Short story about a new typewriter I had for work in 1978
This new machine is proving most difficult to manoeuvre.
Not only are the keys spaced differently but the whole feel of it is totally alien.
I'm sure that with a few hours practice I shall manage to achieve my remarkable speed of almost 3 words per minute.
I believe this to be the slowest ever recorded typing speed and I claim the 'Guiness Book of Records' booby prize…….so long as it's not a typewriter.
I have to admit that this machine has it's good points, such as a sleek body………something in fact that I have yearned for for many years, but have yet to achieve.
It is quiet……….. enough said there.
It does not make the table shake with fury every time a key is touched.
It has a certain 'je ne sais quoi'.
It has a respectibility of age yet a definate advantage of youth.
It has the feeling of total reliability, that when a key is touched, that is the letter that will be printed.
The more I plonk away on the keyboard the more I am becoming attached to it. Hopefully this is a sign that I shall become more efficient day by day. I only hope that I shall not become redundant like this typewriter's predecessor.
I could of course turn from professional layabout and drainer of Britain's economy to a writer of prolific nonsense.
Edward Lear made it his career and seemed to do exceptionally well at it.
In each and every one of us there is an unfulfilled idiot and degenerate just waiting to be discovered. Maybe my time has arrived to become a leading light in the world of literates and poets.
I realise it is a necessary condition to be able to spell and write ones name in joined-up writing, but I'm sure a course at night-school might set me on the right road.
Qualities, like uneven thought, inability to string words together into sentences, personal defects, like picking your nose in public, being sickly sweet to the person you dislike the most; giving a friend your last Mintola knowing that you'd just dropped it on the floor and the cat had had a good lick at it first; these are obvious prerequisites of a long and fruitful career in the Civil Service or Journalism.
Take your pick. They are both as interesting and debauched as each other.
All this could well be misconstrued into the fact that, far from being one of England's young
( and by that I mean I am well under forty ) bright hopes for the future, I am indeed, and have been from a very early age….NUTS.
This is a totally wrong conclusion which my psychiatrist, analyst, psychologist and dentist will all confirm.
Day by day life should be a pleasurable and fundemental experience.
It should be a teacher to you, a friend, a helper, a giver of good times, a humerous companion; not a meddler or pickpocket, scolder or punisher, bringer of storm clouds or setter of man against man.
It is up to all of us to put into the world a small part of ourselves and from all those infinitesimal thought waves, build this strange and sorrowful place we call home, into a wonderful garden of happiness: but doing this please remember that, even gardens full of sweet smelling roses, still have extremely painful thorns which can turn a day of joy and amusement into a nightmare of scratches and bloodletting.
So, wherever we live, we have to watch out there isn't someone lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce and end your perfect day.
May the Bird of Paradise never fly over your picnic party !