Start 2014 on a positive not

2014 is going to be a good year, isn't it? I have to keep telling myself that.

I must say, I started the year feeling rather positive, right from the first day….. once I had recovered from the rude awakening dealt me by Mrs Ed, who insisted on getting me out of bed at the crack of lunchtime by vacuuming the pillow right next to my ear, and she knew I was suffering from the same 'food poisoning' bout that seems to get me the same time every year (must be the pollen).

But even despite this, I could feel it in my bones. 2014 was going to be a good one. Not that 2013 was ALL bad. The times that I wasn't kneeling on my bank manager's office carpet were often quite pleasant. And it's been so nice to get to know the Sherriff so well. It's just that….. well let me put it this way. If I ever get round to writing my memoirs (which is doubtful because surely that would imply that I have a reasonable level of memory, wouldn't it?) Where was I?.... Yes, If I were ever to write my memoirs I don't really think the chapter on 2013 will be entitled 'The Year of Wealth' or even 'The Year I Managed to Pay My Bills'.

“But 2014 was going to be different,” I assured myself. “We're going to get off to a GREAT start!”

And it would have been …. If only it had stopped raining…. And thundering…. And lightning-ing.

Perhaps I should explain. As I have mentioned before, the current premises for The EDGE has a bit of a roof leak problem. And yes, I know that we have been here long enough that I should have made some sort of attempt at mending it, but that's the problem I HAVE made an attempt…. An attempt.

When we first discovered the odd drips of water splashing through the ceiling in two or three places in our offices it made sense that I, being the handyman that I am, should climb up there and fix the holes in the roof. Which I did. Quite convincingly in fact. Indeed none of them leak any more. The problem is that on the can of roof repair stuff the instructions did not say 'If you weigh 95kg or more, don't prance about on the corrugated iron roof like a lumbering idiot'…. Or even 'Beware - on hot summer days your corrugated iron roof sheets may get hot and cause you to jump about rather heavily shouting 'Ouch!'

So whilst I have quite professionally fixed the original leaks, I have created dents in other places (particularly above my own office) which, apparently, catch water and hold it for an annoying length of time just long enough to let it spill through in torrents.

So, now when it rains, there is a PROCEDURE. Firstly, remove my pie and cup of coffee lest they get rain damage. Secondly, pile all books, files, research paperwork, etc onto the couch (yes I have a couch it helps me think with my eyes closed) which is fortunately in one of the few dry spots. Thirdly, push all electronic equipment (computers etc) to the back of my desk then cover with large sheet of plastic cunningly kept handy for that very purpose. Fourthly, cover up the snooker table, turn off the jaccuzzi and usher out the troupe of dancing girls. (Ok, there is no fourthly.)

So last week when the rain came pelting down I immediately launched into 'The Procedure'. It took about 30 seconds. Which is, quite coincidentally, just enough time for one of our staff members to shout “We better turn everything off”, lightening to strike (causing a power surge) and three other important devices actually situated in the dry (or as we call it, the 'non swimming') section of our building - to fry.
I reasoned, with the 20/20 vision hindsight that I am blessed with, that if I hadn't had to perform The Procedure I may have been able to unplug those machines in time to save them.
“Or,” said Mrs Ed with a glint in her eye, “You might have been holding the plug at that exact second that the lightning struck and YOU would have fried!” I was going to ask her if the half smile she had on her mug was because I hadn't been, or because I almost had, but she had already scuttled off to check how much excess there was for lightning strikes on my life assurance policy.

And it didn't end there. With our first newspaper of the year to get out within a few days, we had been left with only three computers between four of us, no internet connection and that thingamabob with the flashing lights that connects everything to everything else had gone into permanent sleep mode. So perhaps in the mad scramble over the next few days we didn't take enough notice of another computer, which had started pining for her deceased friend. Indeed I'm not sure if counselling would have helped. She just wasn't herself anymore. Every morning, coaxing her into start up mode took a little longer, until eventually on Saturday she just couldn't anymore. That's when she went zombie on us. Her lights went on, but no-one was home. A post mortem revealed that her motherboard had been semi zapped in the same strike, so it's no wonder she gave up the ghost.

Being the serious businessman that I am with years of experience in crisis management, I mentally took stock of the situation and said 'AAAAAARRRR-GGGGHHHHHH!!!!!'.

Actually it was a bit longer than that, in fact I would probably now still be resonating the 227thousandth 'A' if Mrs Ed hadn't phoned from home.
“Are you ready to go?” she said oblivious of my latest electronic trauma.
“Where?” I gasped, thinking I hope it's Alaska.
“For my mom's birthday celebration,” she said, with a hint of annoyance cleverly concealed in the undertones just in case it needed to be hauled out and used later, “Don't you remember? I told you about it last week. We're going with her to the casino!”

So here I sit. In one of those comfy chairs in the background from which I can watch Mrs Ed (and hundreds of other people) pumping coins into machines with wild abandon. It's the perfect place to drink coffee and attempt to convince my self that either
a) I am going to have a sudden EUREKA moment in which my brain calculates the mathematical formula for winning black jack or roulette or that other card game, thus enabling me to pack up my troubles in a brand new kit bag and make that trip to Alaska or
b) That Mrs Ed is going to win enough money on the slot machines to pay for two new computers, the roof fixing and maybe a pie and a glass of amber nectar for me.

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud ringing of bells and Mrs Ed's screams of delight. “I've won! I've won!” she yells, flattening a passing waiter with mere decibel power. “Look at all those credits! We're rich! We're rich!”
I make my way to her machine, not wishing to get too excited, but is there just the faintest chance…… ?
Seconds later I have calculated that, despite the whizzing and chiming and zinging noises it has made in response to her triple bar win, the 'one armed bandit' Mrs Ed is playing on is a 2cent slot machine, so the jackpot she has just won is the phenomenal amount of R8.

I think I'm going over to the blackjack table to count cards. I saw it in a movie once and I know it's highly illegal, There's a good chance I might even get arrested. And considering there's no computers or other electronic equipment in a jail cell….. and you get three meals a day and NO electricity bills.. It might be the perfect place for me to start a perfect year….