The Perfumer's Touch!

It is said that if a person comes near a coal-man, the likelihood of going away with one’s clothes sullied in some way, was quite high, and that if a person goes near a perfumer, he would most probably come away with some sense of fragrance on him. This truly seems to be the case-even if one does have ideas of insubordination in mind.

I had met a lecturer for coffee in the British Library the other day (well, Expresso to be more precise), and decided I should take a walk in the city. I therefore walked to Oxford Street, to remind myself about the act around which my dissertation evolves; that of walking the street. During my walk, I heard a street-merchant selling his product at the top of his voice. In the eighteenth-century, such a phenomenon would not have seemed strange, nor would it have seemed to peculiar in the market stalls of London. It did, however, seem bizaare that the man was using such a method of advertising his goods in Oxford Street; bearing in mind that he was in the most famous high-street in London, I wondered why he felt the need to, and therefore took a closer look. He was a perfumer. Well, not just any perfumer, he was a prominent employee of The Perfume Shop in Oxford street, which was holding a ‘one day promotion.’ Being an avid fan of The Real Hustle, I thought to myself, ‘we are living in an economic crisis, how could The Perfume Shop, of all places, have a “one day spectacular?” Something was not right, and I therefore took it upon myself to warn the people not to fall for the scam which was about to ensue.

I quickly realised that anything I would have uttered was drowned out by the huge megaphone in the man’s hand, through which he was yelling, ‘£30 for 6 top quality perfumes! Only £30 for 6 top quality perfumes! That is £6 each, ladies and gents!’ The had gathered a small crowd, with 10 people waving £30 in the air. The con was, to all intents and purposes, most definitely on. Each of these people were given a bag, and told they would now receive their goods. So far, I remained a ‘man of the crowd’, to borrow a phrase from one of Edgar Allan Poe’s tales. I did not engage, and remained an intrigued spectator. I watched as the employee began to tell these 10 people how they had ‘bagged the deal of the century’, and would receive 6 perfumes for the price of just one of them: £30. He then bought out these ‘top quality perfumes’. Now, I grew up with aftershave, and can distinguish my Kourus, from my Calvin Klein. Its one of those things, and felt it my duty to finally engage in the spectacle occurring in front of me, rather than just remain a ‘spectator’. Making my silent apologies to Joseph Addison and Richard Steele (composers of 18th-Century periodicals The Spectator), I turned to the last of the 10 customers who had decided to part with £30. He was a young man, who thought (like the other 9 ‘marks’), he was getting a great ‘deal’. He told he so. I began to destroy the myth the employee of The Perfume Shop had created, telling him, ‘you know, these perfume bottles contain 5% perfume, and 95% water.’ Understandably, he did not believe me, and I did not expect him to. At this point, the shop’s employee with the megaphone picked up the first of the 6 perfumes and said, ‘Obsessive for men, I am giving you, for £6 each! Here you all go!’ He put one in each of the 10 people’s bags. I picked up a sample of this ‘Obsessive’. I took the hand of the man I had been talking to, and said, ‘here, smell that’, spraying a bit on his hand. He smelt it. ‘it smells brilliant.’ I instructed him further, ‘wait for two minutes, smell it again.’ He did: ‘the smell is gone.’ By this time, the man with the megaphone was telling everyone about ‘Beauty for women! £6 each, everyone gets one!’ He put one of these into the bag of each of the 10 people. I picked up the sample of this, and sprayed a bit on the man’s other hand: ‘here, wait two minutes and smell your hand again.’ He did: ‘its…gone…I think you were right.’ We did the same for each of the 6 perfumes, as each of the 10 people were handed out bottles containing what was clearly water, for the most part. The man grabbed everyone’s money (including the £30 the man I was talking to was holding), and yelled, ‘ok, sale over! Goodbye everyone!’

