First Person (10 page)

I
t’s not all jam
, you know,
getting up for your work in the morning. My name is Elrood, and I’m an employee
at the North Pole.

Day
for me begins when the alarm goes off. It’s always set really early, about
09:00/09:30, something like that. By then, Mum has shouted up at me a couple of
times but I usually manage to sleep through that. Breakfast could be anything:
cereal, a bit of toast, but it always includes a mug of tea. I would be
hopeless without it. Tea is the fuel you need to get through until it’s time
for cocoa and the sweet release of sleep.

It’s
not a big journey from Mum ‘n’ Dad’s chalet to the facility where we make
things. The factory is underground, with the entrance being an igloo on the
surface. I’ll head to my workstation and fire up the emails. Despite being sent
millions of internal emails a day there are only a few types, and I always
answer them in the same way: Click Reply; Type standard response; Click Send;
Click Delete.

‘Hi
Elrood, Would you consider...?’ No thanks.

‘I’m
looking for some help.’ Sorry, I’m a bit swamped right now. Try Flemming.

‘Please
find attached...’ I couldn’t find the attachment.

This
sort of task is best done whilst having a mug of tea, with one afterwards to
recover. From there, it’s onto whatever project I’m working on. Our Boss, the
guy in the big red suit, will squeeze his chimney challenged frame into your
home and deliver the parcels, but it’s us who do the hard work. My career at
the North Pole has been, shall we say, colourful. It was hardly my fault the
property board game had the wrong currencies in them. Only 85% of the boxes
were proved to have been affected. Remaining sets are valued by collectors
apparently. You’re welcome.

My
latest posting is a secondment to TRED; Testing Research & Engineering
Design. My own thoughts when I walk through the door each day is that it should
be called The Room of Eternal Despondency. Honestly, it’s so dull. We have to
sit and listen to bonkers proposals for process redesign. Everything is
acronyms now. TRED you’ve heard of. RS1 is the Reindeer Stables, all one of
them. The MO is the Mayor’s Office. Whenever anyone wants me to do something
ASAP, it gets done ACOT, After a Cup of Tea.

I
thought at first that being on this panel would be interesting, but really it’s
just a lot of work. We listen to the proposals, read any supporting documents,
and write up a report of our findings. Approval finally rests with the Boss but
he usually rubber stamps what we decide. So, my friend Jemima and I sit on the
board with Bernard, the committee chair. Jemima has been a pal since school.
She’s famous round here for wearing tartan skirts all the time and a leather
jacket, where I favour dark green lederhosen. Jemima rarely wears a hat but I
couldn’t do without the bell on mine. It’s reassuring.

Bernard
is a different kettle of fish. Older than us two, he wears business lederhosen.
He’s the sort of guy who writes to the newspapers about stuff he’s seen on TV.
In a recent edition of the Chalet Advertiser, they published a long rant from
him about who came top in a viewers’ poll of the greatest ever singers.
Apparently, he was none too pleased Tom Jones came 47th. When he’s at work,
Bernard has two emotional responses to everything: baffled and undecided.

Our
morning session today is to be taken up with a dimbleschpoink this committee
knows very well; Horace. Sitting behind our row of tables in the lecture
theatre, Jemima puffs out her cheeks and rolls her eyes at me when we realise
our favourite inventor is visiting. She says, “I can’t believe he’s had another
idea. I wish he would come up with something we could say yes to.”

Bernard
sits back in his chair so he can look over his glasses at both of us. His eyes
run from side to side. “Now, now. I’m sure Horace has come up with something
wonderful. Or at least will at some point.”

Hopefully,
but it seems unlikely based on his track record. I keep quiet for a change
until the man himself comes in. The door opens and in blunders Horace. The bell
on his hat chimes out of tune with the ones on his shoes. That’s a pet hate of
mine. He drags in some kind of contraption, along with a football under one
arm, and I quickly make over to help him. It’s a mass of metal with plastic
tubing. Worryingly, he has also brought a huge glass tube. Annoyingly, I’m
carrying the heaviest bits.

