Poxy kite

Granny and the poxy kite

I sat on the beach in a grump. Frustrated at not being able to get a good flight from this poxy kite.

The clown fish printed on the sail (or whatever the main bit of a kite is actually called) looked at me and laughed.

There was nothing funny about the situation. I had no instructions for the poxy kite, and the design of the thing made little sense; it had no stability during flight.

I poked and prodded. Chopped and changed. Pondered and bodged. But still the kite didn’t look like it would soar. Poxy kite.

My frustration was starting to simmer. Yes, it may have cost a negligible sum of money, but surely somebody tested it, right? Anybody?

I mean, who makes a kite that isn’t intuitive? If your job is to design a children’s kite, ‘it flies’ should be pretty fucking far up the feature list.

I hated the kite. And the kite hated me.

“Perhaps,” said Caroline, “you don’t really want it to fly anyway.”

I gave her the kind of stare that you would give your partner if they had offered such advice while you’re currently plotting the death of a children’s kite designer.

Caroline understood the stare:

“Well,” she continued, “it seems you’re engrossed in the challenge of making the kite better in some way. What are you going to do once it’s up and flying? Just stand there and look pretty? You’re probably enjoying it more now than you ever will.”

Beneath the wonderful patronising tone that my wife musters so well, the lady has a point.

As our team continues to grow Inn Style, we are faced with a daily barrage of problems to be solved, decisions to be made, and jobs to be done.

Some days it feels endless. Like the kite will never fly.

But then I consider the alternative: to simply flutter in the breeze without much probability of going up or down; tied to a string to ensure I neither get lost nor crash.

Maybe one day it will soar and swoop and loop the loop. But until that day, I will continue to find joy in the making and breaking.

I shall embrace the poxy kite.

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