Mr Smith's New Nose

"Well, Mr. Smith, if you prefer a different type of nose, we have a large selection available."

"I think this nose is a bit too small."

"Small noses are very fashionable this year, Mr. Smith, very fashionable."

"Do you think it suits me?" asked Mr. Smith.

"I think it looks very nice," said the shop assistant.

"OK, I’ll take it!"

On the airbus home, Mr. Smith called his wife on his wristphone.

"Hello dear! Do you like my new nose?" Mrs. Smith looked at her husband’s new nose on the videophone monitor on the wall in the kitchen.

"I think it’s a bit too small, dear," she said.

"Small noses are very fashionable this year," replied Mr. Smith, "very fashionable."

"It’s all so easy now," thought Mr. Smith. "A hundred years ago, it was impossible to change your body. Or almost impossible – there was the old-fashioned ‘plastic surgery’, but it was expensive, painful and dangerous. Ugh! Now, thanks to our 22nd century genetic engineering, we can change our bodies when we want!"

He looked at his new small nose in the mirror, and thought about how fashionable he was. He was very happy with his new nose. The only problem now, he thought, was that he needed some new hair to go with his new nose.

He looked on the Internet for some new hair, but the Internet was so slow. Eventually he decided to go to Bodyco in person.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith," said the Bodyco shop assistant. "How can I help you today?"

Mr. Smith remembered the robot shop assistant in the Bodyco shop a few years ago. The robot was friendlier and more efficient, but too many robots made too much unemployment, and the robot was replaced by a human.

"I’d like some new hair, please."

"Certainly, Mr. Smith. What type of hair would you like? Short, blond hair goes well with a small nose. How about short, blond hair?"

Mr. Smith looked at his hair. It was old and grey. Yes, he thought, short and blond. When he was young he had short, blond hair. He wanted to look young again.

"Yes, I’ll have short blond hair please. Could it be a bit curly as well?"

"Curly?" asked the shop assistant.

"Yes, you know, curly – not straight!"

"Yes, Mr. Smith, I know what ‘curly’ means, but curly hair isn’t very fashionable this year."

"Isn’t it?"

"No, it isn’t."

"But I like curly hair!"

"Very well, Mr. Smith – short, blond, curly hair. Would you like anything else? We have a special offer on ears this week."

"Ears?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith, the things you hear with."

"I know what ears are! What type of ears are on offer?"

Mr. Smith went out of the shop with new short, blond, curly hair, and two new ears.

After this, his interest in his new body started to grow. In the next few weeks he bought new eyes (green, unusual but fashionable), new hands, new arms, new knees and new feet. Mrs. Smith was happy because Mr. Smith’s new feet didn’t smell as bad as his old feet.

His body was now completely different.

"Am I the same man I was a few weeks ago?" thought Mr. Smith. "I have a new nose, new hair, new ears, new eyes, hands, arms, knees and feet. But I have the same brain - so I think I’m the same man." He thought he was the same man, but he wasn’t sure.

One morning, he woke up and his new nose didn’t work.

"What’s the matter?" asked Mrs. Smith

"My new nose doesn’t work – it’s blocked."

"Maybe you’ve got a cold," suggested Mrs. Smith.

"That’s impossible! This is a genetically engineered Bodyco nose! It doesn’t get colds!"

But it was true – the new nose did not work. It was blocked and Mr. Smith couldn’t smell anything.

He went back to the Bodyco shop.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith," said the assistant. "What would you like today?"

"I want a new nose," said Mr. Smith.

"You already want a new nose!" said the surprised shop assistant. "But you’ve only had this one for a month! Don’t worry, small noses are still fashionable!"

"No, you don’t understand," said Mr. Smith. "I want a new nose because this one doesn’t work!"

"That’s impossible," said the shop assistant. "You have a genetically engineered Bodyco nose. It can’t go wrong!"

"But it has gone wrong," replied Mr. Smith. "It’s blocked and I can’t smell anything".

"What have you used your nose to do, Mr. Smith?" asked the shop assistant.

"What have I done with my nose? That’s a stupid question! I haven’t done anything unusual with my nose. I’ve used it to breathe and to smell, as usual!"

