They say everyday is a school day. Folklore dictates that within every 24 hour period a minuscule, or maybe even a significant, piece of information will fill a previously empty knowledge void. This can happen at any time of day, apart from when your asleep (unless you receive subliminal messages during slumber).
I don’t think there is a limit on the number of daily educational attainments you receive. It’s not like the three wishes you get bestowed by a newly released genie, or at least I don’t think it is. At least, my understanding is that we don’t get a limited number of theoretical or practical acquirements per day.
If there is a limit of three incidents of enlightenment in a 24 hour stint, at 09:28 today I received a mental memo that reduced my remaining pedagogical quota to two.
The architect of this diminishing tally was my beloved wife who blindsided me, during a congenial drive around the Leeds inner ring road, with the bombshell news that her fragrant father “Has a lovely singing voice.”
Now, unless the bloke I thought was her dad actually isn’t, my experience of her paters voice is indeed memorable, although not in a positive way. I’ve had the misfortune to have been subject to his haritone (a mixture of horse and baritone) voice on a few occasions. Not only does he generally sing the wrong words (usually about how he much loves Sainsburys), but they are delivered in the style of a dyslexic Dalek.
However, according to my betrothed, her father who generally verbally communicates in a sort of American Wild Wes Frontier Gibberish, has a voice of an angel when singing hymns….. I knew all of that time he spends in church would come in handy one day!
What will be my second and third points of learning? Will they be true?……. And if not do they count within the tally of three?….. Who can tell?….. Who cares?….. Who Live at Leeds!
I hope, if they are as big a revelation as the first one, I‘m given more of a warning before the bombshell is dropped. Following Karen’s shock disclosure of her dad’s angelic singing voice, I don’t think I’d be able to handle a further epiphany of that magnitude in the same day.
For example, if my wee spouse discloses something like her mum once did something thoughtful and kind, or her fathas (colloquialism) was building a space shuttle in his garden shed out of old golf clubs, I’d proffer it may send me over the edge!
If her mum kindly joined her hymn singing dad to make a space shuttle in his garden shed out of old golf clubs, I’d definitely need to develop a robust shock coping strategy pretty quick.
As the rain currently siles down outside on this dank Leeds mid-afternoon, the darkness in my dining area necessitates the early illumination of the standing lamp in the corner.
The brightness of bulb on the ivory coloured emulsion draws my attention to a decorating flaw close to the dado rail that bisects the dining room wall. It’s not a major blemish, however there appears to be a spot where I have omitted a second coat paint application.
It appears that todays second lesson is not Karen’s mum being the Birtley equivalent of Mother Theresa. Moreover, that I can be a really slap hazard decorator at times!