Today’s word count: 1799 Total word count: 9220
I did what I always do in these situations and set out to write a battle plan. I’m an inveterate list-maker and whenever I have to sort a problem I reach for pen and paper and put the challenge into black and white. I know all the techniques, chunking down, prioritising, blue-sky thinking, I’ve read every lifestyle book you care to mention. It doesn’t actually make the problem go away, of course; it doesn’t actually solve anything, but at least you can see precisely how deep the hole is that you’ve dropped into, and quite how chaotic the surroundings of that hole have become.
However, the system usually seems to calm me enough to find a route out of my troubles, even if all I end up doing is tearing up the paper and deciding not to worry about the future any longer. Perhaps that’s what I was hoping for this time. I made my preparations with care. First I cleared the table, an act of improvement in itself, to make room for my thoughts. I didn’t put anything away, naturally, just swept all the papers, letters, magazines and other detritus that had accumulated into a large pile and plonked it under the table instead of on top. I made sure it was far enough back to be out of the way of my feet so I wouldn’t disturb the flow of inspiration by kicking it. Then I got a new notepad off the bookcase. I have a small collection of notebooks that I keep for just this sort of occasion. I can’t resist them, and have all sizes and thicknesses, in lots of different colours and patterns. The one I chose had birds on the front. They looked black at first, but there was a twinkling effect in the print that made them look as if they had multi-coloured sparkles among their feathers. I remember being captivated by the illusion when I bought the pad. The front cover informed me they were starlings and gave their Latin name as S. vulgaris. “How sad,” I thought, to have a name that says you’re vulgar.” I laid the pad on the cleared table, then found a pencil and used a sharpener on it until I saw a vicious point that could have served as a weapon in a pinch. I laid that above the pad, exactly parallel to the paper, then headed to the kitchen.
Next step was to put the kettle on, and while it was boiling I got out a mug, a teapot, a small jug of milk, and a huge packet of chocolate digestive biscuits. I stopped short of putting them onto a plate: this was a council of war, not afternoon tea. Can one person have a council of war? I doubted it, but I did feel like a general contemplating a forthcoming skirmish with the enemy. When the kettle boiled I warmed the pot, added two hefty spoons of tea, then poured the hot water onto the leaves. I gave the pot a quick stir, causing it to billow hot steam up into my face. I love the sensation of that first waft from a fresh pot of tea. You can tell why tea became the proverbial answer to everything. It has such an uplifting quality that it makes anything seem possible – even defeating my nemesis. I carried the pot, mug, milk jug and biscuits through to the lounge and placed them to hand near my notepad. I waited a couple of minutes for the tea to brew and poured myself a nice, hot cup of cha. “OK,” I said to myself, “Let’s do this,” and took a good long draw from my mug. But nothing immediately sprang to mind. I really didn’t know what to do next.
“So,” I continued to talk out loud, I find it can help. “If we don’t know what to do, let’s find out what we do know.” And I started to write down words and phrases, randomly on the paper. Wishes, Three, Up to three, Name, Who is he? What is he? Weaknesses, Pendant. Oriental. Antique. Monkeys. Dragons, and so on. I carried on like that until the page was almost full, and when I ran out of ideas I put down the pencil. I took a deep breath and then allowed myself to finish the mug of now quite luke warm Earl Grey.
“How to begin,” I mused, then struck on the idea of choosing a topic at random. I closed my eyes and turned my hand in circles over the sheet before pointing a finger and diving it down to the table. Opening my eyes I saw that I’d chosen ‘Name’ from the options. Well, it was as good a place as any to start. He had carefully avoided telling me his name, and even told Minty to call him Sir Galahad when she asked him, so I had no idea what he called himself. Having something to call him might help me form a strategy so far I had nothing solid to work from, no foundation, so I pondered names for a while.
I wasn’t sure how to think of him, and I had to take care since it seemed he could read my mind. I knew he objected to being called a genie, in spite of his close resemblance – or at least the similarity between his actions and those of the Arabian spirits. I had to find a name for him that I could use in my own head, but wouldn’t offend him in case he was listening. I wanted something that wasn’t too common. I would hate to pick a name then meet someone called the same thing. It could ruin a potential friendship right from the start. So all the obvious Johns, Garys, Brians, Rogers and similar were out of the question. I considered something outrageous for a while: Montmorency, perhaps, or Wykeham, or Featherstonehaugh. But I soon gave up on that idea. Nothing like that seemed suitable.
Then I toyed with the idea of naming him after some item, a tool or an everyday object. Toilet Brush came to mind, but I thought that would upset him for sure. Chair and Table seemed too ordinary. Whatever I thought of his behaviour and his intentions, I had to admit that a creature capable of granting wishes needed a special name. I wondered idly about what his actual name was, and whether it was something very embarrassing, like Snotnose or Pimplebum. I laughed at the idea and tried hard to push it out of my mind, but somehow it stuck, but I was sure he’d take it badly and really needed to think about anything else but that. I figured it was time to move onto the next topic, so I turned the page of the notebook and wrote ‘Name’ on the top line. Then I refreshed my mug of tea and took a couple of long swigs before moving on.
Turning back to the front page I did my random word choice again. This time my finger fell on ‘powers’. That was a good question and made me wonder what skills he had that I had yet to encounter. I considered what other challenges my new situation might present. If Whatsisname really could drop into my brain at any point I had to be extremely careful of how I phrased my thoughts. I had to avoid the words ‘I wish’ at all costs, and wherever possible I should try not to have strong emotions about anyone or anything either. I know I hadn’t used the word ‘wish’ about poor Mr Elliot, but Thingummy still claimed that he’d acted on my orders. I wondered if there might be some self help books to teach me processes to avoid unwanted thoughts and feelings passing through my mind uninvited. I have a shelf full of little tomes offering advice and practical tips on coping with modern life. I still don’t cope well, but they make me feel like I’m at least making an effort.
I turned to page two of my notes again and wrote ‘Thought control’ under ‘Names’ and took another swig of tea. By now it was stone cold, so I returned to the kitchen to make a fresh pot and top up the milk jug. While I stood waiting for the light to go out on the kettle I remembered the previous night when I had stood in exactly the same place while Whoosit sat on my sofa being smug. I wondered why he hadn’t turned up while I’d been making my lists. I’d called him some pretty unpleasant names and if he could truly read my mind he should have known that. I would have thought he’d have arrived in high dudgeon and ticked me off about being impolite. That was a thought. I looked down, surprised to see that I had brought the notebook to the kitchen with me. “That’s lucky, although rather odd,” I thought, and carefully added ‘Impolite’ to the growing list on page two.
Back at the table, and charged up with another mug of tea, I considered whether or not I might be able to take avoiding action against my tormentor. It really was strange that he had failed to appear at precisely the time when I gave him so much thought. “I wonder what I’ve done this morning that’s different,” I said aloud. “Perhaps he’s just sulking about yesterday, or maybe he’s somewhere dreaming up another torture for me.”
Then an idea stuck me. “Have I already wished for three things today and had them granted, but I don’t know yet?” I wondered if I could get up every morning and wish for three silly, little things, like an extra tube of toothpaste, a cup of coffee and a small black pebble, then be safe for the rest of the day. But it seemed he could pick and choose whether he granted my wishes or not. Those were complications. He might just ignore those early wishes and wait until I said ‘go take a long walk off a short pier’ to a shop assistant or something. Before long I’d have another death on my hands if the poor person couldn’t swim. Knowing Oojamaflip’s sense of humour, the small black pebble would probably be delivered by a young boy with a catapult; and Heaven only knew what he’d dream up for the toothpaste.
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