"If you have not used your nose correctly, Mr. Smith, it is possible that it will not work correctly."

"That’s absurd!" shouted Mr. Smith. "I want my money back! I want a refund!"

"I’m afraid that we do not give refunds, Mr. Smith. There was no guarantee with this nose."

Mr. Smith was so angry that he didn’t know what to say. He walked out of the shop, and didn’t say anything.

But now he had a big problem: a useless nose. Fashionable, yes. Useful, no.

Unfortunately, his problem started to grow. The next morning he woke up and found he couldn’t hear anything. Then his new blond hair went grey. Then his new knees didn’t move. Then he couldn’t see a thing with his unusual green eyes. His fingers fell off, one by one.

Eventually, Mrs. Smith put him in their aircar and flew to the Bodyco shop. She carried her husband into the shop, because now he couldn’t walk.

"Good morning Mr. Smith," said the shop assistant. "What can I do for you today?"

"Mr. Smith wouldn’t like anything new at all today, thank you," replied Mrs. Smith. "But he would like his old body back!"

"I’m afraid we don’t give refunds, Mrs. Smith."

"I don’t want a refund," explained Mrs. Smith. "I want my husband’s original body again! I liked it more than this new one!"

"I’m afraid that’s very difficult, Mrs. Smith," said the shop assistant. "We are an environmentally-friendly company. All our old bodies are recycled."

"But the new body parts that you sold him don’t work! What can he do now?"

"He could buy a reconditioned body."

"What’s a ‘reconditioned’ body?"

"It’s an old body that has been modified."

"Can I have a look at one?"

"Certainly." The shop assistant spoke to his computer, and a reconditioned body appeared. It was a very familiar body. Mrs. Smith recognised the big nose and the grey hair.

"But that’s my husband!" shouted Mrs. Smith. "That’s the original Mr. Smith!"

"Yes, that’s right," said the shop assistant. "We reconditioned Mr. Smith’s old body".

"Can he have his old body back then, please?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Smith. That’ll be 100,000 euros please"

"100,000 euros!" shouted Mrs. Smith. "That’s very expensive, isn’t it?"

"Mr. Smith has been reconditioned!"

Mr. Smith got his own body back, and Mrs. Smith flew him back home in the aircar.

"I’m myself again!" he shouted.

"Not exactly," said Mrs. Smith. "You have been reconditioned."

"What does ‘reconditioned’ mean?"

"Well," said Mrs. Smith. "I think it means that you have a new brain!"

"I think that will be very useful," said Mr. Smith.

"I think so too, dear" said Mrs. Smith.

------------------------------------

A Serious Case

I have a friend who is afraid of spiders. This isn’t very unusual; a lot of people are afraid of spiders. I don’t really like spiders much myself. I don’t mind them if you see them outside, in the garden, as long as they’re not too big. But if one comes in the house, especially if it’s one of those really big spiders with furry legs and little red eyes, then I go “yeeucch” and I try to get rid of it. Usually I’ll use a brush to get rid of the spider, but if I feel brave then I’ll put a glass over the top of it, slide a piece of paper under the glass and then take it outside.

This is quite normal, I think. But my friend isn’t afraid of spiders in any normal way. She isn’t just afraid of spiders, she is totally, completely and utterly terrified of them. When my friend sees a spider she doesn’t just go “uurgghh!” or run away, or ask someone else to get rid of the horrible creepy crawly. No: she screams as loud as she possibly can. She screams so loud that her neighbours worry about her, and think about calling the police. When she sees a spider, she shivers all over, and sometimes she freezes completely – she can’t move at all because she is so terrified. Sometimes she even faints.

But my friend had a surprise for me when we met for coffee last week.
“Guess what?” she asked me.
“What?” I said.
“I’ve got a new pet!”
“Great,” I said. “What is it? A dog? A cat?”
“No”
“A budgie?”
“No”
“A rabbit?”
“No”
“What then?”
“I’ve got a pet spider.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“It’s true! I decided that it was time I did something about my phobia so I went to visit a doctor, a special doctor. A psychiatrist. This psychiatrist specialised in phobias – helping people who had irrational fears to get better, and live normally. He told me I suffered from ‘arachnophobia’.”

