Two days ago I chatted to my mother about how millionaires pay less income tax because they know how to manipulate the system; at least that's what their accountants and lawyers are for.
On the bus yesterday morning, I met a woman who used to live in the neighbourhood. She was taking her kids to school. The last time I saw her and her two kids was last year on Christmas Day. She asked me if I was considering going on holidays this year. I said I didn't have any plans to. She said she and her husband are saving to go to the Philippines, where she's from. It was lovely to see her and her kids again.
On my way home, I fancied going for a long bus ride. I sat upstairs and enjoyed the scenery. When a passenger sitting in front got up to leave, I swapped seats as that particular seat has lots of leg room. During the journey, I day dreamed about a beloved friend. Suddenly, a newspaper fell on the floor, which jolted me out of my reverie. I hadn't even realised there were newspapers on the dashboard, at least the bus equivalent of one. How odd that only one of them fell on the floor. Come to think of it, it was as if an invisible hand had dropped it. A passenger on the other side picked it up and replaced it on top of the others. I'm sure that newspaper is calling out to me; I have a feeling there's an article I need to read. I picked it up. It was the "Evening Standard." Someone had obviously bought it, had a good read, and dumped it right there for my attention. The front page headline was about how millionaires avoid paying income tax, mirroring the conversation I had last night with my mother. Aha! How clever of the Universe to get me to swap seats and dump the newspaper on the floor so it would attract my attention. I'm dead impressed! I took the newspaper home for my mother to read.
Later in the evening as my mother and I were watching television, mum started channel hopping. I was attracted to a programme called "Thomas Cook TV," which I presumed was about holidays. I pointed this out to my mother. She said I'd reminded her about something. Before I left home that morning, she intended to ask me to look up flights and hotels on the Internet, as she and her friends are thinking of going away, but she forgot to ask me. She had it in mind to ask me when I came home. She said that at least the "Thomas Cook" programme had reminded her to ask me. When I went back to watch the "Thomas Cook" programme, I couldn't find it. It had already finished. It would seem the programme only caught my attention because I was picking up on my mother's intent. No wonder the friend I met earlier had spoken to me about holidays. It was all part of my mother's intent.
Hey, I thought I was the dreamer here! Who the hell is dreaming whom?
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