Remember those tales when we were young? You know the ones where all the animals of the enchanted forest ran to the mighty Lion or the wise Owl to look for advice, courage and support in times of trouble?
The little animals always went to Lion or Owl, didn’t they? You never saw them seek the all-knowing Bunny Rabbit. Or the charismatic leadership of the Tortoise. Or the encouraging word of the Lesser-Spotted Hyena (if they could find him). No. It was always the Lion or the Owl. Mighty creatures. Creatures worthy of seeking advice from. Not small things. No. Lion. Growl. Owl. Hoot.
Stories that never featured a Lion or Owl were rubbish, weren’t they? A bit whimsical and boring. But a Leading Lion or the Oracle Owl. That, we could all believe in.
Anyway, my point is this: why don’t people do this in real life? Why go to the bunny rabbit for advice when there may be a Lion just around the corner?
Let me explain.
I enjoy walking. It’s the best way to explore this enchanted forest, I find.
The thing is that people (from outside the forest) stop. And ask me questions. Not a problem in itself, you see. Questions are a good thing. I find that the problem is often almost always in the answers I give in return.
You see, some form of crazed delusional mania overtakes me when a stranger stops and asks me for directions. I am excited to be asked, of course. Being asked for directions when you yourself are from outside the forest implies that you look and act like a local. Which is nice.
And so, I begin to answer the stranger, and give him directions of the most elaborate nature. Honestly and truly trying to help him or her in their navigational predicament. They accept my answer most graciously, and totter off, in the direction I sent them.
This crazed mania suddenly leaves me as soon as they have left shouting distance. And I realise what hogwash I had just told them. Street names were inverted. Rights were mixed up with lefts. And train stations became cathedrals and cathedrals become Night Shops.
It’s not that I’m trying to purposely misguide people, please understand. It’s just that I seem to completely lose the plot when someone asks me for directions or assistance en route. I like talking to strangers, but let’s talk about the weather instead. Directions and maintenance are for the Lion or the Owl.
It doesn’t end with directions, either. Yes, some visitors to the forest ask me for assistance with their motor cars. Just the other day, I was out for a totter when I spotted a lady and her motor parked on the pedestrian path.
Blood drained from my face when I realised that she spotted me.
“Ah, a man!” she must have thought. “He must be able to help me!”
I tried my best invisible look, but to no avail.
She made the first plea, “Excuse me, mister. Do you know anything about cars?”
You know I don’t. I know I don’t. So why the blooming heck did I ask her to pop her trunk so that I could take a look at the engine? What was I looking for? A lesser-spotted hyena?!
You see what I mean? I cannot seem to help it. This crazed delusion overtakes me, and in my willingness to help, I only make matters worse.
I jiggled and prodded a few things in the boot, wiping my now dirty finger in a manly fashion on my fashion jeans.
“Any idea’s?” she asked. And do you know what my answer was?
“Perhaps you should go for a bit of coffee and cakey and come back in a wee while. It’s perhaps over-heated and needs some time to recoup. That should do the trick.”
Now I am giving auto mechanical advice, which includes the words ‘coffee’, ‘cakey’ and ‘wee while’.
Lions. Owls. And rabbits. There’s a lesson, here.
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