Thursday, August the 4th, 2005

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Weathering the Storm

Sometimes I think it is very important to weather a storm. Too often, it is tempting to take the easy option, and not to weather it, but rather to succumb to it. Like you, I have been battered by gales in the past, and it is not a pretty sight. Stumbling out of a tempest with a dishevelled bouffant and wet clothing, I have taken refuge in the Loopy Copse Tea Rooms, ordered a plate of boiled peas and a cup of cocoa, wrung out my dripping hat, and averted my eyes, still stinging from the cold howling winds, from the other customers, who are dry and insouciant and faintly hostile. The contrast between the elegant Tea Rooms, with a harp, viola and piccolo trio playing in the corner, and the clattering storm outside, could not be greater. Well, it could be. The Tea Rooms are not quite heaven, and the tempest is not quite hell, but you should try pointing that out to the customers. I did just that, and I bear the psychic bruises to show for it.

“There is no need to be so insouciant and faintly hostile,” I said, to the room in general, as I slumped in my chair, and then I made the comparison just mentioned. A member of the Loopy Copse Tea Room staff glided over to me, smooth and silent, almost like a spectral being.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, “But you slammed the door as you came in, there is a puddle of rainwater at your feet where you wrung out your hat, your bouffant is dishevelled and your clothing is wet. By taking refuge in here it is as if your very presence has brought the storm into the peaceable kingdom of our Tea Rooms.”

“I? The storm?”, I shouted. She leaned to whisper into my ear.

“Pause a moment and take the time to peer deeply into your soul,” she said, “And it may become clear to you that there is much truth in my words. Now I am going to fetch your dish of boiled peas.”

“And cocoa?” I asked, but she had already flitted away. I noticed now that the other customers were staring at me. There were only four of them, sat together at a table, holding hands as if in a séance. The trio struck up a new tune, one I did not recognise. I made a sort of huffing noise and pretended to examine the menu, even though I had already ordered my snack. My thoughts were jumbled and incoherent. Was I the storm personified? Was the weather simply a projection of my inner being? Did I have unknown power over the elements? Was I a god?

Suddenly the dish of boiled peas was placed before me. They were poisoned peas, or perhaps I should say enchanted peas, for after I had eaten them, piping hot, I was transported to an ethereal plane, where it seemed the universe was Loopy Copse Tea Rooms, and Loopy Copse Tea Rooms were the universe, eternal and illimitable. Somehow I knew that if I drank the cup of cocoa that was brought to me the spell, if spell it was, would be broken, so I let it grow cold. I put my hat on my head, paid my bill, and walked towards the door. Outside, the storm had died away.

“Sky overcast, light drizzle, temperature mild growing colder towards evening,” I declared, and lo! it came to pass.