Until yesterday, I had thought the most awkward statement anyone could make to you was to tell you, 'I love you', when you've no hope of responding in kind. While innocently glaring at the business section of the newspaper in a cafe last night (principally because it was the only part available and, no, I had no clue what any of it was on about), a girl interrupted me to apologise for staring at me. 'I hadn't noticed', I responded with a brief smile - using a manner to imply that I really hadn't noticed, and if she could leave me in peace that would be greatly appreciated.
'Sorry - it is just that you look like my dead sister.'
With the smile still on my lips and my brain having failed to register what she'd said, I reassured her that it was fine and I genuinely had not seen her staring at me.
Instantly realised I may have committed something of a faux pas by smiling at the Dead Sister statement, so plunged headlong back into the column I'd been skimming to do with... I've no idea; didn't understand it then and can't remember it now. But how on earth are you supposed to respond to such a statement?
Buy a packet of biscuits and it will be adorned with a small diagram illustrating how to get at your crumbly comestible. Furniture from IKEA comes famously flat-packed with instructions that require an engineering degree to understand, but at least exist. Bookshops have shelves packed with 'how to' guides: 'How to win friends and influence people', 'How to get rich', 'How to stay together forever'. They're crammed with awful advice from someone busy parading their PhD on the front cover - I think it is a good rule of thumb to avoid any book that is written by anyone so pretentious they include their qualifications alongside their name. I think that, 'The Little Book of Calm' is possibly one of the most pointless instruction manuals to have been produced to date, with suggestions such as, 'Pretend it's Saturday' being just plain daft. I somehow think telling your boss that you weren't in on Wednesday because you were busy following the instruction on page 46 of your pocket-size guide to life isn't going to go down particularly well.
The point was supposed to be that we have instruction manuals for everything that is, in the immortal words of Basil Fawlty, the bleedin' obvious - but nothing that is actually useful. Nobody has a clue how to deal with the really significant things in this world, everything is done by trial and error. Which I'm sure has its exciting aspect from time to time, but occasionally it is overwhelmingly exhausting figuring everything out yourself.
I guess the only thing more annoying than not being told what to do is, of course, being told what to do...
Some people use religious groups to offer them instruction - the Bible is full of suggestions for how to behave. It is perhaps somewhat outdated, though, with ideas such as, 'do not covet your neighbour's wife' suggesting that no female is ever going to be lusting after her neighbour's husband and therefore doesn't need to be led away from the thought. Twenty-first century women are probably more alarming than their male counterparts: with a constant need to smash through glass ceilings and prove that they are Just As Good As Men, the number of women slinking off with friends' partners is doubtless increasing exponentially. Even the instruction manuals with supposedly the best intentions are, evidently, flawed.
And so I will plunge headlong into the future, grasping wildly at straws while all the time trying to give the impression I know What Is Going On.
'My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny.' (Elaine Maxwell)
