Clockwork motorboats (beware of sensible people)

On the way to work this morning I was pleased to see a huge puddle, caused by a massive downpour of overnight rain. I’ve seen the puddle on many other occasions when there has been a considerable amount of precipitation. Every time I see the puddle, I have just one desire: to place a small clockwork motorboat at the edge of what I think resembles a small lake, switch it on and send it across to the other side. The trouble is, of course, I don’t have a clockwork motorboat, but to be honest, it doesn’t have to be clockwork, it could be battery-powered. Whichever way you cut it, I don’t have one.

More worrying, however, is the fact that I want to send a small toy boat across a large puddle; and even more worrying is the fact that I’m going to be caught in the act by other grown-ups who might just be a little more grown-up than yours truly. Worse still, I don't have a young child to legitimise the activity. There’s bound to be witnesses and they could come from any direction: behind me would be the most disconcerting as they would have the element of surprise on their side, but there would be others coming across the railway bridge. Either way, not good.

It goes without saying that the motorboat - be it clockwork or battery-powered - would make more than one trip across the puddle. I can’t see myself being happy without a return journey, which would mean additional exposure to an already suspicious public, a gathering crowd of belligerent bastards with twisted faces wearing overcoats and carrying briefcases. And then, of course, there would be my briefcase (because I’d have one) and it would be resting against a wall waiting for me to finish with my tomfoolery and continue on my journey to the office.

This is the puddle.

I wonder what would happen next? I would fish the boat out of the puddle and dry it off, put it in my briefcase and carry on to work, probably being scoffed at and mocked along the way by the aforementioned belligerent bastards. Would I care? Not really, it would only get nasty if one of them followed me, shouting out obscenities and being generally disagreeable as I attempted to get on with my day.

Perhaps I would reach the office, mildly flustered and wondering why everybody on the train was giving me strange looks, and then notice that my work colleagues were casting similarly strange glances at one another and in my direction. There might be a low buzzing sound emanating from my briefcase and they would all be thinking that some weird sexual appliance was pointlessly whirring away. But no, it would be my motorboat which, somewhere on the journey from puddle to station had switched itself on.

“Why have you got a clockwork motorboat in your case?”

“It’s not clockwork, it’s battery-powered. Clockwork motorboats are few and far between these days and cost hundreds of pounds on ebay,” I would say.

“Alright, why have you got a battery-powered motorboat in your briefcase?”

“Because I couldn’t afford a clockwork boat.”

But that wasn’t the correct answer. The right thing to have said would have been that I had a battery-powered motorboat in my briefcase because earlier I had been floating it in a puddle close to the railway station near to where I live. That would have been the truth and eventually, of course, I would come out with the truth and be revealed as a ‘big kid’. 

I am a big kid.

“Why would you do that?”

“How about because I can?”

And then I would get on with my work and forget all about my colleagues and the belligerent bastards I had encountered earlier, with their twisted faces.

People are strange and a lot of them don’t have a sense of humour, they just exist in a sensible and selfish world of their own where they keep people at arm’s length and find any kind of quirkiness taboo and worrisome and to be avoided at all costs. People are scared. They prefer to order online rather than have to face other people in a shopping environment. They won’t use public transport for fear that they might encounter a nutter - or nutters - or, heaven forbid, some immigrants.

Scared, sensible people, well-dressed, immaculate everything, tidy gardens, don’t suffer fools gladly - don’t you hate people who ‘don’t suffer fools gladly’, we’re all supposed to be wary of them, try not to upset them, walk on eggshells, when in reality we should really tell them all to fuck off. People who don’t suffer fools gladly are impatient, short-tempered fuck wits who think it’s their way or the highway. Well, hand me the car keys! But no, that’s not right; to reach for the ignition and head for the motorway is to give them some credence, to accept their position, to admit they’re right and you’re wrong. No, reach for your toy motorboat, put it back in the puddle, flick the switch and watch it cross the water again, cheering it on its way while waiting for the sensible one to explode with anger, because deep down they wish they could place their own motorboats in the puddle and enjoy it’s journey to the other side; but no, they can’t do that because they’re wired differently - they're too sensible; and while there’s nothing wrong with people being wired differently - women are wired differently to men, for example - when their behaviour impacts negatively, it’s time to make a stand: hop like a rabbit to the shops wearing a leopard skin onesie, wear a disarming smile for no reason and giggle insanely at inanimate objects. But don’t go over the top or you’ll find the even more sensible ones in white coats knocking on your door and taking you to a place of sterile safety, away from mainstream society, where you can play noughts and crosses with yourself and watch day time television until it’s time to return to the ward.