“It’s an irrational fear of spiders,” he said. “About one in fifty people suffer from a severe form of arachnophobia. It’s not very uncommon.”
“Thanks” said my friend. “But that doesn’t help me much...”
“There are lots of different ways we can try to cure your phobia,” said the psychiatrist. “First, there is traditional analysis.”
“What does that mean?” asked my friend.
“This means lots of talking. We try to find out exactly why you have such a terrible fear of spiders. Perhaps it’s linked to something that happened to you when you were a child.”
“Oh dear,” said my friend. “That sounds quite worrying.”
“It can take a long time,” said the psychiatrist. “Years, sometimes, and you can never be certain that it will be successful.”
“Are there any other methods?”
“Yes – some psychiatrists use hypnosis along with traditional analysis.” My friend didn’t like the idea of being hypnotised. “I’m worried about what things will come out of my subconscious mind!” she said.
“Are there any other methods?” asked my friend,
“Well”, said the psychiatrist, “There is what we call the ‘behavioural’ approach.”
“What’s the behavioural approach?” asked my friend.
“Well,” said the psychiatrist, “It’s like this...”

The psychiatrist got out a small spider from his desk. It wasn’t a real spider. It was made of plastic. Even though it was only a plastic spider, my friend screamed when she saw it.

“Don’t worry,” said the psychiatrist. “It’s not a real spider.”
“I know,” said my friend. “But I’m afraid of it just the same.”
“Hmmmm,” said the psychiatrist. “A serious case...” He put the rubber spider on the desk. When my friend stopped screaming, the psychiatrist told her to touch it. When she stopped screaming again – the idea of touching the plastic spider was enough to make her scream – she touched it. At first she touched it for just one second. She shivered all over, but at least she managed to touch it.

“OK,” said the psychiatrist. “That’s all for today. Thanks. You can go home now.”
“That’s it?” asked my friend.
“Yes.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, for today. This is the behavioural approach. Come back tomorrow.”

My friend went back the next day, and this time the plastic spider was already on the doctor’s desk. This time she touched it and held it for five minutes. Then the doctor told her to go home and come back the next day. The next day she went back and the plastic spider was on her chair. She had to move the spider so she could sit down. The next day she held the spider in her hand while she sat in her chair. The next day, the doctor gave her the plastic spider and told her to take it home with her.

“Where do spiders appear in your house?” asked the psychiatrist.
“In the bath, usually,” said my friend.
“Put the spider in the bath,” he told her.

My friend was terrified of the spider in the bath, but she managed not to scream when she saw it there.
“It’s only a plastic spider,” she told herself.

The next day the psychiatrist told her to put the spider in her living room. My friend put it on top of the television. At first she thought the spider was watching her, and she felt afraid. Then she told herself that it was only a plastic spider.

The next day the psychiatrist told her to put the spider in her bed.
“No way!” she said. “Absolutely not!”
“Why not?” asked the psychiatrist.
“It’s a spider!” replied my friend.
“No it’s not,” said the psychiatrist, “It’s a plastic spider. It’s not a real one.” My friend realised that her doctor was right. She put the plastic spider in her bed, and she slept there all night with it in her bed. She only felt a little bit afraid.

The next day, she went back to the psychiatrist. This time, she had a shock, a big shock. Sitting in the middle of the doctor’s desk there was a spider. And this time it was a real spider.

My friend was about to scream and run away, but she didn’t. She sat on the other side of the room, as far away as possible from the spider, for about five minutes, then she got up and left the room.
“See you tomorrow!” shouted the psychiatrist to her as she left.

The next day she went back and this time the psychiatrist let the spider run around on his desk. Again, my friend stayed about five minutes, then left. The next day she stayed for ten minutes, and the day after that, fifteen. Eventually, the psychiatrist held the spider, the real spider with long furry legs and little eyes, in his hand. He asked my friend to come and touch it. At first she refused, but the doctor insisted. Eventually she touched the spider, just for a second. The next day she touched it for a few seconds, then for a few minutes, and after that she held the spider in her own hand.

