Well the rain is falling & the sky is grey, that's right I'm back in London for the holidays. I'm just relieved to see that the worst of the snow has gone away.
This will be a relatively brief (and no doubt typo heavy) post, as I need to prepare to go to my Aunt's house for Christmas Eve very shortly. Fortunately my mum is in the shower so that gives me the excuse I need to procrastinate online. I'll be doing a post soon about how it feels to be a visitor in your home town but I think I might need to be back in Australia to really be able to look back on the experience. It does feel odd at times though.
So the focus of today's post is a couple of reviews.
I went to see Avatar at the Empire Leicester Square yesterday. I definitely recommend that if you go and see it, you see it in 3D. It is a visually stunning film & I can really understand why a lot of marketers in the film industry are touting it as completely breakthrough. It is taking Hollywood movies to the logical next step, with the imagery becoming even more realistic and a movie becoming an increasingly visual feast. But, and this is quite a significant but, what stops this being a truly great movie was the fact that the same dedication & originality was not applied to the script. The sub plots were insubstantial & did not make the most of a fabulous support cast.
The main story has been told so many times, in more original ways. It was almost as if the film makers felt that the audience could not have their cake & eat it too. You either get beautiful, ground breaking visual effects or a great story. They won't give you both. As a writer I do find that this lazy story-telling is discouraging. It is disappointing that we can't have the best of both worlds. Don't get me wrong, overall I did enjoy the film. Please go & see it and I would love to hear what you think of it. However I did walk away feeling a little hollow, as it is very much an example of style over substance.
On the other end of the spectrum I went to see the National Theatre production of War Horse at the New London theatre on Tuesday night. Clearly it is to theatre that we have to turn to see a wonderful combination of effects & amazing story telling. Those who know me won't be surprised to hear that I cried, at least twice. I'm a big soppy moo. But it was a truly fabulous adaptation of a classic book. The acting was spot on, the staging amazing and the script sang! I wish that I had this wonderful sensation of having seen something that will stay with me forever more often when leaving the cinema. If you haven't see War Horse & live anywhere near London, I thoroughly recommend it. Please try to see it while it is still on, it is definitely worth the ticket price.
Well those are my two reviews, I'd better go de-stink myself in the shower before heading off to celebrate Wigilia with my family. I'll tell you all about the wonderful tradition that is Wigilia when I next have a chance to post. Have a wonderful Christmas!!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
The Lovely Bones
Ok I admit it, I've been hopeless at updating my blog recently. Work has been crazy using up my daily allocation of brain cells. As a result I had very little left over to use in my personal life. There have been many spare moments where I could be found drooling and staring at the wall. It's nice to escape that particular circle of hell!
But that is enough with the excuses and on to the blogging. Tonight I went to see The Lovely Bones, I was lucky enough to get tickets to the Australian premiere. I do enjoy sashaying up a red carpet, so I was ready for a great night out. The lovely Natalie Meadows joined me, which made for a good mix of impressions as she hasn't read the book while I have.
I remember that I loved the book by Alice Sebold but my memories of the specifics are hazy as I read it many years ago. All I could remember was a general sense of what happened & most importantly how the book made me feel (sad, frustrated, inspired). So I won't be able to say if it was true to the details of the book, but it was definitely true to the emotions.
The casting is inspired. Particularly Saoirse Ronan as Susie Salmon, Stanley Tucci as George Harvey and Susan Sarandon as Grandma Lynn. Their performances were phenomenal & while I single them out I really don't feel that any of the cast put a toe, let alone a foot, wrong.
Peter Jackson's vision for the film was striking. He really threw the full breadth of his mammoth imagination into creating the "in between world" that Susie finds herself in. Saying that, it is probably that one element that polarised Natalie and I. I really enjoyed the visual trip that was created but Natalie felt that it was a bit too much. I can see her point, there were moments when those in-between-world scenes did feel a tad self indulgent on the part of Jackson, however the visuals are so lush and stunning that it is a self indulgence we can all enjoy if we let ourselves go with it.
As I write this post The Lovely Bones has a very healthy 8.2 score on IMDB. I think this is a very well deserved high score as I really was inspired by so many aspects of this film. Not for those that want a "cookie cutter" (to quote Jackson) movie, but perfect if you want to really enjoy a wide spectrum of emotions.
