A few things.
Some time ago, I innocently got a good high score on the "Snake" game on my mobile phone. Pretty soon, a game that I had previously regarded as a stupid way for idiots to pass time suddenly became an exciting challenge of strategy and wit.
That was all well and good. I continued playing the game, and as time went by, the five spaces on the high score table became occupied by - if I may say so - some rather respectable scores. The challenge was becoming greater. Earning a place on that high score table soon meant playing an exceptional game of snake.
I considered playing the game on the bus, but it would have required a shamelessness that I am simply not capable of. I tried to tell myself that people would just think I was writing a text message, but in my heart I knew any onlooker would see a sad man in his mid-twenties, tongue stuck out in concentration, furiously guiding a red snake around the screen of his cheap, crap mobile phone. How could I possibly hide my joy after playing a good game? How could I hide my frustration after a bad one? Everyone would know what I was doing.
Anyway, I soon ended up playing the game in bed. I've been taking some early nights recently, and unable to fathom the idea of turning the lights off before 11pm, have mischievously turned to the humble Nokia on my bedside table. It only takes a matter of seconds for the feeling of shame to melt away. I am lost in the game, deftly avoiding my long snake body as it contorts into a creative maze of red flesh. It grows and grows; eventually I crash into it and the phone buzzes. If I am lucky, I have obtained a score of 1500 or more, and have marked a place on the high score table.
The stupidest thing I did was set myself a rule: no sleep until you have a place on the high score table. It was a self defeating enterprise. Every night it became harder and harder to get on the table. Soon it required a high score of 1780 or more to get on to it. At that rate, I was at risk of never being able to sleep ever again. The whole thing had become ridiculous. And as simply as it started, I stopped playing Snake.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I was in the middle of a class today when there was a knock at the door. I was getting ready to chastise a late student when I realised it was actually a fellow English teacher. He explained that one of his whiteboard pens had died on him and asked if he could borrow one from me, to which I said "Of course, of course," and directed him to my desk. There were four pens there of colours black, blue, red and green.
It must have taken about two seconds for him to reach my desk, but in that short time my brain had the time to worry about which colour he was going to choose. To my relief, he chose the green pen. But I was instantly aware that he was participating in some unwritten laws of teacherly conduct. When borrowing a drywipe marker from another teacher, take green. It's the pen no one wants. No one can read the green pen, especially not at the back of the room. It's too bloody faint. Nothing like black or blue. Even red is usually pretty bold until it starts to run out.
There was also something painfully British about his choosing of the green pen, something so deferent and unimposing that I almost felt a tear of pride forming in my eye.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
My friend Nick Flower has recently begun updating his blog again. If you have not done so already, I suggest you check it out: one-huge-peachy.blogspot.com
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I meant to post another cartoon or drawing from my sketchbook archives today, but internet based problems beyond my power or understanding have prevented me from doing so. Hence this rather long and rambling blog post.