Then he looked at me, and pointed his finger. ‘You sir, don’t go ANYWHERE, we have something EXTRA-SPECIAL planned for you!!’ I seriously gulped. The employee had an entourage of two bulgy men, and thought, my game was up. He had obviously seen me informing the man of the ‘scam’, spraying the perfumes one-by-one on his hand, showing him how they contained water. Why had I been so self-righteous?’, I asked myself. I had not even been able to save these people from a scam, and now I was about to get a serious ass-kicking, from a very well-fragranced man, and his entourage! I thought, ‘ah well, at least I’ll go home bleeding, but smelling nice.’ The employee came towards me. I gulped once again. This is it, this is the end, I told myself. The employee, strangely, stuck out his hand. I hesitantly shook it-maybe this is how well-fragranced men begin fights, I told myself, but then he said, ‘thank you SO much for being our official sampler, I watched you spraying each of our 6 fragrances on that man’s hand with such enthusiasm, you really helped me make the sale today, your spraying attracted even more attention, we sold more than the 10 bags!’ Oh dear. ‘Here, this is especially for you.’ He gave me my gift: two batter-operated romantic candles, and these two desk-photo-holders for a husband and wife. Thanks so much again my man, you really helped today!’

I decided to cut my losses, and head off: ‘no problem’, I said backing off, ‘…anytime.’ I then got the next bus home, while trying to make sense of what had happened. He must have seen me talking to the man, spraying each of the 6 perfumes on his hand with enthusiasm and consistency, and talking some more, but had not heard what I had said due to his big megaphone! He thought I was helping to advertise his products when really, I had opposite intentions in mind! What this little adventure reminded me of, was the sheer importance of being able to hear and understand the spoken words of others. Had he so much as heard an inkling of what I had said, he would have most definitely wanted to give me a well-fragranced beating! Hearing, and understanding the English language, never seemed more important.

The Cavalry Has Arrived

After meeting my College Proffessor for afternoon coffee at the British Library the other day, I decided to take a ramble through Kensington Gardens. Of course, this involved actually walking to Queensway from Kings Cross, which took a few hours, but I was adamant (for reasons I cannot actually recall!) to walk through Kensington Gardens that day, so I made the trek.

By the time I got there, I was absolutely knackered, and secretly hoped someone would give me a lift in their car as they saw me trudging through the streets of Queensway, or that someone would let me have their bicycle out of pity. It was at this point I heard a slow march behind me. I thought to myself, 'who on earth would be marching in this scorching heat?' Then I turned, and it was truly a magnificent sight. At least 50 soldiers were marching right behind me, all monotonously, step after step, putting my little preamble to shame. I asked one of them. 'are you guys Territorial Army, Royal Marines, or the Commandos?'

He answered in a very manly voice: '...no....we're the Cavalry!'

The cavalry!! I couldn't match them for physical strenth, no matter how much I tensed my shoulders. These guys were made of pure British beef, so I thought I would provide them with a comment on the act of marching, for reflection. I said, 'yes, it is indeed a fine thing, walking, isn't it? It is such an interesting endeavour, as humans, we even invent other ways in which to do it, like marching.' The soldier gave me a 'one more word and I'll thump the life out of you' look, and said, 'yeah, whatever you say.'; Charming, but then, we never associated any charm with the cavalry!

Going To The Hospital: I'm A Daddy!

Yesterday I had a very strange experience. I had to go to a distant hospital-The Royal National Throat, Nose, and Ear Hospital, to have a doctor look at my jaw, which was giving me a bit of pain. I was waiting patiently in the waiting area, and then this English, rather posh looking woman wheeled her cute little baby into the area. Immediately, the baby looked at me, and smiled. I smiled back, as you would. Naturally, I started making faces, and he smiled a bit. The woman said, 'hi, you alright? He's such a little terror!' in a joking way, and smiled. Strangely, she spoke as if she knew me. Bizaare? Seemed ordinary to me, most people feel they've known me for years after talking just five minutes with me. Meanwhile I was feeling a strange bond with the baby, even though I was sitting about 12 feet away. Then, it was her turn to go and see the doctor, so she started to pack her things away. I moved the chairs out of the way for the pram to be able to wheel out with ease, and gave the mother the baby's shoe which had fallen off. She said to me, 'thanks! ok, we have to go, nice meeting you.' Then, the baby said something which stopped my heart from beating for a few seconds: 'bye bye, Daddy.' The woman looked at me and smiled, just smiled. I was confused, and bewildered. When had I fathered a child who was now 1 years old? My memory was bad, but not THAT bad! I'd never slept with a woman, and yet, here was this immaculate conception! I couldn't breath. He said it again, 'bye bye, da-da.' Oh dear, now he was using alternatives! The woman just stood there and smiledd...was I the miraculousn daddy, or did she want me to be the father figure?! I still had my MA to complete, I didn't have time to be a part-time father to this child! I said, 'wow, when did that happen? I don't remember his birth!' She stands, just smiling, still. Then, 'da-da', again.

