|Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence|
You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well.
An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly.
You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view.
A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary.
You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.
Actually, I don’t think I would. But this might explain something. Thanks to Lionel d’Lion, from whom I pinched it. Well, shared it, as he has it too, like cake.
I was considerably cheered this morning. I drove to Norwich to hear what turned out to be an excellent lecture on Mantegna, the early Renaissance artist. I pondered on which car park to head for. I didn’t have 45 or so minutes to spare to use the park and ride, so it would be the multi-storey, or the ground-level pay and display. I prefer the latter, but that doesn’t take notes so, when stopped at the traffic lights, I checked my change. Enough.
Having parked, I started to feed in my money. £1 was rejected. I examined it. Was it a fake? A good one if so. Had to be. I asked an approaching woman if she could change a fiver. “Sorry, no, but let me get my ticket and I’ll see what I can do.” I checked my coins again. “How much are you short?” “80p” “I can do that,” she said cheerfully, handing it over.
This simple kindness made my day. I said I’d put money in a charity box, she was happy about that, we left each other smiling.
I hadn’t really prepared for my meeting today. I had left a list on the computer of the things I needed to take, but had notes to make, a form to fill in, a cheque to write, people to smile at and greet, an introduction and a vote of thanks to think about. I entered the theatre and was greeted by Sue. “You look a bit fraught” she said, concerned. “You came in the door, slumped for a moment, took a deep breath and put a smile on your face.”
That was meant to happen before anyone noticed me, because we do, don’t we, put on a suitable face. It’s not that it isn’t meant, but one can’t go around in the usual scatty or sullen way when meant to be on show in some way. I wasn’t particularly aware of it until some years ago, when friends asked us round for dinner. Newish neighbours were the other guests. Younger than us, they were a little nervous and shy and not very chatty. I was quite tired and rather felt like being entertained. The hostess was in the kitchen and conversation was hesitant, and I was silent. I was handed a drink by my host and suddenly became aware that hopeful faces were turned towards me. I took a slurp of my drink, sent it to my head and started to chatter cheerfully. I could read the minds “Whoopee, she’s off, now we can have fun.” Which was quite disconcerting but not unflattering. But maybe I should just shut up more. I listen to myself sometimes, goodness I rabbit on.
Oh, and when I got on the stage I discovered that the trap-door in the middle was open; worse, in fact, it was covered by an open grille. I had, of course, chosen to wear stilettos today and I was standing about a foot in front of this trap, which was about 2 foot by 5 foot, much as I am I suppose, well, if folded up a bit as I fell. I mentioned it as a forewarning in case I suddenly fell over backwards. The speaker said, afterwards, that she had been a bit anxious on my behalf.
I would have worn other shoes, but hardly any fit at present. I have been standing and walking almost constantly for the last few weeks and only my most generously sized shoes don’t pinch. But these ones, though comfortable, are a nuisance. I have to look down as I walk as the smallest crack in the pavement can trap them, whereupon I either fall over or keep walking, shoeless. Well, one-shoed, as it’s unlikely that both will get trapped during the same stride.
You see, I rabbit. If you were shy, you would, by now, be entirely at your ease. Since you aren’t, you are probably wondering if I’ll ever shut up.
Oh, by the way. A friend, to whom (grammar), I gave the address of this blog finally, after months – months, got around to reading it, and told me so. I asked, rather nervously, what he thought. “Well,” he said, “It’s your style, I recognise you in it. But you’re funnier in real life.”
Oh. Is that a compliment or not?