A Word In Your Shell-Like.

I have been away from Pither Towers for most of this week. I am currently staying with pals just outside Big City East because that is where my work is at the moment and, being unable to commute as usual owing to my slight problem in the leg department, said friends are running me to and from the office while putting me up out of hours.
What a boring intro! Anyway, I felt the need to put fingertips to keyboard because, over the last few days, I have found myself calling a great deal on my favourite word in the English language and I wanted to put my love for it down in writing.
The word is very short but it is, or at least should be, the most important in our vocabulary. The word is......................"why?".
As a journalist, I was brought up on that sickly rhyme penned by well known Days-Of-The-Raj-Neo-Nazi-Hack-Novelist-Poet Rudyard Kipling, namely:
"I kept six honest serving men,
They taught me all I knew.
Their names were what and where and when
And how and why and who?"

A good ditty to remember if ever you need to check you've got all the important details for a story. The trouble is, one of those "serving men" is very seldom called into service, not just by reporters but by...............well............most people. Asking "why" has never been popular. I, on the other hand, have always bucked the trend and blurted the word out given the least encouragement.
It started in my childhood, as most things did:
"Reginald!! Come and kiss grandma!" - "Why? She's got a fucking moustache!"

"Reggie, you can't spend all day in bed." - "Why? Mother, you really haven't thought that one through. I think you seriously need to consider the accuracy of that statement."

"Reg, you've got to eat your greens." - "Why? If God had meant us to eat cabbage he wouldn't have invented Nesquik."

It continued at school:
"You must wear black shoes outdoors but brown shoes indoors." - "Why? I vaguely recall the not coveting your neighbour's oxen bit but nothing about shoes."

"You must wear a white shirt for parents' evenings." "Ooh, ooh, ooh, Mr Blenkinsop, Mr Blenkinsop, Mr Blenkinsop, pick me, pick me, pick me"
"Yes, Pither."
"Urrm.............why?"

"Your hair must be cut so that it does not reach down to your collar and is off your ears." - "Why? Einstein looked like a geriatric Ken Dodd and he didn't do so fucking bad!"

On to college and the chance to give people you really didn't have a lot of time for a nervous breakdown:
"So, as you can see, the development of the basic lever was a massive step forward for mankind."
"Why?"
"Well, Archimedes said that if he had a place on which to stand, by use of a lever he could move the earth."
"Why would he want to do that?"
"I'm not saying he wanted to just......well.....just.....just that he could."
"Just because he came out with some ludicrous claim about an entirely hypothetical scenario he can hardly be judged to have provided evidence of some massive leap forward for mankind."
"Yes he can."
"Why?"
"Because.....because.......well......because it showed the enormous potential of the lever."
"Why? Saying that you could shove over the earth if you had a 260,000-mile long piece of indestructa-wood which rested on a 175 billion-ton fulcrum which hovered in mid-space and was immovable is not exactly a reliable claim. I mean, you don't hear me going around saying that if my mother had been the Duke of Bedford and I had been born in the year 3 BC and I had been endowed with superpowers by a highly intelligent life force from a distant galaxy I could have been president of the board of trade!"
"Shut up Pither and put some clothes on!"

Now I am almost a grown up I find myself saying "why?" more and more. Why, for instance, do I have to wear a seatbelt while driving my car? Why the fuck would I want "a milkshake with that order" if I hadn't fucking asked for one? Why, in the name of all that is holy, would I even begin to think that my call was important to anyone, let alone to "them"? Why do I have to put my wheelie bin out with the handles facing the road? Why would I want to start my own pottery business, thereby forcing me to approach Lloyds fucking bastard Bank for a loan? Why would I want an electronically operated sun awning whose major selling point is that it can be worked by a golden retriever? Why do the gas and electricity meter readers call round during the day when you are out at work earning money to pay the gas and electricty bills and then post an accusatory note through your door which positively shouts "We called round to read your meter but you were out!!!" Why do you only notice there is no toilet paper in the loo 3.4 picoseconds AFTER you have just evacuated your bowels? Why do I keep getting these blinding headaches which cause me to black out and when I recover consciousness I find myself gripping a blood-stained knife and standing over the lifeless body of an innocent woman who moments earlier had stopped me in the town centre to ask if I was happy with my gas supplier? Why would some git think he had even the remotest fucking chance of selling me something by cold-calling and beginning a phone conversation with the words "Hellooo Mr Pathery, how are you today?" I might just be labouring the point a tad but the list does seem endless.
My family, my teachers, my lecturers and, latterly, my employers have all said that I have a problem with authority. That is just not true. I have absolutely no problem with authority. The problem I have is with meaningless rules. By way of an example, there are signs up at petrol stations stating that smoking is prohibited. There is a reason for that, a reason I can understand, and consequently I obey the command. When, however, I'm told that I am not allowed to sit in an empty First Class carriage on a train, having bought a standard ticket and found that there is not even standing room in cattle class, I tend to go somewhat apeshit!
Authority figures are, I admit, often the cause of some concern to me. You see, I have this stupid notion that to have authority you have to earn respect. With regard to that, I would take orders from people like, say, Nelson Mandela, Lawrence of Arabia (even though he's dead!) and a number of reporters with whom I have worked and who have proved themselves to be infinitely better at the job than I am. Just wearing a hat with "in charge" written on it does not, however, entitle the wearer to respect and the right to exercise authority.
I think I've lost my train of thought now. Why? I can't remember. Anyway, it's now 5.45am, I have not been to bed and so there is nothing for Grantham. Why? - because I'm too tired to think of anything.