I cried several times across the course of the film, but whenever I felt that it was just too sad, something would happen to change the mood. The arrival of Grandma Lynn is a perfect example of this. I was laughing with the tears still fresh on my cheeks.
A beautiful, cathartic film. I give it a 9/10. Go see it when it appears at cinemas near you (well if you want to, I'm not threatening you or anything)
But that is enough with the excuses and on to the blogging. Tonight I went to see The Lovely Bones, I was lucky enough to get tickets to the Australian premiere. I do enjoy sashaying up a red carpet, so I was ready for a great night out. The lovely Natalie Meadows joined me, which made for a good mix of impressions as she hasn't read the book while I have.
I remember that I loved the book by Alice Sebold but my memories of the specifics are hazy as I read it many years ago. All I could remember was a general sense of what happened & most importantly how the book made me feel (sad, frustrated, inspired). So I won't be able to say if it was true to the details of the book, but it was definitely true to the emotions.
The casting is inspired. Particularly Saoirse Ronan as Susie Salmon, Stanley Tucci as George Harvey and Susan Sarandon as Grandma Lynn. Their performances were phenomenal & while I single them out I really don't feel that any of the cast put a toe, let alone a foot, wrong.
Peter Jackson's vision for the film was striking. He really threw the full breadth of his mammoth imagination into creating the "in between world" that Susie finds herself in. Saying that, it is probably that one element that polarised Natalie and I. I really enjoyed the visual trip that was created but Natalie felt that it was a bit too much. I can see her point, there were moments when those in-between-world scenes did feel a tad self indulgent on the part of Jackson, however the visuals are so lush and stunning that it is a self indulgence we can all enjoy if we let ourselves go with it.
As I write this post The Lovely Bones has a very healthy 8.2 score on IMDB. I think this is a very well deserved high score as I really was inspired by so many aspects of this film. Not for those that want a "cookie cutter" (to quote Jackson) movie, but perfect if you want to really enjoy a wide spectrum of emotions.
I cried several times across the course of the film, but whenever I felt that it was just too sad, something would happen to change the mood. The arrival of Grandma Lynn is a perfect example of this. I was laughing with the tears still fresh on my cheeks.
A beautiful, cathartic film. I give it a 9/10. Go see it when it appears at cinemas near you (well if you want to, I'm not threatening you or anything)
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Spring has sprung
Rather than tell you about the sights of Spring burgeoning around me, I thought I'd post a few pictures that would do the job much better. They are all taken in my local neighbour & I snapped them all today on a beautiful Sunday afternoon walk down to Cremorne Point Reserve. What the pictures don't tell you is what I could hear. The sounds were wonderful. The birds seemed to be partying with lots of different bird calls fluttering through the air. The sea spoke rhythmically in the background, a soothing, repetitive inhale & exhale against the rocks below. There was the chatter of children, the occasional excited bark of a puppy out for a leg stretch and the polite hellos of the people walking passed me.
Finally on my way back home there was also the sound of my laboured breathing. It was all up-hill, reminding me that I need to get back in the gym so that I can get my fitness levels up in time for Summer.
That is the end of the Sydney, Lower North Shore Spring has sprung report. Over & out.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The Little Shop of......
Around the corner from my house there is a little shop that fascinates me. When I first moved in here two years ago it was an Antiquarian bookshop that had just closed down. I remember feeling gutted that it was no longer open, as it looked just like a magical bookshop from a kid’s book. You know the type. Old fashioned window panes, small but stuffed full of piles of books: the sort of place that Balthazar would run to hide from bullies in “The Never Ending Story”, or where Mo would find a copy of Inkheart. As a rabid book lover, this store held the promise of so much magic that it was devastating to discover it too late.
It sat empty for a while, the outline of the words “Antiquarian bookshop” still visible despite all of the signage having been taken down. I was curious to see what would happen with this cosy space, it just seemed so sad and lonely empty. After a couple of months of lifelessness things began to change. I walked passed once on the way home, the front door was open and it was being cleaned. Life was returning and I felt quite excited about it.
