the first and only text message waiting on my phone when I woke that morning read
my position has been eliminated
It didnt read
No words of anger, no tremors of fear, no tissue of tears. Just the 2 words which feel like they are being pretentious because they have 3 or more syllables.
position = job
eliminated = cut
excerpt from an email:
When’s your first novel? Bet you could combine the intellectual challenge of a Will Self novel with the creative wackiness of Terry Prachett!
this qualifies the sender as a friend for life.
A common feature of English Victorian buildings is the tilework in the entrance and hallways.
The Wendy House doesn’t have this type of timework. Adding it is on my list of those things that one day I might do….
Things move around in the kitchen. They move when I’m not looking. They are not malicious, just playful. Last week I lost the milk. Two days later I found a rather warm and lively milk bottle in the microwave. My mugs often move from the dresser to the microwave.
I wonder what I’ll find in the microwave this morning?
lady at stable door: I live in that house there, we’ve just had a wasp nest treated and those left alive are a bit cranky, probably best to keep the cats in and the doors and windows shut
wendy: there’s a lot of them about this year
email from reception to the whole building with the subject line ‘Internet’:
The engineer’s have been out today they have said they can’t see a lot wrong with the system, but they will be coming out again tomorrow with a tree surgeon to take a tree out that they think is causing the problem. If this doesn’t make any difference they will then have to replace the equipment but this will mean that the Internet will go down completely for 2 hours after 1pm
Coursework finished 4 hrs before the 4pm submission deadline. A large vegetarian Kebab from the local take-away would make a grand treat for finishing with time to spare. I pounced fluffily across campus in the invigorating October sun.
wendy!
Someone was running across the road towards me. I didn’t recognise the run, the outline, or the clothes. As he faded into my myopic focus I could see his black mohiecan haircut was lankily lying along his scalp and that his misshapen faded t-shirt had all the style of a salted slug.
steve
Apparantly he’d had some sort of terrible time that involved lots of drugs, and rainbow hairdye experiments, that went horribly wrong. He was lucky to have any hair at all. Poor boy. He didnt get my messages. He tried to call for me but I was never in and my flatmates hadn’t passed on the messages he’d written. But now he found me, just in time, 4 hours before the coursework submission deadline.
have you done the coursework?
yes
can I borrow it?
why?
so I can copy it and hand in the same work as you
No
Oh
You should let your tutor know about the problems you’ve been having, they’ll be able to arrange your coursework around your porblems. You could still get the full benefit of actually doing the work. Maybe they’ll give you an extension. I wouldn’t want your reputation sullied by the blemishes of having your name on my work.
Steve found Karen who leant him her work to copy, he wrote a piece of coursework in 4 hours, got reasonable grades for someoneelses work, for a firction, he was good at working fiction.
10 more days to produce a joint practical report. Each day I walked passed Steve’s home and called for him. He was always either out, off his head, or sleeping. He didn’t turn-up for classes either. I suspect he was really living in Pill village.
After a week of not being able to coordinate any sensible time with Steve I decided to cut my losses. Doing the work in half the allotted time, with half the workers, my maths told me this would be 4 times as hard to do now because I’d tried to work with Steve. Sigh. No more calling for Steve. Hoorah!
The experimental work, persuading 20 people, all strangers, to give me 15 mins of their time to make 30 line-length comparisions was a fun way to meet people in pubs. The research for, and writing of, the report was also fun.
Steve was soon forgotten.
Paul let me into Steve’s home. Student accomodation, 9 boys sharing a kitchen and washrooms. Ewe. Steve was lying face-down on the hallway floor making a gurgling sound that could have been a variation on his normal giggling.
he’s stoned
drunk?
No, high
I laughed. Steve had already started without me. Our coursework was an experimental study of the effects of the Muller-Lyer illusion characteristics on visual perception. Steve had clearly bypassed the constraints of the specific illusion, the visual sense and the experimental method. Steve had gone straight for an immersive qualitative experiential study through the doors of all perception. You had to admire his rebellious, innovative and hands on approach to his degree studies.
I’d heard about drugs, not taken any, not really interested in taking any. The opportunity to talk to someone while stoned was a first for me and very tempting. Our interviewing skills practical wasn’t due for a while, but a bit of up front practice could come in handy. Happily I bounced over Steve’s twitching body, sat on the floor by his head and tried to attract his attention. He garbled and giggled and gurgled, but nothing recognisable as a word, no phrases. I got bored of watching this body with all the control skills of baby.
when is he likely to be compus mentus?
I dont know
can you let him know I called and ask him to call for me when he’s got his marbles together
yeah
Not cute, like Brad Pitt or Jonny Depp are cute.
Not handsome, like Daniel Craig or Sean Connery are handsome.
Steve had something, like Robert Carlisle or Gary Oldman have something.
