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You do not want that

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Saturday 29 November 2025 at 02:35

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[ 8 minute read ]

You do not want that

Apparently, John Cleese told Prince William, at the Tusk Conservation Awards at London's Savoy Hotel last night, that 'Fawlty Towers' is about 'who is chasing whom.' I never realised that, yet of course it is. The best hand-drawn cartoons for children are all about one character chasing another, especially Tom and Jerry. Prince William, I believe had told John Cleese's that his kids love Fawlty Towers; when I think about it, they would. It is a kid's cartoon using real people; lampooning using a series of chase sequences, often in parallel. 

I am interested in, and like, writing and rarely plan writing anything; relying solely on my creativity (which has been a little lax recently). I like to, if I ever set myself a remit, gather a few mildly obscure words and then just start writing. Such complexity as Fawlty Towers, or even any skit is absolutely beyond just chucking some words at a VDU and seeing what sticks. I have a writing itch and I also have an idea gleaned from outside the OU that makes me just want to spend all the hours I have creating a form derived from the combination of chase and my own idea of a format, one that I have yet to encounter outside of my head.

This isn't it.

silhouette of a female face in profile  four stylised figures facing each otheranguish - regret

I was in one of the local Post Office shops a few days ago and allowed a couple of people to go before me. I do anyway when I have a lengthy Post Office transaction to do. However, this time it was different:

Every now and again, I run through my head, scenes of my life, to manually see if I could have done better. (Be careful if you do this because you can end up disgruntled with your life if you do not put in future effort to ameliorate your considered inadequacies).

Like everyone else, I am naturally kind; it is a survival thing, you know, like in a herd I will scratch your back if you scratch mine. However, I am, like everyone else capable of ignoring the needs of strangers. Yeah, I don't like that much. Years ago, I decided that I had to wrestle with myself to beat out of me any deliberate unkindness and especially vicarious meanness. It would be foolish of me to call myself the winner simply because I recognised my faults and wept for others; because I cheated them or ignored their needs or just plain lied and set them on the wrong path; or at least re-inforced an idea that the path they were on was the correct one.

       'Yeah, good idea, leave school and get some experience, I did.'

       'It's okay to lie, everyone does.'

       'Don't worry about them; they can look after themselves'.

A couple of years ago, I was in ALDI and next in the queue. In front of me was a woman who had just had a few items put through the scanner and was struggling to pay for them. I noticed that she mostly had copper coins. She didn't have enough. I had hundreds of pounds (GBP) in  my pocket which i was not about to spend within the next week or so.

       'Excuse me checkout assistant, I will pay for them.'

I offered cash. (I actually should have asked the customer if she would allow me to - but I addressed this a couple of years later, elsewhere with someone else)

The woman customer was surprised, 'Are you sure?' Of course I was; it was less than 5 GBP. The checkout assistant took the money and I said, 'Give the change to the lady.' It was maybe a couple of quid. She thanked me and we went our separate ways. Job done right? No.

A few days ago, idle and lying in bed thinking about getting up, I slipped into review mode, seemingly accidentally. I had been watching videos on kindness the night before though. I remembered the woman paying with coppers in ALDI. Oh no! I realise it was nowhere near enough to just pay for a few items when someone is paying with small denomination coins. Let's extend it a bit:

       She just wanted to pick up a few things as one does and I needlessly paid (except she wasn't buying luxuries)

       She spent all her money on liquid or other recreation for herself

       All the household money had been spent on liquid or other recreation that she did not partake in

       She lives alone and just ran out of food and money.

The list could go on endlessly with as many nuances as we might imagine. However, there are two more extensions that are important:

       She gets more money tomorrow (back then)

       She doesn't get more money tomorrow (back then)

It is only these two that are relevant. If she or others drank all the money the money has gone (it doesn't matter how)

Any help I could have given her back then, or anyone today cannot change the past; it only affects the future. There is no present because it has already gone before we can pause it.

Back then, with hundreds of spare pounds in my pocket, have kindly insisted on taking her around ALDI again to shop for the things she really wanted to buy but could not. I should have given her a basket and carried on myself. She would have, of course, and hopefully, been reluctant to spend my money and would have desired things but not put them in her basket. I, on the other hand should have put into my basket the things she looked at for a moment. I should have asked if she had children and I should have then chosen a few treats. Everything in our baskets I should have then paid for. A few years ago it wouldn't have been more than thirty or forty pounds GBP, or so. 

A few days ago, I wished I could have done it; I truly did. I got up and made some coffee. I would have to do better than I did then, when another situation arises.

I was in one of the local Post Office shops a few days ago and allowed a couple of people to go before me. I do anyway, when I have a lengthy Post Office transaction to do. However, this time it was different.

An elderly man came in with a parcel and he was the second person i let before me.

       'I would like to sent this parcel please.'

He was given the prices for first and second class delivery service.

       'Oh, I don't have enough.'

The second class price was less than three British pounds. I felt an overwhelming shove from my conscience. Bingo! I have cash on me! Hmm...parcel...late November...elderly person (unlikely to be an ebay seller)...Christmas present!

This time, I remembered to be polite. 'I wonder, sir, if you might accept an early Christmas present from a stranger.' With that, I placed five British pounds on top of his parcel, which was the price for First Class delivery.