This excitement was replaced by confusion. It is hard for me to describe the new identity of the shop. It was one part gallery, one part geek-fest, one part second hand “stuff” shop. I suspect that it was trying to position itself as a source of great collectibles. There were Star Trek figurines, model boats, second hand books, a giant tortoise shell and the list goes on. It was the shop equivalent of a car boot sale and it struggled to find its feet. Instead of having shelves full of different things to search through, they had a limited number of items displayed in cabinets (hence the part gallery feel). It wasn’t cosy at all and I don’t think the building approved. It didn’t embrace this new look at all, but seemed to throw shadows to deliberately clash with the decor and contents. I never saw anyone actually browsing in there, only the large shop keeper and a woman I think may have been his mother. One of them would always be sat in there waiting. It made me think of a spider sitting patiently in its web.
It took well over a year but I wasn’t surprised when the “Closing down sale” signs appeared recently. I did feel sad for those that had tried to make a go of it there, but having never spoken to them I didn’t have a personal connection with them. I was a little pleased for the shop though, hoping that the new incarnation will fit the personality of the space better.
The new signage has just gone up on the window and it is now going to be a florist’s shop. The lettering fits perfectly with the window panes. This bodes well. Maybe, this shop has found out what it wants to be, only time will tell but I will be treating myself to a bouquet on opening day.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
My War on Time
The concept of time has been keeping me awake recently. I can almost hear the seconds marching across my bed during my futile attempts to slip through the magical doorway to the land of sleep.
How can something that we can’t see, touch, taste, hear or smell have so much power? It has tendrils in everything that we do dictating when we work, sleep, eat, worship, start a family, drink, have a break, play, holiday, relax and the list goes on.
As a species we are obsessed with Time: this invisible commodity that apparently even the richest cannot buy. We are all allegedly time poor, so a deluge of products has been developed to help us save up our quota of Time. We are willing not only to pay more for these Time saving offerings but to damage our health. Instead of crafting a healthy meal we pump ourselves full of salt and sugar courtesy of fast food, ready meals and snacks created for “the professional person on the go”.
Cars, trains, planes, boats have all evolved to help us in our rush to get from A to B, with the average distance between A to B growing with every decade.
We strive to master Time, this human construct of schedules and deadlines, but this is a fight we cannot win. Time will always have the upper hand because the more time saving devices we create, the less time we have as a result. Email enables us to get our responses to requests out faster, but it has also led to the number of requests we receive growing exponentially.
This obsession with Time could ultimately lead to the extinction of the human race. Kind of ironic really: we’ve chased time so aggressively that we’ve created a planet that will soon wipe us out and start again. Maybe the creation of the first clock was the day that the first nail was hammered in to the coffin of humanity. It is just like us to create the schedule for our own destruction.
As an individual though, there is very little that I can do to save us from the end that is coming at some as yet unspecified moment in time (fear not though, I’m sure lots of experts are working to pin point the exact end date). What I can do is look to my own relationship with time and how it has impacted on my own life. That at least I can change and the reality is that I have been bullied by time all my life and it’s time that I stood up for myself.
I am drawing the line in the sand. From now on I’m going to listen to my body clock and not the persistent nagging of the watch of my wrist (heaven forbid we lose track of time!!). I’m also going to become more aware of nature’s rhythm. Seasons will no longer just be about the weather for me, but about when different fruits and vegetables are available locally.
Obviously I can’t completely ignore my watch and my many alarm clocks (I’m a night child in a society scheduled by morning people). I need my job to keep Louis in the manner to which he has become accustomed (he has expensive taste in cat food). My job demands that I be a slave to time. But that is just one aspect of my life. Surely outside of work there is a window of opportunity for me to listen to the rhythms of the world around me and to be really present in my life.
Instead of constantly planning and scheduling I’m going to find a mental space where I can simply be: where I can observe how I feel (when did you last check in with yourself?) and be in tune with the sights, sounds, smells, textures and tastes that surround me. It will be in those moments of really being that I will finally be able to turn around and show Time the finger.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
What do I want to be when I grow up?
You’d think I’d have an answer to the question above, as by anyone’s book I’m supposed to be a “grown-up” by now, but the magic on-switch for maturity has yet to kick in with me. I still don’t feel “grown-up”. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to feel like.
