Tags
aboulia, acedie, babuschka, dasha, geiger counter, Hamlet, Jenny Packham, MCC tie, procrastination, St Augustine, St Brigid, St Patrick, tache, Tsarist Russia, Valentine's Day, Weltschmerz
Virginia Fisher-Gyles had been a little deflated when Valentine’s Day
eventually arrived and, although the customary bouquet of red roses
had been delivered to her office, nothing of significance had taken place.
A few days had passed and nothing had been said. He hadn’t even worn
the silk cravat she had given him. He continued to don his gravy-stained
MCC tie.
Snod had been procrastinating-an inactivity that he indulged in, not
only on the 29th of February. It was habitual, nay ingrained, as much as
the various taches.
Virginia couldn’t pin his behaviour, or lack thereof, to acedie, as that was
characterised by a restlessness and possibly an inability to work, or pray.
No, he managed his job, though not given to much movement. He
did not exhibit signs of Weltschmerz, unless anyone mentioned a cover
lesson.
Aboulia might have been a better diagnosis, but, then again, although
certainly diminished of movement, it wasn’t that he didn’t care about
not caring. He simply never even considered it an issue. Emotional issues
just didn’t register on his internal Geiger counter. Was he suffering from
indolence of the heart, in the same way that Hamlet was thought to have
been? Was he just a typical man?
In Tsarist Russia, such people had been put to hard labour in some old
babushka’s dasha, to shake them up. Virginia had a few jobs lined up
for him.
He had the ring, so why was he not transferring it to a female digit
forthwith? Why was he praying, like St Augustine: Lord…not yet.
The roses had drooped and the water had been unable to be refreshed
any longer. Virginia tore a strip off her desk calendar. The 28th February-
that meant that tomorrow she could ….
She sped off to prepare her campaign. She was as determined as St Brigid
to close the deal with St Patrick.
The next morning she was at her desk, red knickers a hopeful substitute
for the recommended petticoat. The Headmaster and certain staff
members had been fore-warned.
(About the campaign- not her undergarments.)
She couldn’t be any worse off. She would propose to Snod on the dais at
the end of whole school assembly. If the old so-and-so didn’t comply,
then she would fine him the requisite 12 pairs of gloves, or a silk dress.
She had already spotted a desirable Jenny Packham beaded number in
her local boutique. It wasn’t cheap.