Instead of working on our psychology practical coursework we spent an October Saturday afternoon wandering round warehouses, photographing them. Steve giggled a lot, like my grandmother or Alan Carr giggle. Often. I wandered after him, playing the audience, taking photographs, and enjoying the peace of the places. Practical work? We can start on Monday, no hurry….
lecturer: you will work on this psychology practical in pairs
Ony 2 weeks at University, one as a fresher and one on the course. It was easy to predict how the 29 girls and 3 boys would pair:
I was wrong with two predictions. Without a glance her way Steve strode straight passed Karen, placing himself between Heather and me. There was something sneaky and slinky about the move. His first conversation with me was to ask if I would consider working with him on this practical. I was flattered. People who clearly put so much time and effort into peacocking rarely noticed my acceptable variation on mainstream self-presentation. What prompted this?
Karen’s hand lifted a swathe of black backbrushed bush from her face and her piecing brown eyes clearly shifted from Steve to me. She turned abrubtly and shuffled double-speed in her overly tight long skirt, to Heather. Heather welcomed her with all the warmth of an earth mother. My already strong relationship with Heather wouldn’t be dented by this unexpected abberation.
I agreed to work with Steve, we arranged to meet that weekend ….
When I returned to my desk,
after a rejuvinating knob twisting with a fresh mug of tea ,
a helpful paper sign written in the style of Yoda had appeared on the window
Do not window open
The girl opposite asked whether these were the wasps from my garden, had they followed me to work?
Sampo has been on a diet for nearly 2 months. Since starting her diet I’ve noticed the following changes:
1) Sampo is losing weight. Yes, she was a lot fatter than this.
2) Sampo is much more determined to successfully establish alternative food-sources. The rather stupid, local, wood pidgeons have presented this opportunity. Sampo stalks at dusk and dawn. She has managed to get a few loose feathers but not yet got a meal out of it.
3) Sampo shows much more public affection to me within an hour of scheduled feeding times.
The people that packed my belongings in Seattle, unpacked my belongings in Reading, had no interest in maintaining the integrity of the alphabeticalisation of my CD collection. I cringed with the knowledge that I would not be able to find a CD in less than 27.5 sec (on average) because I would not know where it was, on which shelf….
Strangely, for nearly 2 years, there was always something better to do than spend an afternoon reinstating the alphabeticalisation of my CD collection. Until today. Today
David Bowie sits next to David Byrne and Nirvana by No Doubt
wendy: 4 pints of Ringwood and a bottle of Chianti
bar staff: how many wine glasses would you like
I look at the smiling person next to me
smiler to bar staff: just one glass please
smiler to me: it’s cheaper to buy a bottle of wine and then leave some than it is to get 1 glass then refill it later. They know me here, they’ll understand.I’m a sot
barstaff: are you sure you dont want a long straw instead of the glass? It will save us on the washing up
smiler: (sudden squeaky scream) I can’t believe he just said that!
wendy: what’s a sot? acronym, slang or real word?
how are you getting home?
I’m walking
NO! let me give you a lift
I like to walk, I don’t live far away
how long will it take you? No, its not safe out there, let me give you a lift, I insist
I couldn’t resist challenging her beliefs with my experiences
I often walk home after 11pm, at minight, one, two even three in the morning. It’s very vibrant and friendly on the streets. I don’t feel or get threatened. Maybe there’s a special dispensation for the locals?
If you’re sure, if you insist, do take care…
Part of me thinks
”for goodness sake, get a life and stop applying your middle-class snooty prejudices to the place I live which is not the crime hub!’
another part of me thinks
what a sweet sociable caring lady, she really cares if I get home ok or not
I walked safely home alone, people smiled and talked to me as I walked passed. Another person will offer me the protection of a car ride home on another night. They will not step out of their safety zone, they will keep their beliefs whatever I say or do. I will keep my experience of friendly non-violent, non-threatening locals
Paul Bendell, MBPR, from Berkshire pest control took one look at the nest and in classic call-out service person style he shook his head slowly, sucked air through his teeth and said
There is an old polygraph in a store room at work.
I find myself wandering into the room to flick the switches, turn the knobs, read the dials. I am attracted to the clinks and clicks, the feeling of pushing and twisting, the golds, blacks,r eds and silvers and the number scales. Its like a giant Fisher-Price toy for adults where the pleasure is in playing with the controls rather than actually using it for its intended purpose.
Everyone suffering from a ridiculously serious job should have their own polygraph to play with during tea breaks. Once or twice people have caught me playing the polygraph. Thier reaction is not one of amusement or horror, normally their faces light-up they comment on how beautiful the machine is as they wander over hyponotised and hands out as they grab and twist a knob.
Lets play!
Matrix watches the drive as Simon pulls-up.
is all that for me?
Yes, where do you want it dropped?
Oh, thank you! I dont have a wheelbarrow, here by the shed its going in would be good
It wont fit in that shed
Stacking the rest out doors should be ok?
yeah
I didnt tell him about the wasps, he didn’t notice.
While unloading Simon chatted to my neighbours. He visited at least one of them before leaving. Simon is a bit of a charmer. Who wood have guessed that would delivery and stacking could be this much fun?
wendy: i think I must be lonely
mary: rubbish, you are the least lonely person that I know, you just spend a lot of your time on your own
We met several months before. We both started a ‘mountain glacier hiking’ course. At 60 Mary was the oldest person on the course. She had not signed up as part of a couple nor was she treating the course as a mate-finding opportunity. How refreshing. I soon started to seek-out Mary’s company while hiking and during the rest breaks. I quickly tired of the chattering from other hikers, normally affluent couples considering what gear to purchase, what restaurant to recommend.
