Well, there should've been a post here describing a bizarre encounter with some animals at http://www.auchingarrich.co.uk/. However, the animal photos have not yet been published, so that's for another day.
Instead, I'm posting a final entry before I head up North to Pitlochry for a training course in negotiation tactics that I need as a trade union representative (stop sniggering at the back). Boy, do I need it, as I can't even leave a company office without some walk of shame taking place. So, this blog entry continues the familiar thread of embarrassment (see practically every blog entry below).
After a long exhausting week last week, I decided to practically skip out at quarter to four on Friday (that's the 20th April). It was sunny, the skies were a peculiar drinkable hue of blue, Spring was in the air and Spring was in my step. By rights, I shouldn't have had a worry in the world. Correct? No, wrong. We're talking the demented world of Nicholson here, esteemed worrier of things that should not be worried about.
An absolutely delightful female colleague of mine happened to be leaving at the same time. Again, for any other normal human being, this would augment the wondrous ascent of glee in leaving a stuffy office for a glorious April day. However, my first perceived problem was as follows; although I'm on speaking terms with this colleague, I can't claim anything more than a fleeting friendship with her (she won a sheep-shaped Easter Egg off of me in a competition). A complete stranger would be no problem; you just leave at the same time and comfortably ignore the other person. A friend that you've known for sometime is also a no-brainer; you walk out the office together, laughing at the huddled masses still slaving within. However, a 'fleeting friendship' is something different. It could be a burgeoning embryonic potential, fed by a throwaway clever conversational gambit. Or tragically, it could be an aborted Lennon-McCartney partnership, thown away because of the 'Frog Chorus'.
It probably doesn't help that I work in I.T. either.
After obsessing about this limbo of a friendship, I also perceive a second problem. I am proud of the fact that I have a long and fast step, picked up from my hillwalking days, and am somewhat startled to find that my office associate has exactly the same speed stride. As a result, I find myself lagging behind her for a good forty seconds with a precise three foot gap between us. With mounting panic, I realise that she's chosen the same exit route as me and this could be perceived as straightforward stalking. Of course, I never once entertained the thought that a genuine professional stalker wouldn't be caught dead doing this Morecambe & Wise routine and would be concentrating on tapping into CCTV cameras.
The ending to this particular scenario doesn't end particularly favourably. I chose the seemingly preferred less-embarrassing option of turning down a corridor and improvising an 'alternative' exit route. I ended up in the first aid cupboard. At the end of a dead-end corridor. This means I have to about-turn and re-emerge back into an open-plan office. An open-plan office that's full of bored office workers on a Friday afternoon, desperately wanting to witness some unorthodox and unintentional entertainment.
However, unlike my other tales of toe-curling winces, this one has a moral at the end of it. The above story shows that all my nailbiting nuances were a direct result of introspective over-analysis. There are flashes of recognition onto reality that I should follow closer. For example, my few encounters with this colleague shows somebody who is thoughtful of others, exceedingly kind and has an imaginative sense of humour.
She also smiles a lot. And widely. That doesn't sound like someone who would turn around in a corridor and scream, "Oh my God in Heaven, it's Peter Sutcliffe. Stop stalking me!".
Moral of the story: take a deep breath, trust a genuine smile and dive in. It's not statistically impossible to make new friendships in your 30s. Catch you all when I get back from 'oop North, 'oop North.