Why Do You Come Here, When You Know I've Got Troubles Enough?

Dear Octopus,


I think I have dementia. A bold, unnecessary and highly-exaggerated statement, obviously, but indicative of how seriously I'm taking the catalogue of errors that today has so far been. Firstly I mislaid both mine and Clare's laptops. Tried to fix Polly's screen resolution (to a manly / vain rendition of 'I know how to do it, don't bother reading the instructions....I am the instructions.....plus I don't come in Japanese') but quickly broke it, irreversibly. Arranged a meeting for the wrong time and date. Invited Jeremy, who is on holiday. As penance for all of these misdemeanours - trivial as isolated incidents but worrying when assembled into one terrifying brain-mulch-resembling whole - I've removed myself to the friendship bench for some much-needed quiet time.


The Friendship Bench
A Short History


Simon's son Harry briefly attended a primary school in Hammersmith which used the aforementioned 'furniture of amity' as a means of promoting social harmony. The concept was that if a dejected, mistreated, lonely young scholar was feeling particularly friendless and alone, they could retire to a particular corner of the playground and sit on the bench. There they might meet other dejected, mistreated lonely young scholars with whom they could share common ground (a love of science fiction was predominant.....perhaps unsurprisingly) and as such make some friends. Match.com for the common nine-year old, essentially. Needless to say it was the brainchild of a particularly militant troupe of Guardian-reading / champagne-socialist housewives, whose ideas on educational best-practice were at best deluded and at worst child abuse.


It may then be cruel of this world-weary Squid to comment; but to this uninformed mind the friendship bench - quite literally - seems like the worst idea in the history of everything. Encouraging a child to visit is the equivalent of forcibly gluing a plastic sign over his or her face saying:


HI. YOU DON'T KNOW ME BUT 
I'M A PERENNIAL FUCKING LOSER. 
NEVER
EVER
EVER 
STOP BULLYING ME.


.....and as little as the principles of champagne socialism, appeal to me, I don't think anyone wants that. 


Needless to say, the communal noodle bench over by our library has now been labelled the friendship bench. And today I am its only resident. Read into that what you will.


Catfish told me last night that she took out a credit card solely because it came with a free popcorn-maker, and she fancied 'a salty snack.' When her father confiscated said kitchen apparatus 'for his own personal use' she used the new credit card to buy another one. Testament primarily to her latent stupidity (and the poor level of conversation that constituted the evening), but also to the fact that despite all our cynicism, all our pseudo-intellectual / pop-psychology arrogance, advertising works. Big time.


Your loving friend,


Action Squid