At 60 Mary’s love for her terminally-ill bed-ridden husband was not stated, but it beamed stronger than a lighthouse. She recorded our hiking sessions, the beautiful scenery and laughter, for him with her new digital camera. He could feel part of an active interesting life because she sought this life out and carefully bought it back to his bedside with love. What a fabulously generous heart.
I fell in love with Mary. Not the love that hungers for sexual validation. Not a love that needed to be returned. There was deep peace in her company. Knowing this I invited myself to her home in the foothills of Mount Ranier. The home she had built with her husband before his death so noticibly stepped towards him.
wendy: can I help you gather the leaves from your garden?
Mary: yes. they will fall as fast as you’ll be able to gather them
After a morning gardening, mostly in silence, we went inside and Mary finished the home made french onion soup. She talked while she stirred. Talked of how her father raped her and how the authorities didnt believe her story. Talked of how her sister committed suicide. How she left her bilogical family and built her own new family. How she worked to help abused children and beaten wives. Clearly she has known and seen more loneliness than I could feel.
The cedar dappled autumn sun played on her face. No tears, no frown lines.
It seems we have both found some form of peace amidst life, in the silences
Summer morning’s in Sheepwash start with the cheerful hubbub of the local dawn chorus.
Turning-over in the thick, crisp, white, ironed sheets and taking a deep breath through my downy pillow is like a dream come true, my idea of perfection. Not so different from the wendy house, where the sheets aren’t ironed. There is no phone or TV in my room. There is an internet connection. Simplicity and power.
Back in the 1990’s I had developed a strong brand loyalty to Sloggi because they produced comfortable, outdoor activity sypporting, stylish, white, underwear. Sloggi underwear wasn’t cheap but it lasted, it maintained it’s strength and looks. Sloggi products were sold in good department stores, the quality town stores. Stores like Reading town’s Jackson’s. I had no problem finding Sloggi underwear on the rare occasion I needed to purchase new stuff.
When I lived in the NW US, the quality department stores such as Nordstrum didn’t sell Sloggi. In a recklessly adveturess streak I branched out into local underwear brands, Victoria Secrets. Nothing special, mass produced femininity. My underwear draw went pink and everso slightly twee.
In Tiverton I picked up my first Sloggi’s since 2000. They feel and look good. Back to my favourite high quality foundations…
Words of wisdom from an almost stranger*. a girl friend from Essex
To get a facelift without invasive surgery or spending a lot of money – grow your hair long enough to wear in a ponytail.
I am already following this advice
Grey skies, grey stones. Tourists armed with umbrellas and cameras dance slowly in a large circle around Stonehenge .
Meanwhile I mumble under my breath because I didn’t have the foresight to skirt far enough a round this traffic-laden tourist site on my journey to Devon.
On the wall of a shop.
A small graffiti image in the style of Banksy shows a man holding a gun to his head.
The image is near where Woolworth’s used to be. The Woolworth’s site still unoccupied in the centre of town. In the other direction a bank has been converted into a pub, called ‘The Bank’.
hmmmm……
The south west of England, Devon and Cornwall, attracts many very talented artists who ply thier wares in craft stalls, markets, barns and sheds.
This artiste has taken box-painting to the edge of the mortal coil. With a pleasant pastel green coffin sporting a cottage-style rose motif on top and as a base-side border. The artist made me smile and think of burial in new ways.
Excellent work!
The graffiti of Tiverton shows the local religious practices.
The Wzards of Tiv breed a rare form of magic moth known as the gizajob. To keep the moth pupae both moist and warm they weave the pupae into their beard just below their nose where it cunningly covers their mouth. Luckily its not currently the breeding season, though I did see many wizards with appropriately sized beards.
In Reading town its Jacksons
In Tiverton town its Banbury’s
A family run store, named after the family. Selling everything in tiny departments on split-level floors arranged with a maze-like series of turns and staircases. These stores are Tardis-like, seeming small from the outside then corridor after staircase after turn they get larger and larger. The staff are normally experienced people with well structured hairstyles or quirky youngters. All are personable. When leaving the Wendy house this morning I was in the middle of scat-fest. Things I forgot to bring with my included, pants, watch, tops to wear. Banbury’s was just the place to temporarily solve my foundation garment shortage
While searching for the cleverly hidden underware department I stumbles across a Linen top with a print reminiscent of the fabulous Finnish Marimekko Unnikko print. Yummy.
wendy: it’s a birthday, maybe we can’t have fireworks but I’ve got some sparklers we could use
hostess: who’s birthday?
wendy: the USA, independence day. I’ve got a flag
hostess: please don’t bring it
The roads in Devon and Cornwall are a wee bit thin to pass a sheep, or three.
Thomas and I waited while these bleety little chaps found a passing place with sufficient grass to keep them happy.
