My friend texted me. She’s a consultant brain Doctor.
I’m having a day off today, she said. I can’t settle down to work. Can you?
I am working, but I’m in a rage, I texted back. I hate everything. I have flapjacks. I’ll put the kettle on. Come over.
In between texting and her imminent arrival, I started to think about all the things I didn’t hate, actually. It had seemed a bit harsh to even say it. That’s what being in a rage does to you.
The list of things I didn’t hate was very long, because if you read this blog regularly, you’ll know I am one of life’s enthusiasts. I scribbled some of it down:
‘Things I do not hate:
Otters. Cardigans. Elephants (what have they ever done to anyone?). Flowers. Cats. Coffee. Dogs. Shoes. Cups of tea. Cake. Phones. Computers. Pencils. Paint. Bangles. Skirts. Embroidery. Clean sheets on the bed and fresh pyjamas. That moment when you get home, hungry for dinner, and the oven timer has worked, and the house is filled with the smell of baked potatoes. And there is butter in the fridge, and cheese. Looking in shop windows. Giraffes.’
It struck me that of this list giraffes were possibly the thing I hated least in the whole world.
Such improbable creatures. And those eyelashes, and the huge expressive eyes. Have you ever seen a baby giraffe? I haven’t, though I would dearly love to. I’d like to see them in the wild too. But London Zoo has a giraffe enclosure – I might have to go on a day trip to visit them.
We had a rage together, my friend and I. There were lots of things to rant about, today. It was cathartic. I had half a mind on giraffes though, and the bliss I was going to get from drawing this picture, above.
And of course, my friend made me see I don’t hate everything. I just hate one thing, and that’s the thought of some surgery I have to have next week. Yes, I hate the thought of that.
Dont think about it.
Take solace in the awe-inspiring fact of giraffes.