The Meeting.

The Meeting.

As a cub reporter, I was expected to accompany a seasoned hack and take photos and movie shots with the Herald's digital camera.  I'd not been trained in its use, the editor just threw it to me together with the manual.

"Here kid, you're a gadgets man, get your mind around that; you're covering the Council meeting with Ted.  So, bring back some content for the website."

I took them as if I knew what I was doing and asked, "what do you have in mind boss?"

"I'll leave that up to you son, ten minutes of video and some stills aught to do it.  I would suggest you shoot thirty minutes then you can edit it and upload the best bits to the website, okay?"

"Okay boss," I said shouldering the camera like a pro.

.-...-.

 I'd been taken on two months earlier as a gofer; favour to my grandpa who in his day was the Herald's ace reporter, he's been retired for five years now but is still highly respected by the older hacks.  I'd been making coffee and running errands for the first three weeks.  So, I offered to help out with IT while the regular computer expert was on holiday.  The older reporters less savvy with the technology would call on me for help.

"Hey boy, can you take a look at my keyboard, it says I have 'sticky keys', but they all seem fine to me."

"Hey kid, my content just vanished can you get it back for me?"

"Gofer!  My mouse isn't working properly, can I have a replacement."

"My screens locked up..."

"It's broke..." 

Get the picture?  When Greg the IT man returned, as a reward for helping out, they sent me out to cover a story with Ray Scott the sports reporter.  

"Meet me at the City ground at 2pm tomorrow kid, here's your press pass.  Take your notepad & Pen and the mobile phone you were issued with, don't forget to charge it up overnight." he said.  "A reporter has to be prepared for anything, just like a boy scout."

So there I was outside the ground when Ray called me up on his mobile.  

"Sorry kid, my car's broke down on the M4, there's nobody else available so you'll have to cover the match for me.  Phone in your report to the main desk, (speed dial 01), as soon as the match is finished.  Do it before leaving the ground, so it makes the late edition!  Best of luck," there was a 'Click' then silence.  

My report must have been acceptable because on Monday morning I was offered the position of cub reporter; that was effectively an apprenticeship.  It meant I would get paid, but I had to attend college three nights a week and shadow the regular newshounds.  I was on cloud nine.

.-...-.

So off I went camera in hand, accompanied by Ted Marshall the local affairs reporter, to cover a routine monthly Council meeting at the town hall.  It was a hot sunny day, Ted drove in silence as I struggled to read the English section of the manual.  I left the manual in the car sure that what I didn't know, I could pick up as I went along.

"This is it, kid," we entered the front entrance and went into the chamber room where the meetings are held. 

The council was already in session, so I took some shots of the councillors.  I hadn't covered the flash section in the manual, but there was a domed glass roof allowing plenty of light to enter from above, and beams of sunlight came through slits in the closed blinds at the windows.  I took my stills and sat with the camera propped on a beanbag so it could be operated with the remote control.  I plugged earphones into the jack to monitor the sound and sat back to observe how Ted operated, as he took out his notebook and pencil.

"Meetings are always boring, nothing much gets done, but they have to justify their attendance fee, so they all say something, just to get into the 'minutes of the meeting' are you recording?" Ted asked.

 I checked "Yep," I said, pressing record.  He was right the meeting was boring, voices droned on and on and...

"Hey kid, you can wake up now, the meeting is over."

"Mmm uh?" I woke with a start.  The camera was tilted at a 45-degree angle, I stopped the recording and we headed back to the office.

"You slept for an hour and a half!  Wish I'd done the same." He grinned "you didn't miss a thing."

.-...-.

Back at the office, I viewed the results of an hour and a half of recording.  I felt sick.  The sound was muffled, I couldn't understand a word, the camera had fallen asleep at about the same time I had.  Dust motes made fascinating patterns as they passed in and out of sunbeams, as the camera slid slowly from vertical to horizontal in answer to gravity's pull.  A disaster!  I was gonna be sacked for sure.  No other self-respecting newspaper would ever employ me, not even as a gofer.  Then I saw Greg approaching and my heart sank even further, ridicule, humiliation, what would grandpa say when he heard how I'd let him down, as he surely would...