It was at this point she cut in, 'no Michael, he's not daddy...daddy is...at work, remember? Sorry, ok, nice meeting you, bye-bye again.' She was gone, and I thankfully, was not the father to the miracle child!

Aslom Does The Apprentice/Dragon's Den

I recently entered a competition through Queen Mary entitled, XING 2009. It was a competition for business students, but I thought it looked quite fun. Despite having no real 'business acumin', whatever on earth that means, I submitted an application. The next thing I know, I was selected to represent Queen Mary at the competition, held in Goldsmith's University. Donning a suit, I faced entered through its doors.

Strangely, I found that I was actually at an incredible advantage to the other members on my team. Their knowledge of business was 'bookish', and I had the advantage of having had real experience of the business world, as well as the very real world of teaching. I was bringing ideas to the table which they said had not at all entered their minds. The competition was based very much like an Apprentice task: we were asked to brand a drink, and present it to a panel of judges for their consideration. Our presentation would need to include a 3 year plan, a five eyar plan, a strategy on funding, what our aims and goals were, how we wished to advertise ourselves, as well as our target market. All very business-like, but I did not let that deter me. Jumping in head first, I began startegising with my team. We came up with the brand name, 'Frushee', an organic juice drink, which was a luxury item, aimed at the health-conscious city workers who could afford it. I decided not to be Project Manager-I did not want to dominate, and gave the task to one of the girls in our group. I saw though, that as the day passed, she was losing control of the task more and more, and even gave up at one point and said the pressure was too much. I did not want to lose, especially after everyone had worked so hard, and therefore stepped in. Taking control, I made sure we finished on time, and that I was the one presenting our ideas. This decision was made not because I believed I was the most business-minded. On the contrary, all the members on my team had more business knowledge than I could ever hope to attain. They could speak about budgets and margins while I look around, quite lost. I, however, had the bliss of ignorance of all this jargon. I knew our ideas, aims, goals and, most importantly, our business plan like the back of my hand by the end time of the presentation. As a teacher, I had also been trained how to project my voice, how to present ideas in a clear, concise, and coherent way which engages my audience (usually teenagers) and I would therefore have no problem in presenting a business plan to a group of mature adults.

Using all my presentational skills, my knowledge of the Apprentice and, most importantly, genuine flair, I presented our plan. I was, as is evident from the pictures, careful to look thoughtful and engaged when they spoke, while being enthusiastic and seeming sure of what I was taking about when I spoke to them. We got through the First Stage of Eliminations, and got through to the Semin-Finals. Presenting again, I presented our modified plan, and took us through to the final. In the end, we did not win, we came Third Place in a competition that took in about 20 teams across many London universities. We got a £50 cash prize. Not bad for an ignorant English teacher with no knowledge of business! I loved the sense of teamwork, as well as the business style of the competition. I was asked for my number and email by some of the judges at the end of the competition, who were stunned I had not completed a degree in business, and told me I was, in teaching, in the wrong trade!

Knowledge of business, I have not, but I do believe I have some business acumin. Iasked, jokingly, if I should go on the Apprentice. One of the judges, smiling, said. 'I'd watch you, it would be interesting to see how you fare.' Alan Sugar, here I come.

