The Patch

In a past age it would be embarrassing to admit that I took needlework at school instead of metalwork or woodwork. The rooms for those hardcore disciplines were alone daunting, and what about all the banging and bending tools?! Yikes! Actually, it was a just bit too noisy and violent, and home economics had a super scary teacher, so needlework happened by default. All strange things happen by default! If you look up 'default' in a picture dictionary you would probably find a person walking across a bridge made out of banana peel and wincing.

Hang on, why did I begin with an embarrassing admission? Oh, because this is entitled 'The Patch'. Of course! When do you use a patch? When the rip is too large to be sewn together conventionally. Some damage is just too big to repair without extra material. This can be extended metaphorically to any situation, as long as you can rationalise the nature of the material. What does a psychotherapist use for a patch? His own psyche. A cook? Pastry. A comedian? Well, nothing, as they're extremely vulnerable and probably just collapse off stage. Darn, I didn't want that to end sad.

My hope is that the upcoming week won't require some remedial patchwork in the aftermath, involving as it does some possibly traumatic or triumphant events. Will the final PGCE interview day go well? Will it go badly? Is any of it a good idea? Is Worcester a real place, or a trap set by some nefarious schemers out to capture the rogue? You can never be too careful, especially when you're still wanted dead or alive by the Hungarian National Symphony. Good grief, who would have thought they would have had a problem with an infatuation for Pam Dawber from 'Mork And Mindy'?! I'm just glad I never mentioned Carolyn Jones from 'The Addams Family'!

'The Patch' has another reason for being at the top of the page. It has been two hours now that the parental units have been trying to get the cursed sewing machine to work in order that I can patch some pyjamas, being the penniless idiot that I am. All my money goes on international stamps and buying bootleg DVDs of the abortive 1990s detective show 'Moon Over Miami'. (It was a jazz-filled minor television show that happened to be rather lovely, and was so unknown that it's never even surfaced on DVD after more than twenty years.) Yes, it is more important than pyjamas and elephant slippers, of course it is!

Ahem, as this post degenerates into utter stupidity, it's probably time to stop. At any moment we could all fall prey to an oboe equipped with a silencer, or a helium-filled kettle drum, or worse an attack by Stravinski. Quiver quiver.

No, not Stravinski!

O.