"Hi kid, did you get some exciting footage for us?"  I looked at him stricken with terror, ran for the toilets; locking the closet door, close to tears.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot!" I yelled.  Nobody came to see where I was, an hour passed, then I heard the door open.

"Well kid, I just viewed what you got.  It's not as bad as you think, in fact, it's verging on genius with a little judicious editing, from moir of course, come on out of there and give me a hand."  

.-...-.

Three hours later I was called into the editor's office for a debriefing and I wasn't looking forward to it.

"Your only real mistake son was in leaving the earphone jack plugged in.  A seasoned user checks the sound is okay then unplugs it.  If you'd done that the whole boring meeting would have been recorded, meaningless twaddle according to Ted.  Your sound was about as good as it got."  He smiled.  All things considered, you did a damned fine job.

"Let me show you the edited footage," said Greg switching on the video.  
The titles rolled:

Council Meeting 21/10/2014. 

 The picture was upright, showing the council members in landscape, then in panorama as the camera slewed slowly, then gradually the angle changed from 90 to 75 to 60 then 45 degrees.  The Councillors disappeared, stage left, and the sunbeams came into view.  Dust motes crisscrossed meaningfully in slomo, as unintelligible voices droned on and on...   I became aware that the pictures had slowly switched from colour to black & white.  Animated, shadows gesticulated on the floor, as the camera continued its unfettered mobilization.  Muffled voices raised in anger, followed by 'here here's', then more voices, and the camera toppled further, and further...  
finally It stopped.  A voice said clearly.  "No more business?  I therefore declare this meeting closed!"

"We can't put that on the website," I gasped, "they'll sue."

"Too late, It's already out there," the editor smiled.  "The Mayor says it's the most entertaining recorded council meeting he's seen in thirty years.  It's a classic!"

As I left the editors office, my fellow workers stood up and applauded, Ted was sporting an especially broad grin as he patted me enthusiastically on the back.

ends.

Prescient

Prescient

Adam Quest, Psychiatrist in residence, silenced his pager and read the scrolling message:  Dr AQ 2rm24~patient S.Odell.  He winced, he'd not been looking forward to this one, but it couldn't be put off.  The time had come for Sarah's reality check.

.-...-.

She stood at the window, gazing into a cloudless sky.  Dust motes danced unheeded through shafts of bright sunlight entering through the blinds.

"It's a glorious day," he said.

"There's a storm coming," she replied.

He stood beside her shading, his eyes from the suns glare. "There is?"

"I know these things," she said.

"Or you listen to the weather forecast perhaps?"  She didn't reply.  "Shall we sit?" He pulled up a chair for her.

"Not using the comfy couch today?" She didn't move from the window, so he sat down, facing the empty seat.

"How are we today?"

"I'm well thank you, but you will not be if you keep your lunch appointment at 'Gordino's'."

"What have you heard," he spoke in his routine unflappable voice.  He'd arranged to meet his fiance at 'Gordino's' at 2pm.  He'd booked a quiet table for two in the rear.

"Call her and tell her to meet you somewhere else, as far from that restaurant as possible." He ignored her outburst and began writing up her notes.  "Wasting my breath aren't I?  You'll go right ahead regardless of what I say..."

"Hmm," he grunted, shifting in his seat.

"Well I've warned you, so my conscience is clear."

"My dining arrangements are none of your concern.  Now can we proceed please?"

She turned to face him, her auburn hair swishing past her face like an opening curtain, revealing full vermilion lips and deep blue, hypnotic eyes.  She shook her head, "such a waste."

"I'm well aware that you are a voluntary patient.  You can come and go as you please; I have to believe that you want your condition to improve.  So, sit down and let's get started."

She sat, leaning towards him across the table. "It isn't to late, she will understand, just call her!" she spoke in earnest.

"Moderate your voice please, or we will have security arriving from all quarters."

"I'm sorry, Doctor--, Sorry."

