This Is A Non-Smoking Office or Is It?
Not so many years ago, when I was Chief Chimp at Andersens my sales director would forever whinge at me that I was smoking far too much and needed to quit. My PA, a darling, scary monstress from Rainham bought stacks of “This is a Non Smoking Office” signs and cellotaped one to my desk so it would confront me whenever I finally got to the bottom of the piles of papers, post-it notes and general clutter.
Suffering a rare English Comprehension Epiphany I retorted “I’m the bugger that smokes not the bloody office!”
The signs disappeared, after all, rank has its privileges.
Changing direction completely, the standing joke with my sprogs is that when I was a kid I had a dinosaur as a pet which is not completely true but I did have a guitar. I taught myself to play until I was good enough to bash out the odd Status Quo and Doors numbers at the school discos with a few mates. Playing live did wonders for my street credibility but it did something much more than that. It was the time when I started becoming aware of music and I still have my first ever single - “I Don’t Like Mondays” by the Boomtown Rats. Playing music led to other music genres that I would never have thought to listen to and I have a much wider appreciation of music than I otherwise would have today. Don’t knock it, I’m at home at the Royal Albert and the South Bank as I was with Simon Rattle at the CBSO during my Brum uni days and I have seen the Bolshoi at the Bolshoi in Maskva (Moscow to those who nye gavareetye pa-rooskie).
The connection between a Non Smoking Office and teenage dreams of guitar axe wizardry is not so tenuous for me.
Firstly,my finger tips have payed a heavy price as I learned to hammer on the fretboard and the keyboard.
Secondly, I am experiencing the sensation of a new world opening up while the old one will never be looked at in the same way by me again.
Writing copious reams of, for the most part, absolute and utter nonsense has given a greater appreciation for the written word no matter where I see it. The idea that an office does not smoke and the sign simply make no sense is becoming second nature as I’ve had to practice and strive towards making myself understood in a medium that has hitherto been nothing more than a means to an end.
Understanding English is part of the mindset and skill that practice provides, but by far the greatest asset I am still in the process of acquiring is the clarity of thought occurring when I come to translate thoughts into words.
The key word here is “practice”; whether writing for pleasure or profit, there can be no substitute for actually writing and honing your style, skills and English language muscles notwithstanding in non-smoking bars 