The Hawker in Danger of Extinction

It has taken Edward Hawker to discover our true nature and the danger of our position. We are dragonflies and are on the brink of extinction.

Personally, I had always regarded myself as a butterfly, never concentrating long enough to on any one subject to be an expert, and being an object of bewilderment to those around (“I wonder what he is up to this time? – another marathon, I suppose”) and then moving on to the next subject.

I am not sure about the distinctive elements in our genes. Hawker are adequately equipped for survival, can be randomly annoying and are fast enough to run away from danger. In the insect world, I could cope with being a spider. Additional possibilities here of causing some mischief, by scaring spinsters in their baths, before being swatted by the News of the World.

I would not want to be an ant. It’s a dog’s life being an ant (hmm), having to do as you are told, and carrying out a single prearranged task during your life. This would be too boring, unless you happen to be the one responsible for being the parent of 20 million offspring.

But I had never considered that I might be a dragonfly. Darting to and fro, albeit for only a brief time, and creating a colourful distraction to children playing by ponds. But no sooner have I discovered that I am a dragonfly, I find out that out the East Anglian branch is in danger of extinction. Global warming, the financial crisis and the internet must be to blame.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/gallery/2010/mar/11/conservation-wildlife?picture=360209661

To paraphrase Edward, “Oh no, the Norfolk Hawker is in danger from rising sea levels and loss of Wetland – Louise, what are you going to do if this reaches Norwich? Let’s hope this problem doesn’t reach that far.”

(Do dragonflies have to go through CRB checks, before being allowed to fly near children?)

Flat Eric Awards

My good friend Nigel Rogers an his wife, Christina, have been staying with us. We were discussing the dismal state of the world and agreed that it wasn’t like this in our day. For some reason, we had read an article in the Spectator, which wrote about the proliferation of award ceremonies, the particular one in question at that time being the BAFTAs.

So because we were in disagreeing mood, we disagreed and decided that the Spectator must be wrong and there were not enough awards.

This deficiency needs to be addressed. We have decided to establish our own awards. Too many people have been excluded from having an award, the categories discriminating against people who don’t qualify. As discrimination is a bad thing, someone should do something.

Everyone must win something. For example, Nigel has been nominated for the Cooking Ratatouille on Monday award. Christina will be nominated for the “Skiing with her Skis very close together 15 yards ahead of Colin” award. Colin will be nominated for the “Complaining very loudly about the music before it has been switched on” award. And so on. You get the idea.

We will need our own Awards ceremony and everyone must cry and be very emotional. Flat Eric, our sponsor, will take charge of the proceedings.

Flat Eric will be lobbying the Government to set up an “Awards Equality Commission” Do you think that he can get a grant for this?

I am famous or have "Swiss" reinvented customer service

I have always joked that I am constantly mistaken for Mel Gibson. You can see the likeness. I thought that my dream had come true in November, when I was checking in at London City Airport. At the check-in, I was asked "Aren't you someone famous?". "I don't think so, but I am always being mistaken for Mel Gibson" (There I go again, with the usual line).

"I'll remember who you look like in a minute". I am beside myself in anticipation. What will she say. Pierce Bosnan, perhaps. Sean Connery, without a beard, surely. I'll settle for Ewan McGregor. But no. She can't rememember. "I am having a coffee over there", I says, in case she remembers.

Perhaps it is a new line in making your customers feel good. Not a bad idea. Alas it was not to be. Careful though. She might have mistaken me for one of those seven little fellows with Snow White, probably the miserable old one.....you know......whatisname. I have forgotten.