Then she took the spider home, and let it run around in her house. She didn’t feel afraid. Well, OK, she did feel afraid, but only a tiny bit.
“So now I’ve got a pet spider!” she told me again.
“Well done!” I said.
“There’s only one problem,” she said, and as she spoke I noticed that she was shivering all over. Then she screamed and climbed up on the chair. She was pointing to something on the floor.
“Over there!” she screamed. “Look! It’s a beetle...!!”

THE END

----------------------

The comeback

Fausto Ruiz got off the boat at the port of the city where he had been born fifty years ago, and to which he had not returned for twenty years. He walked along the seafront, surprised by how much his hometown had changed, and also by how much of it he could still recognise. There were lots of new buildings up on the hills around the city now, buildings which he didn’t recognise. Yet many of the old buildings along the sea were exactly the same as he recognised them, although many of the old shops he remembered were there no more.

He walked away from the port and into the centre of the city. He walked up the main road and saw how all the shops had changed, but that there was still one small café there which was the same as it had been when he was young, and famous. He walked into the café and sat down at one of the tables. He recognised the owner of the café behind the bar as well as the waiter who was working there. They both looked much, much older. Fausto felt certain that he didn’t look as old as they did, even though they were all twenty years older now.

Fausto sat at his table and waited for the waiter to come to him. He sat there for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. Half an hour passed and the waiter continued to ignore him. Fausto raised his arm and shouted to the waiter, then to the owner of the café behind the bar, but it was useless. They didn’t come and ask him what he wanted. They were ignoring him.

Angry, Fausto got up and walked out of the café, slamming the door behind him. Such ignorant people, he thought. Now I remember why I left this town twenty years ago, and why I never came back.

He walked along the main street as far as the main square in the town and when he arrived at the main square he remembered the other reason why he had never come back. In the main square of the town there was the theatre. As he looked at the theatre, Fausto Ruiz had a terrible memory of what had happened there twenty years ago.

Twenty years ago, Fausto Ruiz had been the most famous singer in the world. He had sung in all of the most famous opera houses in the world. He had sung in London, New York, Moscow, Buenos Aires, Tokyo and Sydney. Everywhere he went, people paid large sums of money for tickets, then when they saw him sing they clapped and applauded and cheered for hours. When he was at the height of his fame, Fausto Ruiz decided to come back to his home town, and to sing in a triumphant concert in the theatre on the main square of the town.

The concert was announced, and all the tickets sold out within a few hours. The evening of the concert, thousands of people crowded into the theatre to see the legendary Fausto Ruiz sing in the theatre of his hometown.

There was silence as Fausto walked onto the stage. Then he began to sing, one of his best known songs. And at the end of the song, there was just silence. Nobody clapped, nobody applauded, nobody cheered. Fausto waited, very surprised for a moment, then started to sing another song. At the end of this song, there was silence for a moment, then the people began to boo and to hiss. Fausto tried to cover the noise of the booing and hissing by singing another song, very loudly this time. But it got worse. The louder he sang, the louder the boos and hisses became. Then someone threw a tomato at him. Then someone else threw a rotten orange at him. Then someone else threw an old shoe at him. Soon, there was a rain of rotten fruit and vegetables and smelly old shoes falling down on the great Fausto Ruiz. Fausto was angry, Fausto was furious. He stormed off the stage and out of the theatre. He left his hometown that night, and he said that he would never, ever go back there ever again.

But twenty years later, Fausto Ruiz changed his mind. He was getting old now, he thought, and he wanted to go back home again, to see the town where he had grown up. But in the café, he realised that perhaps not much had really changed. He decided to walk into the theatre. As he walked in he saw the man selling tickets in the box office. It was the same man from twenty years ago. Fausto said hello to him but the man said nothing and ignored him. “Still the same” thought Fausto. He walked into the theatre and got up onto the empty stage. He thought he could hear the terrible booing and hissing of that night, twenty years ago.

He felt sad, and left the theatre and decided to go and visit the house where he had been born fifty years ago. He walked all the way across the town, expecting to be recognised by people. When he got close to his old house he walked through the park where he had played as a small child. He saw some men there, the same age as he was, and thought that he remembered them. They were people who had been his friends when he was at school. He walked over to them to say hello, but they, too, ignored him. He walked past the old shops near his house. They hadn’t changed. There were still the same people there, all of whom ignored him.