“Thanks
Elrood,” says Horace, out of breath. “Will you give me a hand to set up?”

I
look over to the table. Bernard leans his elbows on the surface and cups his
hands together. His expression is perplexed. It is against the rules for us to
give assistance, but what can I do? Certainly Bernard is unsure of what to
advise if his silence is anything to go by. Sitting on her pink tartan skirt,
Jemima is no help. Besides, she can’t stop giggling as I act under instructions
from Horace. We get his gadget together which stands about two metres high. It
looks like a rocket launcher designed by a disgruntled penguin.

After
I scurry back to my seat, Horace pushes specs up his face and addresses the
committee. “Thank you so much for seeing me. My name is Horace and I would like
to propose a new transport system for the facility.”

Bernard
is studiously making notes. He looks up and says, “Jolly good, er, Horace is
it? Would you like to demonstrate?”

Jemima
and I share a look. He doesn’t know who Horace is? This committee only sits for
thirty days a year and Horace goes to about forty of them. Still, Horace is
quite keen to get on. He goes over to his mass of equipment. Underneath the
glass tube, which points at the ceiling, the main machinery has been assembled.
He hunts around for a small crank. After turning it a few times, the machine
catches and bursts into life.

Over
the huge noise it makes, Horace shouts, “It’s a mass transport system based on
pneumatic messaging systems. Compressed air moving through the tube will move
anything, or anyone, you put in it.”

Jemima
curls herself up on the chair and covers her ears. Bernard turns his hearing
aid down. I just watch in amazement. Loud machinery is awesome. This is the
most amazing thing Horace has ever brought. I’ve seen things like this before,
for sending small messages in tubes. In fact, we’ve got one on site. I lost two
VHS tapes in one the finance department uses. Horace finds the football he
brought in earlier from behind his machine. With a big grin, he holds it up and
drops it in the glass tube where it falls to the bottom. Horace then stamps on
a big red button on the base of the machine. It suddenly gets louder before it
makes an almighty boom. The glass tube shakes for ages before the machine
builds up enough pressure. Inside, the football rattles about. Horace looks a
bit worried. Something catches his attention. He bends over and pushes a small
cable plug into the machine. Suddenly, the football is launched out of the
tube. It is propelled towards the ceiling and punches a hole clean through it,
taking a light fitting along. The machine stops working and goes quiet. We can
hear the ball crashing about upstairs. Someone yells in fright up there while
someone else begins to cry. A window breaks. Finally, we hear the ball bounce
to a rest like it had been kicked by a small child.

Horace
is delighted. Grinning open mouthed, and standing next to his smoking
invention, he asks, “What do you think?”

We
are still in a bit of shock. Bernard speaks for us all when he says, “I’m not
sure where to go with this. Jemima?”

Uncurling
herself from the chair, Jemima is a bit more sure of what to say, “Yeah, I’m
not getting in that.”

Bernard
hums some sort of response to her. “It does seem rather, er, enthusiastic. What
do you think Elrood?”

It’s
hard to find something nice to say. I think Horace should have demonstrated it
outdoors for starters. Perhaps it would be easier if we had three crosses on
the front of our desk and we just buzzed Horace out the room. But actually, I
can see an application for this device. If only I could get in it and Horace
could fire me out of it. I can almost hear the quiet sound my body would make
as I popped out the glass tube:
thdoonk
. It would then launch me away
from the North Pole to land in a soft swish amongst deep snow where I could
slide into the water and float off out to sea.

“Aah,
that sounds lovely,” someone says along with a big sigh. When Jemima looks at
my funny, I realise it was me who said it. I turn my attention to an expectant
Horace. “It’s a very interesting device. If you give us any written material
you have, we’ll be in touch.”

Horace
is delighted with this response, one we have given him many times. His enthusiasm
is adorable. Everyone loves someone who tries their best. Of course, I end up
helping him dismantle his machine and cart it back to his workshop. But the
good news is: it’s lunchtime.