"That's better.  If we both keep cool heads we will make progress," he glanced at her notes.  "Now according to your notes, you claim to be 'prescient'?  Can you describe to me how the condition manifests itself."

She smiled, revealing even white teeth, her eyes sparkled drawing him in, "It's quite simple.  I have flashes - like waking dreams - I see something that is going to happen in the future.  Usually, I have no idea when or where the event will take place."

"Mmm, I must say as a predictive tool it's hardly laser technology." he gazed into her earnest eyes.  "So, tell me how it impinges on your life, and what you would like me to do about it?"  His pencil poised, an inch above her notes, its hard dark shadow softened and disappeared.  He heard raindrops against the window; gentle at first, they grew rapidly louder masking her reply.

"Did you know I got disqualified from driving?"

"I'm sorry?" He said.

"I was disqualified from driving," she repeated, her words punctuated by flashes of lightning.  A sharp clash of thunder followed 15 seconds later.

"I had a flash in the middle of the M25 motorway and wrote off my lovely little Ford Fiesta."  He nodded without looking up.  "The judge said I was driving 'without due care and attention'.  Apparently, I was weaving drunkenly in and out of the traffic; I explained it was because I'd had a flash, so he gave me a six month suspended jail sentence and banned me from driving, pending a psychiatric report, he also gave me 6 points on my driving license and a £250 fine." She gave him a wane smile and a resigned shrug. The sky brightened again; the storm had passed over, as quickly as it arrived.

"So, what exactly do you want me to do?" He asked.  

"Why stop them of course, stop the flashes.  The first happened six months ago.  The second happened six weeks after the first.  Then there was a week between the second, third, and fourth.  Now, I'm getting them once or twice a day without warning.  They have destroyed my career, I've had to give up a well-paid job because I can't trust myself."

"Why do you think you are getting these f-- 'waking dreams'?"

"If I knew that I would be happier.  It's not knowing that scares me."

"Has your G.P. checked you out?"  She nodded.  "Did he send you to hospital for tests, in case there is a physical cause?"

"A scan, blood test and ECG, yes.  They found nothing abnormal, no growths or hormonal imbalance just slightly raised blood pressure nothing to cause alarm."

"So, all the preparation work has been done.  Hmm.  So we know it isn't a physiological anomaly."  He took an instrument from his pocket and raised it to his eye.  "Look at the light please," he examined her eyes, "no aberrations there," he closed the blinds, and noticed that the rain had stopped and the sun was shining once again.  He dimmed the room lights.  "Join me over here please," she sat on the couch beside him.

"Have you ever been hypnotized?"

"No, I thought it was just theatrical hocus-pocus," she said.

"Well, it's not the universal panacea we in the profession had hoped for, but it does have its uses."

"Are you going to put me under?"

"Would you have any objection to that?"

She thought for a moment--  He waited.  "No."

"I should warn you that not everybody is a suitable subject, but all we can do is try."

"Will I know when you begin?"

He smiled and shuffled his pen from hand to hand, "it's important that you are comfortable and relaxed.  Would you prefer a nurse to be present?"

"Yes please."

He pressed a button beside his chair, a nurse entered and sat beside the door, out of Sarah's direct line of sight. 

"Nurse White is here to observe and will take no part in the proceedings, do you understand?"  Sarah nodded.  "Do you mind if we record the session?"

"No, it would be interesting to hear just what happens."  Nurse White moved slightly and there was a click.

"Now close your eyes, breath slowly, and deeply.  When I count to three you will sleep.  you will still be able to hear me and respond to my questions, relax, relax, one... two... three."

"For the record, your name is Sarah O'Dell?"

"Yes."

"You're 27 years old?"

"Yes."

"How long have you lived in Barchester?"

"Twenty five years."

"Do you recall your first 'waking dream'?"

"Yes."

"Would you describe it please?"

"It was 06:55pm on Tuesday evening.  I like to watch 'Holby City' so I went over to switch on the TV.  Suddenly I was in a dark cellar, I could hear running water and feel damp stones underfoot.  It smelt musty - like mushrooms.  I could hear a dog whimpering and a voice 'don't fret Bobby they'll miss us soon, and start a search.  They'll find us, you'll see!'  There followed a low rumble, and the dog started barking in earnest; then the Holby City theme tune began, and I was standing by the TV."