Aslom In The White House

The other day, whilst researching for my dissertation on walking, I decided some 'fieldwork' was necessary and, as it was swelteringly hot, I headed for Regents Park. Unfortunately for me, so did everyone else, which meant it was packed with sunbathers and the like, with no transquility being bestowed by the park upon the walker. I walked the outskirts until I had completed nearly the whole park, and felt I had taken a long enough walk. It was at this point that I realised I had forgotten my wallet...and I was thirsty. I could not just walk up to somebody and ask for a drink, and yet I was incredibly thirsty.

I heard a lot of loud music coming from outside the park itself. I therefore climbed out, and found myself in front of one of the many huge Regent's Park mansions, one of which is owned by Mick Jagger, I believe. One of these walk holding a private garden party. I needed a drink. I untucked my shirt, rolled up the sleeves, put on my shades, and headed in. I waved hello to a few of the refined, posh women who were in the hallway, and apologised to them for being late. Late? I know, I wasn't even invited, but I couldn't blow my cover. They were a bit tipsy and, giving me the once over, said I was right on time, and should head out into the garden. I did, and it was the most magnificent garden I had ever seen. The lawn was beautifully maintained, there was a huge barbecue, a set of swings. I turned around, and saw the huge white mansion I had walked into. It was like being in the White House! I ,mingled, got my drink, had some salad, and five minutes had passed without anyone noticing that actually, nobody was acquainted with me! I decided I should leave before someone did, and had me arrested! I said my farwells, and walked out, right out the front door!

THAT was a stunt I aim never to pull again. I'm only young once though, and know that I will never be on any sort of salary to be able to affor such a place, so I needed to see what it was like. Why did nobody throw me out? Well, it seems that there are certain rules of sociability which are unwritten and, therefore, can be worked within by individuals. I had the apparel, the behaviour, the sophisticated talk of the other posh party-goers, and they therefore mentally accepted that either I was one of them, or was crazy enough to walk into a psoh party uninvited. Though the latter was true (minus the thing about being crazy, or not!), they believed the former was the case, due to its being more probable.

Battle of the Women in Waterstone’s

I was in Waterstone’s the other day on Goodge Street buying a book (boring! I know) and this huge African woman who was obviously returning GCSE books started yelling at the short little woman at the counter, really having a go at her: 'I WANT a refund! Now!!' This woman didn't have the receipt right so she was only allowed to exchange the goods, which the Waterstone’s girl kindly told her. 'I don't CARE, I have RIGHTS, I want the refund, or, if I DO return, I do NOT want to have to explain myself to another member of staff, this little girl CANNOT by any means go to lunch!' By now the shop had silenced. I had had enough: I could not stand by and watch this unfold in front of me like everyone else was. I intervened. This poor little Waterstone’s woman had done absolutely nothing wrong-it was the shop’s policy to only exchange goods which were not accompanied with a receipt, and this huge, overbearing woman was not at all budging. I stepped in, despite behind two people behind in the cashier que: ‘excuse me, but you are being unfair. You need to calm things down a little bit, and look at the situation rationally.’ I said this with firmness, but without any animosity-we get trained as teachers to alleviate and diffuse situations where possible. She turned on me: ‘and WHO are YOU to tell me that young man?! WHO are YOU?’ I simply replied, ‘I am jus another person in the que. You are yelling at this woman who has been nothing but nice to you. She’s been decent enough not to yell back, and you are taking advantage of that. She has offered you an exchange, so if you go off, find some books of the same value of those books, and then return, that will be great.’ By now the Waterstone’s girl smiled; she felt supported in a store in which he staff had all seemed to disappear. The African woman was now in full throttle: ‘is that what YOU think? WHO are YOU to tell me to leave the que, and find new books? You’re just a student, with trainers!’ It was true: against my better judgment, I had worn trainers that day with denim jeans, when usually I would wear shoes, trousers, and a formal shirt. I clearly looked like a student, but I set her straight: ‘actually, I’m an English teacher, and not only do I teach all those books in your pile there, but I know that as kids are soon to sit their GCSEs, they are useless. I wholly understand your reason for returning them, but you need to make a decision on which books you want to exchange them for.’ I had tried to empathise with her. She retorted by yelling, ‘English teacher? I’m…a lecturer!’ She was clearly lying; she’d made that up on the spot. I was slightly annoyed now: ‘lecturer? I imagine you completed your doctoral research in rudeness and vulgarity? Leave the que so we can get on with our shopping. You are clearly a rude woman who wastes people’s time.’ She was fuming now. At this point the store manager emerged, and offered a African woman with a piece of paper which would allow her to find some books to exchange and return without having to explain herself, reiterating that no refund would be given without a receipt. She took it and stormed off. The African woman was fuming, while the Waterstone’s girl was smiling, happy she could go off to lunch, and the situation had been reversed from the way it had been at the start of the woman’s rant. I’d achieved my objective. Not bad for a few minutes in a Waterstone’s que. The girl therefore thanked me, ‘no problem, have a nice day.’ I went off home with my new books, which I am now reading.

