Gentle readers will forgive me for returning to a subject that I thought I had already covered exhaustively.
I would say it involves Stupidity, but this might make me look stupid. So I will instead say that in a former life I was an academic.
As a result, I am completely au fait with the correct way to reference my sources and how to present a manuscript. This involves not accidentally writing an entire chapter of a book as a footnote. Moreover, I WOULDN’T DREAM OF WRITING A WHOLE ARTICLE WITH THE CAPS LOCK ON. Because that would be very stupid indeed.
Now we have cleared that up, I am glad to report that, since my previous column about the Stupid Book, I have done nothing Stupid at all.
And so the research by
Dunning and Kruger into what Bill Bryson calls “Stupidology” is of absolutely
no concern to me.[1]
[1] Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties in Recognizing One’s Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-Assessments, by David Dunning and Justin Kruger, cited by Bill Bryson, The Road To Little Dribbling.
This is especially of no concern to me in the light of the John Lewis Mattress Protector Saga.
It was all so very straightforward. I needed two single mattress protectors for a rental property.
And so I did the obvious thing: I bought them in John Lewis. Then I found similar items for half the price in Dunelm at Clifton Moor.
Jollly good, thought I. I can take the John Lewis ones back, thereby obtaining a £70 refund that I can spend at Wombells, because that’s more or less free money.
What could possibly go wrong?
This is what I asked myself as I searched high and low for the missing John Lewis mattress protectors. I even sent Teenager 1 into the spidery attic with a torch, just in case someone had filed them away in an unusual fit of efficiency.
To no avail.
Hmm, I thought. I suppose it is just possible that I was stupid enough to leave them on the pavement when I got them out of the car, and a neighbour might have taken them in for safe keeping.
And so I consult the neighbour.
“I know this is a very bizarre question,” I say. “But I don’t suppose you have seen two John Lewis mattress protectors?”
He thinks for a moment. “Were they in identical plastic cases?” he says.
“Indeed they were,” I reply.
“Oh yes,” he says. “I saw them on the pavement. But as it was Bin Day, I assumed you were throwing them out with the rubbish.”
Ah. A fair assumption. I can only hope a passing tramp found them on the pavement, as that would be a bit less Stupid than sending them to be mashed up at Hazel Court.
Fortunately, I am under no illusions at all about my claims to Stupidology. It is just as well, given that even buying strawberries from Mannion’s stall in the market turns out to be an unsafe enterprise.
You would think there is not much that can go wrong in the purchase of a punnet of strawberries. That’s what I thought, anyway. Until, that is, I arrived at the front door post-strawberry-purchasing and realised that the house key was missing. Along with my car key and the keys to, um, about five other houses, some of which do not belong to me.
Oh goody, I don’t think. And so I retrace my steps to Clarkson’s and Brown’s, to no avail. Third time lucky, though: it turns out I left them at Mannion’s in the market.
Only Mannion’s have, very efficiently, passed them on to the duty manager. Who has in turn gone to deal with the drunkards at the station, as it is a race weekend. And he has taken my keys with him.
So off I trundle to the station. It’s hard to know which is more egregious: the hordes of staggeringly drunk types, or the middle-aged woman in the Panama hat (i.e. me). I fear it might be the latter.
A quarter of an hour later, I am reunited with my keys. So I am now officially not stupid, and all is well.
Or so I think, as I disgorge yet another load of washing from the machine once I get home. Said load includes a sparklingly clean mobile phone charger, which is slightly interesting.
I plug the phone and charger in. The charger immediately becomes strangely hot, and make a fizzing noise. All I feel is cheated. Surely these ancient Nokia things are indestructible? Was I supposed to put it in the tumble dryer as well? No: that would have been very stupid. Slightly on a par with booking train tickets for the wrong date, which I would never do, either.
Ah well, I think. I might put a phone charger in a ‘mixed colours’ wash, but with all my academic training I would at least never be stupid enough to write an article in footnotes. And for that I am mightily grateful.
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