"How did you feel?"

"I was terrified and cold, I could still smell it, and my feet felt clammy.  It wasn't until I sat down on the couch that I began to feel a little more like my old self."  She shuddered.

"What did you think?"

"I felt as if somebody had switched channels, and then switched back again only it wasn't the TV, it was my life that changed.  I was afraid to move in case it happened again.  It didn't, but I couldn't move.  I must have fallen asleep because suddenly it was the early hours of Wednesday morning, there was some game show on.  I live alone, so I had no one to confide in this is the first time I've told anybody about it."

"Thank you!  How did this affect you?"

"I became nervous and fearful in case it happened again.  Other people noticed the change in me.  

"How did this change your life?"

She licked her lips, "I became hesitant, nervy, and uncertain."

"How had you been immediately before the incident?"

"I was a confident, friendly and outgoing, extrovert," she paused and reflected before continuing, "I was getting back to my normal self when it happened again, in the middle of ASDA--"

"Can you share that experience with me?"

"I saw a young woman with a child in a pram, and a toddler dawdling behind her."  She licked her lips, "I noticed them leave the store, then the flash hit!  I saw them heading for the car park and the toddler wandering off between two cars, into an empty parking space.  Two cars were racing for the space.  The winner didn't even see the child but must have felt the bump.  It was so vivid that I abandoned my shopping trolley and rushed out of the store.  I grabbed the child's arm an instant before he ran in front of the parking car.  At that instant, the mother reached her car.  She looked back and gave me a look of pure hatred.  'Hey! Leave my child alone!'  I tried to explain, but she had hardened her mind. She smacked the child 'Don't you ever let a stranger hold your hand!  She yelled.  All eyes turned in my direction when she yelled out 'pervert!'  "I kept walking, the toddler's voice wailing in my wake."

"Did you learn anything from the experience?"

She paused and shook her head.  "No.  If I had I wouldn't have tried to warn you about the explosion at 'Gordino's'..."

"Explosion?  You didn't mention that..."

"I saw you sitting with a young woman wearing a dark business suit, and a pale blue blouse.  She had short dark hair and carried a tan briefcase.  You were laughing together, drinking coffee.  I glanced out the window, the town hall clock said ten past two, then there was an explosion."  She looked straight at him.  "Even if I am wrong, what harm would it do to change your venue?"

"I will change it to a later time, will that make you rest easier?"  He'd decided to humour her, against all logical reason. 

"Yes," she visibly relaxed, "that will put my mind at ease."

"Sarah, I'm going to count down.  When I reach one you will awake refreshed and relaxed.  Three... Two... One."  He clicked his fingers and her eyes opened.

"I'm ready, you can start whenever you like," she smiled at him.

.-...-.

The session was over, he escorted her to the reception desk and scheduled a follow-up appointment for the following week.  Then he called 'Gordino's' to cancel his reservation and see if he could book a later time, but they were fully booked. 

He rang his fiancé, "Angie, something has come up and I can't make 2pm, can we try that small cafe near your school?"

.-...-.

They met at 2:15pm and enjoyed a pleasant meal.  Over coffee, he shared the bizarre story with her.  Angie was vice-principal at the local comprehensive school, so after settling the bill Adam walked her back to school.  It was 3:00pm by his watch when he glanced up at the Town Hall clock, which showed 2:10pm.  He pointed it out to Angie, she laughed.

"That old thing hasn't worked for years," she said.

"Then in theory, the explosion could have happened at any time."

"That's if your story were true."

"I'll have to leave you here," he said.  "I have an appointment at 3:15pm."  He kissed her.

"My god!" She pointed to a plume of smoke rising from the direction of 'Gordino's'.  Then they heard it, and felt the blast of the explosion.

ends.