Sadness Being Felt By Great Individuals

I find it so incredibly shocking, and it saddens me to such a great degree, that I have decided to post a comment reflecting on my feelings in regard to the sadness which I have seen felt by people who are, in my view, great individuals who deserve the highest level of respect, honour, and admiration. When we, the lay individuals of society feel some pain, sadness, or even a sense of sorrow, we accept it. Reflecting on our own faults, we draw the conclusion that we probably deserved it in some way, and find a way of getting over the pain. Such is the normal cycle of the world, we tell ourselves, and try and move on.

When, however, we find people who we have such a veneration and respect for being treated in a horrible manner, it is difficult to make sense of it. I am not following the misconcieved principle that some people are perfect, but I do believe that there are certain individuals who of such potential, and possess such a level of 'amazingosity' (a new term for the Oxford English Dictionary), that we don't care if they do have the tiniest faults. It has saddened me to such a great degree to hear of individuals who I believe make the world a better place, who fill the earth with radiance and sunshine, to have been treated like dirt by others. How is it possible, for a person to be so hurtful to such amazing people?

I do not wish to sound like an alarmist, but I fear that the world is becoming a worser place than it had been 20 years ago. Morality and manners seem to be increasingly replaced with a focus on hedonistic pleasure and immorality, even if we do harm others in the way. It is so sad that people who have the such promise are being treated in such a way that their aspirations, hopes, and dreams are affected. It is not right.

The only solace we can draw, I suppose, is from the notion that 'what goes around, comes around.' These people will, to use the much-used phrase, 'get their just desserts', and will realise just how wrong they had been, just how hurtful they had been, to another individual. I only hope we are around to see it.

Happiness and Frivolity: Is There A Point?

how does one experience happiness, when he or she is aware of the extreme temporality of it? Happiness, as experience has shown many a person, never truly lasts, and we wonder, therefore, if there is any point in engaging in frivolous activity. Such activities which we classify as 'having a laugh', and 'just having some fun' become useless, when a person contemplates upon not only the temporality of such joys, but also, on a wider scale, the temporality of life itself. We have around 60 odd years to make a positive difference upon the earth we walk, upon the people among whom we find ourselves. If laughing and joking achieves no end, what then, is the point of it? A person opposing this argument against firvolity may argue that we engage in such acts to relax, to de-tox in an increasingly overwhelming world of stress and tension. Granted: our lives within the metropolis that is London are full of chaotic tension, and we need some time to ourselves to relax. But a quite half an hour is sometimes all that is needed, for even the most stressful of days. This work-life attitude, of spending 5 days a week working, and spending the last day of the week laughing incessantly among others seems to go against any idea of progress. Surely, if we spend our lives following this rather mundane pattern, we risk becoming repetitive creatures, just living life in a robotic fashion? I ask you this: If we fail to change our lives, to make a positive alteration to our weekly actions, how are we to make a change to society for purposes of improvement? More to the point: If we argue that our aims are not to make a positive improvement to society, we need to start asking ourselves why, and what our goal is-if indeed there is one.

Some of the facts of life

It seems that life will seldom dissapoint, and, so we wonder-is everything we fight for worth it? The answer lies in those inspiring individuals who make us realise that there is, despite the bad, a lot of good in the world. Those who cause us to come to positive conclusions about the state of humanity. Those who act as rays of light in the current darkness which envelops nearly all of existence.