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A series of musings from Rob Jones at All Plants North.

Outline Tracing Disorder.

It’s funny what you learn about yourself as you get older. Why it has taken so long I’ve no idea but recently, I discovered that when I think I’m smiling I am actually grimacing at best. I thought that my face was properly connected to my brain but several photos tell another story. I even wondered if the photographer had missed the fleeting opportunity but no. It’s me. So now I find myself deliberately over egging the pudding to make sure others get the message. Happy not suspicious.

The second thing I’ve noticed (which is a bit weird but not so weird that I can’t tell you about it) is that I constantly outline (in my mind) whatever I am looking at. Building edges, backgrounds, tv newsreaders collar and tie. It doesn’t impair my life and I’m thinking if that’s as bad as it gets I’m a lucky man but I’ve done it all my life and only just become conscious of it. I even googled it and found that there is niche forum for those with so-called Outline Tracing Disorder. I’ve found a home at last.

And then there is the talking in the car. I’m the wrong side of 50 so I don’t care to admit to it, proper talking aloud mind, none of that talking in your head nonsense – that’s for lightweights. Oh come on, we all do it. Don’t we?

Recently though I have taken it to next level. Last night on the drive home it was a N‘Orleans Southern drawl and this morning it was Scandi Noir. Perhaps something to do with watching too much late night TV. As long as you can keep up with the breakneck speed of the Belgian language those shows makes BBC period dramas look a bit lame. The upshot is I am now almost fluent in Flemish and Danish. If you bugged my car you might think you had tuned in to a Swedish Chef sketch on The Muppets. It may be the first sign of madness, and it’ll be Netflix to blame.

I don’t seem to read books for myself anymore I think my brain can only handle subtitles now. So when I’m reading to my daughter at night I start losing focus and fall asleep before she does. ‘Daddy, wake up, you were talking rubbish again’. It’s amazing how my mouth can keep working even when unconscious. I should record myself to see if I’m saying anything worth listening to, although not according to my daughter. And it’s better reading to her now that we have got past the mind-numbing baby stuff and have got to books with actual stories. I’ve moved around alot so I draw on my accent/dialect bank, you‘ve just got to remember if the character is a Geordie or a Cockney, she doesn’t miss a thing.

But before we got to the Harry Potter stage, for years, I would make stories up for her every night (and should have recorded some of those): she is still unsure if I actually was kidnapped by pirates when I was nine and put to work in the galley with my best mate Tom. There’s a lot of pressure to make a good story work but at least my eyes didn’t feel like pickled onions. 

Now my escapades don’t get a look in anymore with her; it’s our #2 who is my new target audience and I get to relive the whole traumatic experience all over again. 

So the upshot is that all this stuff is what makes you who you are, you have to come to terms with it. Even a smile that doesn’t work; the intention is there I promise.

Rob Jones

All Plants North
The Farm Shop
Cracoe
North Yorkshire
BD23 6LB

www.allplantsnorth.co.uk

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