Bad Karma

So, now I have felt the effects of bad karma. I’ve always suspected it to be possible, but always felt that any negative experiences I have had have been part of a chaotic order (an oxymoron, surely?) in which bad things certainly happen, but they happen without being aimed at any specific targets. Now I know differently and have just been whiplashed by the return of bad karma, so locked on to the original misdemeanour was it, that it’s almost as if it had the qualities of an Exocet missile. I am too ashamed of my own mean-spiritedness to admit here what I did, but it has taught me an important lesson, I can tell you. So, I shall be pure in thought from now on.

Well, that’s confession time over – now, what of life? Several things have happened since I last wrote. On Thursday evening we took part in our usual race on the river, but this time only managed second place - a scandal! We made some tactical cock-ups at the start and although we managed to claw our way back up from seventh position, we couldn't quite make it to first. With a stronger wind, we’d have won.

On Friday evening I attended a gala dinner at the Council House, hosted by the Lord Mayor. It was in honour of Alan Sillitoe (possibly Nottingham’s greatest living writer) and there were so many literary luminaries amongst the guests that I felt a bit of a fraud really; a bit like Chantelle must have felt in Celebrity Big Brother that time. Of course, the “chain gang” was out in force too - more gold insignia than you could shake an Alderman’s stick at, but I’ve attended dozens of “chain gang” events in the past, when I was an elected Councillor, so in the words of Shania Twain, that don’t impress me much. During a lull in the proceedings I poked my nose into the Lord Mayor’s chambers only to be caught red-handed by his personal valet or someone of similar ilk. He kindly took me on a tour of the private quarters which have some of the most impressive 16th Century oak-panelling I’ve ever seen (including a secret panel). The building is 20th Century, but these panels were retrieved and restored from an earlier Council building that had been demolished. Intriguing stuff – the most interesting room was the original 1920s bathroom, complete with a huge enamelled bath and its gleaming over-sized taps.

Yesterday I went to a party held in the overgrown gardens of a large Victorian villa in Mapperley Park. There were dozens of people there, some of whom danced on the lawn later. It had all started out fairly civilized, with people sitting on rugs drinking wine and eating from the vast array of food available, chatting sensibly. Later, as intoxication (from various sources) kicked in, people began talking nonsense and running amok amongst the dripping rhododendrons and throughout the crumbling courtyard. Before my poor wee head wobbled off its unstable shoulders, I came home. It was early enough to witness the scenes of abandonment that were still being played out on the streets of central Nottingham. I was invited to join in this revelry (by phone call, that is), but something told me that to do so would have been taking an action that I would later come to regret, so I declined and went to bed.

This morning the sun is shining and I have duties to perform. I have also been invited out to lunch by my parents and so I must try to make myself look less red-eyed, and more like I spent last evening in sober company rather than at some riotous assembly in the home of Bacchus.

Wish me luck. I will try to generate some good karma for you if you do.