Teapots and calculators

I was all set to complete the VAT today and a few more small jobs, when my friend, Val, telephoned to ask if I felt like going out to lunch. Never turn down an invitation; friends are important. So off I went and off we went to our usual venue a little tea-place out in the middle of nowhere. No haute cuisine, but they do a nice scrambled egg on toast. They put a lot of emphasis on pretty teapots, but ours dribbled an entire river over our table. We had a natter and then I returned to the book-keeping, which is now complete. I couldn’t be bothered to go the post office with the return. It had turned miserably wet, and I decided to pay it through the bank tomorrow, instead, when we are due to have sunny intervals, or light showers, or something marginally better than today. My poor little crocuses hardly saw the light of day before being knocked sideways by the weather. But still a few daffs are coming up and sunshine is forecast for the end of the week.

Although I always make a fuss about book-keeping, I actually quite like doing it. The mind can wander free as you’re entering the figures, and there’s something soothing about the regular sound of the printer-calculator as it pushes out another eighth of an inch of its little cash till roll. I could relate therefore to the autobiographical story of Daniel Tammet, a young man with Asperger’s Syndrome, a high functioning form of autism, which was serialised last week. He absolutely loves figures and achieved some sort of record in memorising pi to thousands and thousands of decimal points. He also sees them in various colours; that has a name too – synasthesia, or something like that. I’m not suggesting that I’m anything like him, but it is regarded as strange to like figures or figure work. It’s almost an admission of pride to declare yourself innumerate; those people who would hate to be illiterate cheerfully own up to not being able to add up.