There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
That is Brutus making a pitch in Julius Caesar but it seems especially relevant today. These sentiments are apposite when playing backgammon (preferably not for money) but in real life are they such a good idea? It is a beautiful piece of writing and an admirable demonstration of the power of rhetoric. It is also amongst my favourite Shakespeare speeches.
Its relevance is in many spheres; politics, business, relationships. Nobody wants to be bound in shallows and in miseries but looking before you leap has its merits too. Try reading the speech again in Trump’s voice, now Farage, now Philip Green; scary? Well rather funny the Green version delivered from the deck of his gin palace moored in a marina in Monaco.
Living in a city it is sometimes possible to spot a trend in its infancy. Usually it is a new way of selling something utilising the internet. Ordering groceries started at least fifteen years ago with Ocado as an early entrant. The new trend is delivering fresh flowers regularly. You may remember that Admiral insurance company “bunched” me with a bouquet to thank me for my custom for twenty and more years. They used a company that specialises in regular deliveries on subscription. Unfortunately I have forgotten their name but, nil desperandum, there was a knock on the door yesterday evening and a couple of chaps tried to get me to sign up to get Freddie’s Flowers. The eponymous Freddie was not on my doorstep. He is an Old Marlburian living in Lincolnshire where he grows the flowers. His lackies (both OLs) made a discursive pitch but, like Brutus, urged me to get on with it and receive my first floral delivery next Tuesday; a snip, so to speak, at £20 a week. They were evasive as to whether the box would slide through the letterbox – so it probably wouldn’t. They did not have a sample bouquet and indeed all they had was an iPad.
I did not sign up. I do not buy anything on my doorstep. I like to choose my own flowers at Waitrose. I have two vases in the kitchen and Freddie’s bunches are designed to be in one larger vase. I do not want to spend almost £1000 a year on flowers. Maybe I will change my mind when I see Freddie’s van delivering up and down the street but I doubt it.
(An OL is a Lancing College old boy.)
I agree with the underlying problem about letting anyone feel they should call every week, let alone any long-term doorstep or any other sign-up. Who knows what I will want next week? But anyway, how to handle telling someone one has invited to expect a weekly something or other, that this week one isn’t in the mood? I feel much the same about almost all old-style High Street or market stall shopping. A simple regular transaction turns into an issue of loyalty. It’s interesting that the anonymity of the supermarket isn’t at all unfriendly. Indeed, one can be known at one (or several), but there is no boring expectation, on either side.
It is a small advantage of the “Chugging” system that the importuners want one to sign one’s life away: it is easier to shrug away their implicit invitation to large commitment than it would have been to spurn the old request for a quid in the bucket.
On your flower theme: I notice that I am unkeen on “bouquets” (come to that, most flower arrangements). They are seldom really lovely. I am, though, wildly keen on the Karen Blixen school of herbage in the house. The great Dane brought more or less exuberant sprays of this or that into her rooms at Rungstedlund. (I think minimalist offerings can be in the same spirit.) In her memory, the museum there continues her habit.
I am slightly intrigued as to how you discovered that Freddie is an OM and that his lackies are both OLs? Is this a standard part of your due diligence for all hawkers?
It was part of their discursive sales pitch.