A Hand of Whist

A Hand of Whist

For an hour Forbes stood impassively behind his master at the Carlton Gentlemen's Club, as Sir Geoffrey played his cards, badly, and got punished for it.   One man was winning consistently.   He knew when to play a hand and when to fold.  He wasn't greedy and was happy to win small hands and cause no real embarrassment.  He made the game enjoyable for the other players, offering congratulations on good play and advice between hands, without seeming to preach.   In contrast to Sir Geoffrey, who was a bad player and a notoriously bad loser.   He lost hand after hand regardless of who partnered him.  He'd lost close to a 100 guineas when he left the table in a huff; Forbes followed, a step behind his master, as dictated by form.

"Unmitigated cheek Forbes.   Damned Galsworthy cheated me out of 200 guineas!"

" I saw no evidence of cheating Sir Geoffrey, the fellows an uncommonly good player, and I counted but 100 guineas leave your purse, sir,"

"Are you calling me a liar Forbes?"

"No sir, Au contraire, I'm simply suggesting that in the heat of the moment it's easy to miscount.  In a sense, you could say I've halved your losses at a stroke sir."

"I'm not in the mood for jokes Forbes.  Do you play whist?"

"I do sir," he said as he assisted his master into the coach, taking the seat opposite as propriety dictates.

"What kind of player are you?"

"Actually, I'm quite proficient sir."

"And, you think I play badly?"

"I wouldn't say that sir."

"Aha!  Now you're being diplomatic..."

"Well sir, I would say there is room for improvement."

"Room for improvement?  Impudent scally, you think you could beat me?"

"No sir!  I wouldn't be happy about taking your money.  But, I could play along and point out other possible stratagems."

"Heh, heh, you're going to teach me how to play eh?"

"It is within the remit of a manservant to maximise his masters potential."

"Well, we would need two other players."

"I would suggest, Mr Jarvis your butler, and Smythe, your stable master, sir. 

Both are excellent players.  We could play for farthings to save embarrassment."

"Farthings?  Farthings?  I couldn't possibly play for such low stakes." 

"They are house stakes sir, but if we play with chips you could call them guineas.  Remember the object is to improve your play not to take your money, sir."

.-...-.

So, That evening, in the saddle room of Harley Manor, they played their first hand of whist.  After the first hand had been won, by Jarvis & Smythe, they laid out their cards and talked through the plays.  At the conclusion, the result was unchanged.  But, over the next three hands, to Sir Geoffrey's surprise, the analysis reversed the results.

At the evenings conclusion, Sir Geoffrey paid out 20 guineas to his surprised Butler & Groom and Forbes paid out 20 farthings (5 pennies).

"Same again tomorrow evening," said Sir Geoffrey."  By the end of the month, Sir Geoffrey was winning as many hands as he lost.

.-...-.

They returned to his club after five weeks absence, to the great relief of Galsworthy and other players anticipating a pecuniary improvement.  But, by the end of the evening, their disappointment was evident, when Sir Geoffrey left the table with 120 guineas of their money. 

"Extraordinary lucky," said major Griffin.

Galsworthy smiled. "He's taking lessons."

"I say, dashed unsporting what?" said colonel Fisher.

"No, no, we'll get it all back with interest tomorrow eh colonel?" said the major.

"Hehem..." the colonel replied

"Well, it certainly made the game more interesting.  If you like I'll pair with him when next we meet," said Galsworthy.

As matters transpired it would be a week before they next saw Sir Geoffrey.  Forbes was confident that they were well prepared and so it proved.  Galsworthy and Sir Geoffrey took 300 guineas away from the table that evening.

"Well sir, you are now officially an excellent player.  So, I doubt you will be joining our games in the tack room in future," Forbes sounded genuinely regretful as he assisted Sir Geoffrey into his coach.

"Not a bit of it Forbes, the players at the Carlton Club come a poor second to the members of the Harley Manor club, like taking candy canes from babies!  Tell Jarvis & Smythe I intend winning all my money back; every brass farthing!" 

"Gloves off sir?"  Forbes broke into an uncharacteristic smile, rubbing his hands as he took his seat.  The wily servants had been sharing the guineas three ways; now they would step it up a gear. 

ends