I’m not saying that I’m a child-like 34 year old, I’m not quite that pathetic. I’m independent, have a good job, a beautiful cat, a lovely home that I rent in a country far away from the one I started in. I don’t rely on others to look after me the way that a child would. But I still don’t feel grown-up. Maybe it is my incapacity to have a proper relationship, as there is a lot of social pressure to settle down with a partner and start a family. However, it could well be that that isn’t what the future holds for me, it might be, but it might not. People who try to be reassuring by saying “you’ll find the right person eventually” are treading on very thin ice. What proof is there that I will? Why is it such a priority for everyone? Why is the success of my life linked to my marital or relationship status?
I didn’t start this post to go all Bridget Jones (can’t drink Chardonnay for one thing) but have I been so brainwashed by society that I’m going to feel incomplete and un-grown-up until I settle down? I joke about becoming the local mad cat woman (I only have 1 cat in Sydney & I don’t smell of pee, so it is still technically a joke) but why do we still look down on people who are alone? It isn’t just people with partners who feel pity for the terminally single. Other singletons are just as bad. Clearly we are all subject to the same brain-washing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it is better to be single than in a relationship. A relationship with the right person is amazing, or so I’m led to believe. But we all know people who are in relationships with the wrong person, because they think a bad relationship is better than being alone. I can’t imagine anything worse.
So maybe my status as proper grown-up human will only kick in once I find me a man, buy me a house and start me a family? I doubt it. I think I could do everything on the shopping list of life and still feel like a child, even in my 80s. Maybe it is because sometimes I look at people who act like proper grown-ups and I suspect that it is exactly that: an act. And there is nothing wrong with that. Let’s all stop putting unnecessary pressure on ourselves to conform to an idea that doesn’t exist. The terms grown-up implies an end: that is it; you have grown; there is no more growing to do. What utter bollocks!
Human beings are in a constant state of change. We are always growing, in one way or another. To try and shoe-horn ourselves into a box; to live life as if it is a set menu; that means we aren’t living our own lives at all. We aren’t exploring and designing them for ourselves. We should embrace the fact that we all take different paths. Those that find the right person and have a loving, frustrating, demanding, ultimately rewarding family, are lucky. So is the girl who lives life on her own terms, tasting the flavours that each day presents, unsure if she will ever meet the right person but content in the knowledge that she is experiencing the adventure that is life. She’ll have time to feel like a grown-up on her death bed, when she looks back and realises that she has reached the final moment and her growing has come to an end.
I’m not saying that I’m a child-like 34 year old, I’m not quite that pathetic. I’m independent, have a good job, a beautiful cat, a lovely home that I rent in a country far away from the one I started in. I don’t rely on others to look after me the way that a child would. But I still don’t feel grown-up. Maybe it is my incapacity to have a proper relationship, as there is a lot of social pressure to settle down with a partner and start a family. However, it could well be that that isn’t what the future holds for me, it might be, but it might not. People who try to be reassuring by saying “you’ll find the right person eventually” are treading on very thin ice. What proof is there that I will? Why is it such a priority for everyone? Why is the success of my life linked to my marital or relationship status?
I didn’t start this post to go all Bridget Jones (can’t drink Chardonnay for one thing) but have I been so brainwashed by society that I’m going to feel incomplete and un-grown-up until I settle down? I joke about becoming the local mad cat woman (I only have 1 cat in Sydney & I don’t smell of pee, so it is still technically a joke) but why do we still look down on people who are alone? It isn’t just people with partners who feel pity for the terminally single. Other singletons are just as bad. Clearly we are all subject to the same brain-washing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it is better to be single than in a relationship. A relationship with the right person is amazing, or so I’m led to believe. But we all know people who are in relationships with the wrong person, because they think a bad relationship is better than being alone. I can’t imagine anything worse.
So maybe my status as proper grown-up human will only kick in once I find me a man, buy me a house and start me a family? I doubt it. I think I could do everything on the shopping list of life and still feel like a child, even in my 80s. Maybe it is because sometimes I look at people who act like proper grown-ups and I suspect that it is exactly that: an act. And there is nothing wrong with that. Let’s all stop putting unnecessary pressure on ourselves to conform to an idea that doesn’t exist. The terms grown-up implies an end: that is it; you have grown; there is no more growing to do. What utter bollocks!