He was so angry and so disappointed now that he began to shout as he walked along the streets. “I am the great Fausto Ruiz!!! The greatest singer the world has ever heard!!!” Nobody took any notice of him. He continued. “Don’t you know me??? Don’t you recognise me???” Nobody took any notice.

When he finally reached his old house he at least had a pleasant surprise. Outside the house, there was a statue, and it was a statue of himself. “Finally!” thought Fausto “Somebody has recognised my genius! They put up a statue of me... and they never even told me!”

Fausto went to have a closer look at the statue. There was some writing at the bottom of the statue. “Fausto Ruiz” it said, “Singer”. Fausto was disappointed that it said only “singer” and not “the greatest singer in the world”, but at least it was a statue. There was some more writing. He looked carefully at it. There was his date of birth, fifty years ago. And then there was something else. It was the date of his death. And the date was yesterday.

THE END

----------------------

The Christmas the Lights Went Out

The Christmas the Lights Went Out

Tom Jankowitz took his coat off and threw it onto the seat in the airport lounge. He sat down and opened up his laptop computer, keeping one eye on the small television which showed the departure times of all the flights from the airport.

Tom Jankowitz was tired. Tired and bored. It was Christmas, nearly. Tom hated Christmas. He only remembered that it would be Christmas tomorrow because there were Christmas decorations all over the airport, and he could see the date on the small television showing the departure times of all the flights. “December 24th” it said. “Happy Christmas” said all the notices in the windows of the shops. The shops were closed now. It was late. Tom was going home. He had been to a business meeting in New York and had to take a plane back home. The meeting had been difficult. He had decided to close a lot of his company’s offices. A lot of people were unhappy about his decision, but he didn’t care.

Tom thought that he would rather spend Christmas on his own in a hotel room with his computer. He didn’t really want to go home.

Anja Kohonen carefully checked the potatoes roasting in the oven, made sure the wine in the fridge was cold and that there was a bottle of champagne for later. She carefully checked the candles on the Christmas tree, as she didn’t want them to set fire to the tree. She looked out of the window. The snow was starting to fall again. She looked at her watch again.

Guy Domville finished his beer and walked out of the hot, smoky pub into the cold night air. He thought about getting a taxi home, but knew it would be difficult to find one at this time of the evening, especially on Christmas Eve. Anyway, because it was a clear, crisp night, he thought he would enjoy the walk home. It was late, and dark, and cold. There weren’t many people on the streets. A man came walking towards him. The man was only wearing a t-shirt. He looked like he was freezing cold.

“Are you all right?” Guy asked the man.

“I’m freezing” the man replied. Guy took off his coat, and gave it to the man.

“There you go!” said Guy. The man looked very surprised, but took the coat, put it on and went on his way.

“Thanks!” he shouted as he left. Now it was Guy who was freezing. He had no idea why he had just decided to give his coat to a complete stranger. Perhaps because it was nearly Christmas. Perhaps it was because Guy hadn’t given presents to anyone else this Christmas. Perhaps it was because this year he had no one to give any presents to.

Leila came out of church into the night. It was much colder than she expected. Every other time she had been to stay with her grandmother it had been very hot. She had no idea it could get so cold out here in Damascus, out here on the edge of the desert. That was OK though. She didn’t think that Christmas in a hot place would seem right somehow. Christmas had always been cold for her. She was happy to be here in such a beautiful place, with her mother and her grandmother. It was a shame her father wasn’t there, but she hadn’t heard from him in months now.

Rudolf Lenk was bored. Very bored. It was Christmas Eve, and he was stuck in an office, surrounded by computers, completely on his own. Rudolf could think of nothing more boring than this. It was only boredom, thought Rudolf later, that made him do the stupid thing he decided to do.

Rudolf Lenk pulled a plug out. It was only a little plug. It wasn’t even hard to pull it out. That was all he did. He pulled a small plug out of a small socket. And then.

And then.

And then.

Rudolf Lenk watched the lights go out. At first he watched the lights go out in the office where he was. Then he looked out of the window and watched all the lights go out in the town where he was. And then he imagined what was happening.

All

across

the world,

one

by

one…

the lights were going out.

