There was a raffle yesterday; it was somewhere that shall remain nameless. I was asked to draw the (25, twenty-five, XXV, ٢٥, vingt-cinq, yes five times five) tickets in front of a small audience with a vested interest.
I called on the children to assist, the eldest wisely backed off, getting a clear sense of the pressure of the situation just as it was dawning on me. This left me and the seven year-old to deal with the imposter called luck, which, as any regular readers may know, is mere probability taken personally.
What this looks like on a Saturday afternoon at a charity Christmas Bazaar is a sea of faces staring, the majority being arranged rather more in line with accusation than expectation, as you and your offspring continue to frantically pull out tickets – without their names on…
It all got to me and I resorted to some violent shaking of the container of tickets in a desperate attempt to get to a ticket that would assuage the mob. This didn’t work either, one raffle-hopeful-but-slightly-indignant-personage just pointed out tightly that I was shaking tickets out on to the floor.
Where’s the Mayor when you need him?
Note to self: never again
Or, how I came to have two rabies vaccines in my fridge at home, be in a car accident in Marmaris (nothing to recommend that place in my view), and read a passport as valid when, in fact it was two years out of date…
That’s my opening gambit for now. I can’t quite bring myself to relate the events of the last few weeks in the usual manner. I am not a great believer in accidents or chance, but I do trust some science, a little psychology and a lot of maths. And then I also believe in other more mystical things that don’t stand up to any kind of scrutiny: they are my articles of faith if you like.
So later, and believe me I would rather do this now, I will pull out the cadaver of Lady Luck from my fridge and give her a good old dissection, but for now I have to write 3000 words on Curriculum Theory and Development (with graphs).