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Musings There’s very little to occupy VOCs (very old cripples) at this time of year, barring trivial pursuits.
Trivial pursuits
Musings Sonia Kelly
There’s very little to occupy VOCs (very old cripples) at this time of year, barring what some might see as trivial pursuits. Our thought processes, too, automatically turn to these non-activities and sometimes dwell on what others might also see as non-problems. In my case, one subject of focus is trolleys. Supermarket trolleys, that is. You see – there is a problem here in that some rule has recently been passed that demands that they are all locked together, requiring a euro to release them. This is excessively exasperating. It entails scrabbling in one’s purse, hunting for a euro, which for me (being blind) is indistinguishable from various other coins. Failing success here, it is then necessary to seek out some employee with a magic key to release one. As part of my new programme of encouraging success by imagining successful outcomes, I imagine a parking space and a free-range trolley prior to embarking on each trip to the supermarket. I know other people have the same problem, and sometimes they opt for one of those horrible little loose trolleys with baskets and the crossbar that will amputate your foot, if you step out too briskly while pushing it. I feel like displaying the hole in my own leg caused by several inadvertent steps too far and asking them to show me their legs. Perhaps each of these trolleys should be equipped with a first-aid kit while this locking-up edict is in force. Anyhow, the trolley question solved, it’s possible to proceed with the shopping without endangering one’s feet and to whet one’s appetite for what lies ahead. The approach to the merchandise is along a red passageway reminiscent of a cinema, on the walls of which are displayed portraits of the stars. This is very exciting for the VOC and constitutes the only likely source of adventure for the day. On arrival at the hub of trade anything (trivial, of course) can happen. I have actually met the traffic warden in disguise, which is equivalent to meeting Wild Bill Hitchcock on a dark night. Every aisle, in fact, has some surprise in store in the form of humans or goods on offer. Back home after this trivial trip, it’s a question of what useless activities to pursue for the rest of the day. There’s usually something that actually needs to be done, like hoovering, or washing clothes, but these tasks really seem too constructive to summon up the energy for – it’s easier just to collapse in a chair and open the newspaper to see if there’s anything remotely interesting to read about. Probably not, though, but it might occupy the time until lunch, when even eating itself can seem fairly pointless, particularly if there’s no aim in view for which one is fuelling the system. After this obligatory fuelling there’s the option of listening to the whine-in programme (aka ‘Live Line’) or, perhaps, if that’s too depressing or meaningless, doing the crossword in the otherwise uninteresting paper. This is enjoyable, if trivial and, if completed, brings me up to Drive Time and the faint hope that some interesting topic might have developed since the paper was printed. Then - wow! it’s time for another non-meal, to be followed by an evening, which at least offers a variety of futile choices. There’s the TV, of course - iffy in the extreme. I could read my current book, or I could phone a friend in the hopes of hearing about stimulating adventures – but obviously not to repeat one of my own! Finally, as a last resort, I might think about composing one of these columns, which, as readers will know, is just about the most trivial pursuit of all…
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