I could say I’m a daydreamer. I could say I’m a fanciful, away-with-the-fairies sort of girl, who stares out of the window with her head in the clouds, dreaming of pink palaces and meadows and Prince Charmings.
Look what happens when you google ‘daydreaming’. Lots of pictures of people gazing at the sky, photos of clouds, flowers, fantasy lands. But is that really what daydreaming is?
You can dress it up all you like, but let’s face it: daydreaming is not concentrating on what you’re supposed to be doing, like when you suddenly realise you’ve just driven 40 miles up the M4 and you don’t remember any of it.
This morning at work some dude was explaining to me, very comprehensively, the fundamental differences between GMS and PMS GP contracts (it’s fascinating – remind me to tell you about it some time). I was doing all the right things, everything that’s conducive to the absorption of important information: maintaining eye contact, nodding in the right places, making acknowledging ‘Hmm’ noises, saying ‘Right, yeah, right’ every now and then – all signs pointing towards the fact that I was listening very closely and taking everything on board.
The only problem was, I was thinking about trifle.
I don’t know why it was specifically trifle – it’s not even in my top five favourite puddings – but there it was. One minute I was hearing and the PMS contracts can provide what we call mandatory and optional services to their patients… and the next I was seeing a big glass bowl filled with sherry-doused Swiss roll, tinned peaches, bananas, jelly, custard, cream and topped with crumbled flake. For probably a good few minutes, this is all I had in my head.
And as soon as I realised I was thinking about trifle, I tried to stop, and concentrate on GMS contracts. But the harder I tried to not think about trifle, the more I thought about trifle. I nodded away, saying ‘Yep, hmm, right’, like I was absorbing everything the dude was telling me – and all the time all I could see was a man with trifle for a head.
So that’s hardly daydreaming, is it? That’s just thinking about trifle when I should’ve been thinking about NHS contracts.