He prevaricated for a whil, and there was that to-ing and fro-ing that goes on in our minds as to whether to accept or not. He accepted, and then bought second class delivery service for his parcel. He then tried to give me the change. Thinking about that, I could have taken offence at him returning half a Christmas present - joke. He explained to me that it was indeed a Christmas present and because it is fragile he was sending it early, in case it broke, so there would still be time to replace it. I don't really understand the logic behind that. 

And then it happened; but it was dampened to nothing. I had to explain why it was necessary for me to pay for his parcel; not in longhand of course but more as, 'For you, if you do not send the parcel it is a problem and you will be worried about how you can resolve it. For me it is a dozen eggs that I shall not eat in the future.  I am not going to worry if I have no eggs to eat. I won't see it as a problem.' I forgot? or just wasn't compelled to take him round the Post Office shop or ask him if he was hungry. I like to think I am a spiritual person and I was not feeling that I should feed him. He left, and the shopkeeper told me that he wished that everyone thinks like me. Oh no you don't, I thought, Oh no, you don't.

I am broken. You really don't want that! 

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Barcode on the radiologist

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Saturday 2 August 2025 at 14:39

All my posts: https://learn1.open.ac.uk/mod/oublog/view.php?u=zw219551

or search for 'martin cadwell' or 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser. 

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[ 4 and a half minute read ]

Barcode on the radiologist

In the hospital, there were a lot of people in the corridors, almost as though there was a sale going on that everyone else knew about, but not me. I had arrived at the outpatients entrance in a mood of over-exertion to be amusing. I knew this when I found myself re-interpreting hospital signs and spoken words. The sign above the door said 'Outpatients Entrance'; do they, I thought. As I entered, I heard a mother say to her daughter. 'You are naturally going to crash.' That isn't very encouraging, I thought.

In the X-ray department

       'You are all checked in now.' smiled the young receptionist. Whenever I encounter a young female, smiling, receptionist I get a flashback to the film 'Total Recall' with Arnold Schwarzenegger as the tourist to Mars. I kind of expect the woman to sink down behind the desk or something, her job done.

       'Should I just sit on one of the green chairs over there?' I asked, gesturing to two rows of lime-green coloured chairs that could seat about forty people but were taken by only three.

       'As long as nobody is already sitting there,' she said to my back. I turned to see her smiling at her own joke. I smiled back, and wished I could order a box set of her; my sense of humour.

Things really haven't been normal lately; there was a man talking to his wife and they were laughing. Once I sat down, I noticed a sign that said, 'All Gender Changing Rooms'. It was only the word 'All' that saved it from ridicule, but I entertained the notion, and with that acceptance the sign that said 'Changing Places Room' just sent me into a soft imagination of going into the room and walking out of it somewhere else. I used to watch Star Trek spin-offs and so teleporting is completely normal to me; except it isn't, normal to me, that is.

I was called forty minutes before my appointment. Fortunately, I knew they were going to do that which is why I checked in forty five minutes early. However, their devious trickery did not fade there. the radiologist stated that I was there for an X-ray on my RIGHT knee and LEFT elbow, and waited for my confirmation sure that I would nod and say, 'yes'.

       'No, my LEFT knee and RIGHT elbow.'

       'What's your date of birth? Okay, right.' Puzzlement crossed her forehead. 'Where do you come from?' 

I started to feel uneasy and wanted to ask, 'Who are you?' and check to see if she had a barcode on her or something to identify which country had manufactured her. 'I am from here.' I guardedly answered. I wasn't sure if she knew where we were and didn't want to give her any clues. 'Local.' I added.

       'What is the first line of your address?' she asked. Now, this is the second question I expected to be asked to check my identity so I recognised that she might actually work there, and because the hospital is a University Hospital, might still be learning, so I told her.

I had to show her and the silent man behind the perspex screen the swelling on my knee and elbow before they were sure which arm and leg to X-ray. The young woman who probably didn't have a barcode stuck to her, after all, told me that they will X-ray each limb. Fine by me. I don't understand how radiation affects DNA.

The man behind the screen vetoed that, and only two photos of my knee and two of my elbow were taken. The X-ray camera moved around with stepper motors like a robot in a car manufacturing factory, but I was instead reminded of Tom Cruise hiding in a cellar in 'War of the Worlds', when the alien space ship sends in a camera on a goose-neck appendage. I carelessly observed out loud that the two radiology people would be obsolete in five years time, which made the silent man mumble something. Luckily, I have magic hearing that prevents me hearing spoken insults or slants, which is how the volume of his voice was attenuated. After a couple of minutes of nothing happening, they noticed me still sitting there, and surprised, told me I could go.

Outside

It was still raining outside and it made me want to emulate the wetness. Finding a suitable place to join in with dampening the ground in the city is really hard. I pedalled faster and overtook a couple on bicycles. Bingo. there were some bushes between the cycle path and a garden fence that would completely obscure me from the passing car occupants' horror of seeing me do my impression of the current weather, so I stopped. Right behind me I heard, 'Good idea. Let's shelter here under the trees.'

I had to wait for them to turn away so I could vanish silently behind the bushes. I couldn't see their expressions if they noticed me missing but I had to make sure they weren't looking for me before I miraculously re-appeared.

Certain that they must have noticed that I had been temporarily invisible, I told them about tomato plants and how they could be mistaken for blackberries in pies, to guide them away from their suspicions of any abhorrent behaviour. 

The gent smiled at me as I rode away.

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