Tom Jankowitz hardly noticed as the television screen with the departure times on it flickered, then went off. He looked up just in time to see it before all the lights in the airport went off, too. For a few moments there was light coming in from the big window which looked out onto the runway of the airport, but then all the lights on the runway went out as well. Soon, everything was totally, completely and utterly black. The only light came from the tiny little lights on the wings of the aeroplanes, and the light from his own portable computer screen. Soon, there was an announcement:

“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that there seems to have been a power cut. All flights for the moment are cancelled. Thank you”.

A man sat down next to Tom.

“Looks like we’re not going anywhere tonight” he said. Tom didn’t reply, but nodded in agreement. Not going anywhere, he thought. Not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not ever. The only places I ever go are offices of GlobalPower International. He looked at the light coming from his computer screen. Some numbers looked at him. Numbers were the only thing that he was going to see on Christmas Day. Some numbers, and his computer. Is that all there is to it? Nothing, thought Tom, is going anywhere.

In one second, everything went from light to dark for Anja. Her house, filled with light and warmth and the smells of cooking, went black. The only light and the only warmth came from the big fire that she had started. She looked at the fire which continued burning, filling the room with warm light. It looked good. It made her feel happy. It reminded her of when she was a child. She looked out of the window and saw that it was dark for as far as she could see. The flickering light from the fire illuminated the snowflakes that were now falling heavily outside. She wondered if anyone was coming to join her this evening.

It was completely quiet on the streets outside. Guy thought it was strange. Usually these streets were full of busy people. Now they were completely empty. The snow that had fallen looked like a carpet. Outside looked like inside. Walking home, lost in his thoughts and the snow, Guy hardly noticed that all the streetlights had gone out. The darkness around him was the same as the darkness he felt inside him.

Sometimes he could see into the windows of the houses that he passed. Most of the houses were dark, but some people had lit candles. The candles looked beautiful, he thought. They made the people’s houses look warm and friendly and cosy.

Guy felt sad that he was now going back to a house where no one had lit any candles. He didn’t want to go home. His flat was empty. It would be the first Christmas without his daughter and his ex-wife. He thought about how hot it would be where they were, and wondered what Christmas would be like for them. He hadn’t spoken to his daughter in over three months.

Guy didn’t want to go home. He thought about how his wife always said he worked too much, that he never took time to do the simple things in life. Now here he was, walking along the streets where he usually went to work, doing nothing. He decided that he would leave his job with GlobalPower in January. He wanted to walk these strange empty streets forever. Or at least until he could see his daughter again.

Leila looked up at the night sky so full of stars. She thought she had never seen so many stars in the sky when she lived in London. The city was so dark, it made it easier to see the sky. She walked with her mother along the narrow streets of the Christian quarter of old Damascus, all decorated for Christmas, and lit now with candles. She was happy here with her mother and grandmother, but she still missed her father, even though he hadn’t called.

Rudolf Lenk realised what he had done with a shock. He put the plug back in its socket. He hoped nobody would have noticed what he had done.

And

Very

Very

Slowly

One. By. One.

The lights

across the world.

Came back on again.

Like a breath at first, like a tiny whisper which nobody could hear which grew and grew and grew, like the first ripple out in the sea which will become a gigantic wave, like the spark which lights a candle which can start a fire, like the first falling snowflake of a giant storm, like the first star which appears in the night sky and makes enough light for you to be able to see another, and then another, and another and more and more until the whole sky which covers the whole world is hung with starry, illuminated fruit, light connected to light until at midnight, the darkest point of the night the whole world was full of bright bright light.

Tom Jankowitz watched the lights going back on again in the airport and heard the sound of people cheering. He cheered as well, and smiled at the man who was sitting next to him. He felt like someone had turned a light on in him too. He was looking forward to being home. “I’m going somewhere” he thought. “I’ve got somewhere to go.”

Anja got up, and turned the lights that had come on off again. “I like the dark” she thought to herself. “I like the dark and the fire, just like this. That’s how I like it”. She curled up next to the fire, and fell asleep.

Guy was looking for a tiny piece of paper he remembered having put in his pocket months ago. It was so dark out here that he couldn’t see anything. His hands were so cold that it was difficult to find anything in his pockets.

