Out Of It.


There was an awkward moment at tonight’s meditation class, when a student fell asleep.

We were halfway through a twenty-minute guided meditation when the snoring began. It was only vaguely discernable at first; so much so that initially, it could have gone either way; a small sound or a slightly louder instruction from the teacher might have tipped the balance back from unconsciousness to relaxed concentration. In an alternate dimension, in an identical school hall in a parallel Garden City, this probably happened - but not in the Letchworth of our Universe. Seconds later, the breathing became more obstructed and there was no turning back; the person whose identity was protected from everyone except the teacher, because we had our eyes shut, had tiptoed up the wooden stairs to Bedfordshire (in Herts) to noddy-bye-bye land. What I’m saying is “They'd fallen sleep”.

Not that there was anything to be ashamed of. There’s no better sign of being relaxed. But as the minutes ticked by with no suggestion of the snoring relenting, my attention kept being drawn from what I was doing to worrying what would happen if they didn’t wake up before we finished. There aren’t many situations more embarrassing than being roused from your slumber by a group of strangers leaning over you (speaking from experience).

I can’t have been the only one thinking this. We were all in the same boat: a class of nineteen students and their teacher, collectively willing the other pupil to wake up. Thankfully it happened, with seconds to spare. As the teacher talked us through the end of our practice, the snoring faded blissfully. It was a victory for collective consciousness; either that, or for the teacher’s raised tone. Either way, a tricky situation was averted. Thank Buddha for that.

Popular posts from this blog

Shakerpuppetmaker.

Image
Have Parker from Thunderbirds and Noel Gallagher ever been seen in the same room? The resemblance is uncanny. So much so, I think something’s afoot. If my suspicions are correct, I've stumbled across a secret that will blow the music and puppet industry wide apart. In the mid-60s / mid-90s at least. It doesn’t take long to see the signposts. There’s the similarity between the name of Oasis’ first single, Supersonic, and Supermarianation, Gerry Anderson’s puppetry technique. The Gallagher brothers would often wear Parkas . Live Forever was clearly a reference to Captain Scarlet and Standing on the Shoulder of Giants to the size difference between Noel and his bandmates. The more you think about it, the more brazen it gets. It’s fishier than Area 51, Paul is Dead and JFK's assassination put together. The only glitch to the theory is scale . According to Wikipedia, Anderson’s marionettes were 1’10” and Gallagher is 5’8”. How does he maintain an illusion of avera
Read more

Stevenage: A (Tiny) River Runs Through it.

If ever a river was mis-sold, it’s the Roaring Meg in Stevenage. I just walked past it on my way to the retail park that has taken its name. They’re similarly uninspiring. The river is less of a roar and more of a dribble; cystitis sufferers produce greater flow. The retail park is soulless. What was once a thriving enterprise is nearly devoid of atmosphere, save an underlying essence of emptiness and despair. With a Toys R Us. When it was first built I was excited. Back then, the thought of a bowling alley, an ice rink, a Harvester and a Blockbuster Video within a small surface area was enticing. I celebrated many birthdays on site. There was an indoor cricket pitch there for a while where I once had a joint party with a friend. Why someone with an almost pathological fear of sport would agree to such a venture is beyond me, but I did it. Now, there’s very little at the Roaring Meg of note. The river would be a metaphor for the shopping ce
Read more

Hoo-ray and up She Rises.

So much has happened since my last post in March that this blog risks sounding like an itinerary. The main news is that Hitchin Mostly Comedy will return in the summer at a new venue, the Queen Mother Theatre . The road to this decision was convoluted, though enough fell into place en route to leave me optimistic about this new start. The catalyst was a survey I ran via our mailing list a few months back, in which I asked, "If the club returned in the current climate, with tickets still around £15 (and with similar line-ups), would you still attend?"; the response to which, in simple terms, was a resounding yes. Nearly 250 mailing list subscribers responded in a single week, with around a hundred also taking the option to leave some feedback. And only two people were abusive, which counts as a win when you consider they posted their comments online anonymously. Imagine how many more insults we would have received if the comedy club was a woman. Particularly if she was Diane
Read more