I had an interesting, if confusing, kangaroo-like conversation this morning.
It was prompted by the budget (should that be a capital ‘b’?) and the tax on cider. The topics ranged from morning rituals such as horrific pre- and post-breakfast flatulence (not me, I can assure you) to the penalties government seems to be imposing on the less well off and culminated with a brief discussion about the re-distribution of wealth, which apparently, only poor people seem to be interested in.
I must admit, that I lost the thread quite a few times, as my client’s mother and father’s grey cells jostled for position on the starting grid of subjects. They are both well educated people and have very good jobs, but their mental aerobics at 8 am are just a little too much for me.
I had just managed to get to grips with the subject of cider and the fact that people (cider producers probably) are complaining about the tax hike, when there was a dramatic change of direction and I found myself contemplation the benefit, or lack thereof, of baked beans for breakfast (hence the flatulence debate which raged for nearly five whole minutes).
I really do like to have a decent debate now and again; I just love taking the opposite side to the person who started the debate in the first place; but I could not keep up with what was going on this morning.
I consider myself to be mentally agile and capable of giving a very good account of myself in a bout of verbal sparring, but in order to do that, I need to be able to get a word in edgeways.
The pace of the whole discussion, which only last for twenty minutes or so while I waited for my client, was high tempo and caused me to re-evaluate my mental capacity to flaunt my brilliance in an intellectual battle of wits with fast talking know-it-all’s.
I’ll be alright in here though.