Toby Macfarlaine Bloggeration

I have often berated, or at least tsssked at, people who say, “I don’t like surprises”.
Why on earth not? 
Do you really not like surprises? 
How unutterably dull life would be without them. 
To constantly know what lies inside the wrapped box under the Christmas tree. To always know that the darkened room you’ve just been hastily shuffled into, of course, contains at least tens of your closest friends all intent on “surprising” you and watching you tearfully and red cheekedly tuck into a slice of fondant-covered sponge accompanied by a flute of Cava. To expect that when you go into the pub you haven’t been to for yonks you will bump into an old friend and simply carry on where you’d left off all those years ago. Constantly knowing and pre-empting the punch line to every joke you will ever hear. Always being the one to say, “I told you so”. Gah, no thanks.

A sudden kiss on the lips rather than the peck on the cheek you were expecting. The sun breath-takingly breaking through and warming your face on what was supposed to be a solidly cloudy and rain-sodden day. Somebody telling you that they think you look particularly “cool” when you went out feeling that you looked rather more as if you’d just had a good old rummage through the dressing-up box and simply “gone with it”. Finding a tenner in an old coat pocket that’s been stuffed at the back of a cupboard since last autumn. Being told that the person you’ve been staring at whilst simultaneously avoiding eye contact with for weeks feels the same way and would rather like to hold hands with you. These are surely pleasant experiences, not things to be poo-poo’d and avoided.

People who don’t like surprises are the kind of people who don’t like magic or who say “Pffft, that’s just a trick”. 
Of course it’s just a trick. No one was expecting you to accept that the flamboyantly dressed person gesturing towards the ace of spades now, miraculously, pinned to the inner-side of the window was in fact an act of sorcery or an actual miracle. It was a trick. 
Even though, to some extent, magic briefly ruined my life, it hasn’t stopped me enjoying the artistry involved and the “Ooohs” and “Oh my Gaaaawds” that a well-executed slight of hand can provoke.
I once knew someone who was quite angered by a magic trick and said, “No, I won’t clap. She LIED!” Can’t you just enjoy the spectacle and the fact that you don’t know how it was done and leave it at that? It may be a lie, essentially but it’s in the name of entertainment, you boring, joyless, leathery old prig. Kindly fuck off back to No Surprises Town where all the sandwiches are cucumber and the bath water is constantly “just right”.

There are of course, unfortunately, some unpleasant surprises that crop up every so often. 
Finding out that your partner is enjoying rapturous, sweaty, Olympic dalliances with someone other than yourself, for example. Or discovering that the slightly annoying itch is, in fact, the ice-berg tip of a life threatening infection that you will soon have to inform your friends and relatives about. Sure footedly standing on the upturned plug of a phone charger that was camouflaged by the Persian rug. Receiving a letter informing you that unfortunately World War III has broken out and that the powers that be have decided it prudent to reintroduce conscription with you as the flagship conscriptee. That sort of thing. These, though, are thankfully less oft occurring than the more positive revelations most of us receive from time to time. The age-old adage, “Cheer up, it might never happen” springs to mind.

Not knowing what’s around the corner is the very thing that urges me to walk around that corner. Leaning in for a kiss, unsure of whether or not it will be reciprocated or, at least, appreciated, is the butterfly-stomached wonder that compels you into action. Diving headlong into a pool without first testing its temperature with a toe invites surprise, be it good or be it bad. Either way it’s always refreshing. 

Let’s hear it for surprises, then. Long may we gasp and grin, hug and occasionally rejoice. I may well not feel very comfortable on rollercoasters, but they are, let’s face it, infinitely more fun than the boating lake, bar the introduction of exploding ducks, which I have repeatedly petitioned the parks department about. Thus far, without reply. 
A letter from the council stating that my petition has been met with approval and that “In the coming weeks the boating lake shall become home to a family of the Lesser Spotted East African Exploding Duck” turning up in the post? Now that would be a nice surprise.