Lunch
at our canteen is an experience in itself. Being served today are Blumenhest
Burgers, Blumenhest being our chef. If you know anything about great cooking,
it’s unlikely you’ve heard of this guy. He doesn’t even have his own TV show.
Who knows what he puts in the burgers but they taste like walrus blubber boiled
in vinegar. I like to tuck into lunch though. Working so hard does that to you.

Jemima
joins me, along with Frederick. They pop their trays on the table and bundle up
against me. Unlike Jemima in her tartan skirts, Frederick dresses the same as
me in lederhosen. The two of them are always together and I have no idea if
they are brother and sister, best friends, or boyfriend and girlfriend. They
come as a pair, always have, and it seems idiotic to ask now. I ask Frederick
how his morning has been. He just shrugs and looks at Jemima. “If certain
people weren’t dodging out of the real work to listen to crazy inventions I
would get on fine.”

They
think this is hilarious. I do not. Jemima says, “It’s only for another couple
of days. Elrood will help us pick up your lack of progress when we get back.”

I
roll my eyes, having no intention of getting involved in their workload. If I
can dodge that one, then I certainly will. Frederick nudges me in the ribs.
“So, when are you going to enter your invention, Elrood?”

My
mouth gives a big non-committal shrug. “When it’s ready of course.”

Jemima
is intrigued. “Have you got an invention you’re not telling us about?”

I
tap the side of my nose. “That’s for me to know.”

The
two of them give me a big fancy “Oooh!” which makes me laugh. I really do have
an invention but it’s still at the drawing board stage. It’s a range of toys
called Captain Elrood and the Soldiers of the North. What I need are quality
drawings to plan it all out. I make a mental note to contact a friend in Australia
who can help me.

After
some more joshing around, at my expense as usual, Jemima and I return to the
committee. We settle into our chairs. Bernard is all business like so I try and
pretend I’m not suffering from Blumenhest Burgeritis. Jemima gives me a quick
smile when Bernard says, “How was lunch at the canteen? I went home and my wife
had made sandwiches.” He always goes home for lunch, always has sandwiches his
wife made, and he always seems so pleased about it.

“Did
you bring any leftovers back?” I ask him, but really, I said it for Jemima’s
amusement. She chuckles to herself.

Bernard
ignores me. We call in our next presentation and it’s Horace again, this time
carrying a single small box. Bernard consults his notes. “Good afternoon, er,
Horace is it?”

Unflappable,
Horace just grins. “Sure is. And I’ve got a cracker this time.” He holds the
box up and his delighted shoulders follow.

I
say, “Is it a box, Horace?”

Taking
the bait, Horace laughs. “Aha, it is! But inside is something which will
revolutionise production round here.”

I
steal a look at Jemima. In truth, we’re very entertained by Horace. He’s
unbeatable and has an idea for everything. If you were both stuck on a desert
island with only a broken up airplane and no means of escape, Horace would build
you a recording studio and a spice rack. Jemima says, “Ready when you are
Horace.”

With
that cue, Horace reaches into the box and grabs hold of what’s inside. As the
box drops away, Horace is left holding his invention. He gives us a wink to
show us how proud he is. As one, the committee lean forward to have a closer
look. We can’t believe our eyes. Horace lifts it up and puts it on his head. He
flips a switch and it’s activated. We lean back in our chairs. The TRED
committee can’t believe our eyes. On the other side of the table, in the middle
of the lecture theatre, and under a freshly holed ceiling, Horace is wearing
his invention.

Bernard
is the first to speak. “I say, Horace, is it? This is your most recognisable
entry yet.”

“Thank
you, sir.” Horace taps the side of his head with two closed fingers by way of a
salute.

Jemima
has her chin pulled in. “Is it a hard hat?”

“Sure
is,” says Horace, rapping knuckles on the invention placed on his head. Sure
enough, he has brought along a silver hard hat and placed it on his head. It
even has a lamp fitted at the front. When he flicked a switch to active the
lamp, it came on. This is his latest invention.