Today, I had another run-in with The Gorgon. I should never have entered the labyrinth but, hey, sometimes you just don’t realise you’ve even passed through its abysmal entrance1.
I don’t know what it is about me and The Gorgon but we just don’t seem to get along. Every time we meet it feels as if I’m walking on eggshells; it probably feels the same to her too. From my point of view I see her as an overbearing, know-it-all with little, other than academic, experience of anything relevant to our common venture. From her point of view I’m probably basically a prat whose opinions on more or less anything are of no consequence, regardless of the depth of knowledge I may have on the topic, simply by virtue of my being a prat.
The Gorgon may not have noticed, this time, that there was much of a run-in because for once I managed to delay the manifestation of my frustration until the snakes had gone and I took it out on Old Dutch2 instead. Old Dutch is my sanity reference and if he ever goes bonkers3 I’m lost. He’s had a lot to put up with over the years and I don’t really know how he’s done it.
This situation cannot continue. There has, at some point, got to be a banging together of heads or one of us will turn into a gibbering wreck and I can hazard rather a good guess at who that’s likely to be. Oops.
1 I guess this has to remain at least slightly cryptic or I could possibly get into a lot of trouble but then I currently have Bob Dylan’s Maggies’ Farm playing on the stereo -
I ain’t gonna work for Maggies’ Ma no more - so what the heck?
2 Who ain’t that old really despite what he thinks his knees and hips may be telling him
Posted 2 December 2004, 22:00 GMT