Last week Material Whirl let herself down.
I got a teeny bit stressed and acted like a proper nana. As is not uncommon with periods of minor stress, it was not caused by one monumental issue but rather some small uneventful things that coalesced into a big squeezy stress ball. No real drama, just the usual. Busy work/home life, juggling deadlines, too much activity wedged uncomfortably into inadequate time slots - you know the drill. Plus, I bashed my shin, REALLY HARD on a protruding Under Bed Drawer that caused a great ugly citrine bruise. This forced me to wear trousers all week while London sweltered in 20 degree heat and women flashed their lovely bare pins without abandon.
In summary, I had the proper hump about nothing.
Walking home one evening after work and dashing to the tube to get to something or other I had, ahem, an embarrassing altercation with a group of young lads about some minor anti-social behaviour. I say embarrassing as I'm a 34-year old adult and they were possibly under 16 and may just have experienced a voice break. Cross language was exchanged. Some swear words banded about. Them: What the **** are you looking at? (Rude) Me: Where are your parents?! (Rubbish). It got silly so I had the good sense to assess the situation and walk away. The cause of this commotion was absolutely a big load of nothing and I won't bore you with the detail. The key point is no crime was being committed, there was nothing personally directed towards me. Stress had totally got the better of me.
I arrived home and over a big mug of strong tea I reflected on my behaviour those past few weeks - turning my nose up at this, tutting at that, peeking out of my blinds at the faintest whiff of noise and noticing every silly incident that, quite frankly, was nothing to do with me. This wasn't true to form; something wasn't quite right. The old me had been unexpectedly replaced with a hybrid of Hyacinth Bucket and Irene Ruddock from Alan Bennett's Talking Heads - in other words a meddling busy body, albeit a misunderstood one, with an opinion on how things should be. For those who are familiar with this outstanding monologue, it doesn't end well for poor Irene and if I carried on like this, I'm sure it wouldn't end well for me either.
Channelling Patricia Routledge is not entirely a bad thing; after all Mrs Bucket gives good floral dress, very Erdem Pre-Fall and S/S 2013. But acting like an interfering old bag? Not cool. So, this week I have vowed to get off my high horse and de-Hyacinth. I will turn a sunglasses-covered eye to any perceived antisocial behaviour and bloody well mind my own business. I will try to revert back to seeing the good in everyone like I used to. I will smile, be patient, say thank you with sincerity even if it is not reciprocated. Heck, I'll even hug a hoodie, 1996-style. I am not the polite-police, I cannot change the world and it is time I remembered that not everyone is horrible or guilty of a terrible social ill. Besides, there are far more important things to worry about.
So, you'll be pleased to know that Hyacinth has gone and the chilled, slightly more understanding me is back.
The florals are staying though. They look great in a matching top-and-shorts-combo.