Then, suddenly, everything became light. He realised that he was standing under a streetlight that had just come on again. He found the tiny piece of paper in his wallet with a long number written on it. The number had faded, but he could still read it. He found some one pound coins in his other pocket. He found a phone box, but the phone didn’t work. He walked some more until he found another phone box. He picked up the telephone receiver and heard the bleeping sound. It worked. He put the money in and began to dial the number.

Back at home in their flat with her mother and her grandmother, and all the other Syrian branch of her Anglo-arabic family, Leila heard the old phone ringing. Who would be calling at this time of night? She ran across the room to answer it.

Rudolf Lenk was writing a note on a piece of paper. He addressed the note to his boss at GlobalPower International and left it on his desk. “Yes, it was me” he wrote. “And no, I don’t want my job anymore. Oh, and by the way, happy Christmas!”

The end

-----------------------

Alberto's New Neighbours

Alberto took one look at his new neighbours and knew that his life was going to get more difficult. He watched them arrive in their big, noisy car and watched them get out. There they were, two of them, as big and as noisy as their car, and smelly and stupid as well.

'Terrible!' he thought. 'How am I going to put up with them?' He went to tell Mimi. Mimi was the friend he lived with.
'Have you seen the new neighbours?' he asked her.
'No' she said. 'Who are they?'
'Two of them. The ones we don’t like. Big and noisy and stupid and smelly. Just like they always are.'
'Oh, no' said Mimi. 'How awful! Still, I suppose we can just ignore them.'
'I suppose you’re right' agreed Alberto. 'We’ll just have to ignore them.'

For a few days, then, Alberto and Mimi tried to ignore their new neighbours. When the neighbours went out for a walk, Alberto and Mimi didn’t say hello to them. When the neighbours were in their garden, Alberto and Mimi went inside. This was ok for a few days, but, perhaps inevitably, things didn’t stay this way …

One day Alberto woke up from his sleep to find one of the neighbours in his garden. 'Mimi!' he shouted. 'Have you seen this!? He’s in our garden!!!! Look!'
'How terrible' said Mimi. 'Let’s call our staff and make sure they get rid of him immediately!'

Mimi went off to call their staff. Two minutes later Alberto and Mimi’s head of staff was out in the garden trying to get rid of the unwelcome neighbour. 'Go on!' he shouted. 'Get out of here! Go home!' The neighbour didn’t say anything, but gave Alberto and Mimi’s head of staff a dirty look, then he went back into his garden. Alberto and Mimi felt better, and then asked their head of staff to prepare their lunch for them.

However, it wasn’t enough. Over the next few days Alberto and Mimi often found one or other or both of their new neighbours walking around their own garden. It was terrible. To show how they felt, Alberto and Mimi went into their neighbours’ garden, at night, when the neighbours were inside, and broke all the flowers.

The next morning one of the neighbours came to talk to Alberto.

'Hey!' he said. 'Hey you!' Alberto ignored him, but he continued talking. 'You came into our garden last night and broke all the flowers!' Alberto didn’t say anything, but gave his neighbour a dirty look. 'Now I’m in trouble!' continued his neighbour. 'They think I did it!'
'Who are ‘they’?' asked Alberto.
'My owners, of course … ' replied the neighbour.
'Owners !!???' said Alberto. 'You have ‘owners’?'
'Course we do' said his neighbour. 'Don’t you?'
'Oh no' replied Alberto. 'We have staff.'

Alberto went to tell Mimi that the neighbours didn’t have staff, but they had owners.

'That’s not a surprise' said Mimi. 'That explains everything. That’s why they’re so noisy and smelly and stupid. We need to make their "owners" become "staff".'

The next day, Alberto and Mimi were actually very friendly with their new neighbours. They tried to explain how to make their owners become "staff."

'Listen' said Alberto to them. 'It’s very easy. First, understand that the house is your house, not theirs … '
'And second' said Mimi, 'make sure that you are always clean.'
'Make sure they give you food whenever you want!'
'Sit on the newspaper while they are reading it!'
'Sleep as much as possible – on their beds!'
'And finally, try not to bark, but to miaow instead.'

But it was no good. The neighbours just didn’t understand. After a week, they gave up.

'It’s no good' said Mimi. 'They’ll never understand – dogs have owners, cats have staff.'

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