Human beings are in a constant state of change. We are always growing, in one way or another. To try and shoe-horn ourselves into a box; to live life as if it is a set menu; that means we aren’t living our own lives at all. We aren’t exploring and designing them for ourselves. We should embrace the fact that we all take different paths. Those that find the right person and have a loving, frustrating, demanding, ultimately rewarding family, are lucky. So is the girl who lives life on her own terms, tasting the flavours that each day presents, unsure if she will ever meet the right person but content in the knowledge that she is experiencing the adventure that is life. She’ll have time to feel like a grown-up on her death bed, when she looks back and realises that she has reached the final moment and her growing has come to an end.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Orbiting Satellites
As an expat living in the land of Far Far Away I seem to have become hyper aware of the relationships I have with the people around me. I no longer have the warm cosy comfort blanket of friends that have been in my life, for better or worse, across many turbulent years. Rather than having a diary full of social arrangements that I need to manage carefully to get the treasure of an entire day “to do nothing”, I could easily succumb to the seductive lure of entire weekends filled with social nothingness (sorry Louis, but cute as you are, you don’t count). The most dangerous thing is that this social invisibility can become addictive, particularly when you work in a people industry like mine. It has made me realise that being sociable is a muscle like any other, which we need to exercise regularly to avoid atrophy.
But what does being sociable really mean? I already have the beginnings of a rather wonderful small (or exclusive if you prefer) circle of friends that are there for me when I try to kick the drug of “me time”. Sadly the drug is frequently stronger than me, as there are endless temptations in my little house, to keep me happily occupied for days on end (books, DVDs, PVR, music and the wonderful comforts of bed). So I decided to keep an eye on myself over the last 7 days to see if I really am as unsociable as I think.
Firstly it is important, for those that don’t know me and my family, that I explain my genetic coding. My mum is the first to make friends with randoms in queues. She has an ability to chat with anyone at the most unexpected moments and put them at their ease. I am definitely my mother’s daughter. As a result, I now realise that if I truly want social seclusion I can’t leave the house! Even the front garden is a danger zone of potential social exchanges. All it takes is for one small child to spot the ginger fluffiness of Louis and next thing I know I’m having a deep conversation about pet ownership and parenthood with the accompanying adult.
So what have I discovered about myself over the last 7 days? While I have a small system of close friends, I have a huge universe of orbiting satellites that make a very real and positive impact on my life. How can a girl feel lonely or socially isolated when there are people and their stories everywhere that she turns? So this blog post is dedicated to these people that make up the village community of my Australian life.
There is my Vietnamese manicurist who is missing her children, particularly Lucy who turned 1 last month and is the cutest little girl you could wish for (I’ve seen the photos). Lucy and her 5 year old brother Ryan (serious looking boy that doesn’t like to be photographed) are currently in Vietnam staying with their grandmother, but they’ll be back in October as their mum is flying all the way to Vietnam for a long weekend to pick them up. I reassure her that the time will fly, but it is clear that she feels the gap they normally fill like a painful physical absence.
There are the lovely ladies that work in the cafe round the corner from my house that know that I just love their Thai Chicken salad of a Saturday lunchtime and who always ask me how Louis is doing and whether he has grown (the answer generally being yes).
There is the girl at the hairdressers that always smiles and asks me how I am. The family who run the Green Grocers who work 7 days a week 52 weeks of the year, but never complain as they love what they do. It really is a family operation with their eldest daughter (early teens) sharing my love of fresh figs.
I mustn’t forget the corner shop, the Japanese take-away and the butchers again all within a block of my house and they’re all ready with a smile and a “hi” when I walk past, or a full conversation if I’m in consumer mode.
That barely skims the surface of the satellites orbiting my life. We haven’t even touched on my work week. The coffee shop near work where the coffee cup lid reads “Steph” not “Soy flat white”, I think that means I have a signature coffee. I find that pretty cool. Or the Korean place I like to go for lunch, where they always give me a sweet as I’m leaving, and if I order the noodle soup with dumplings they know to sneak me in a serving of mushrooms too (all I can say to that is yummy!).
All in all I really can’t be accused of being anti-social. If anything I’m compulsively social, because even if I do lock the front door in an attempt to cut myself off from the world, there is no one there to confiscate my computer. With the wonders of the internet at my finger tips the first thing I do when I get home is switch on my laptop. After feeding Louis I wait impatiently for the computer to fully boot up so that I can check my emails, my facebook and my twitter. Next thing I know, an hour has passed, my tummy is rumbling and I’ve been chatting away with lovely tweets from all around the world.
If any of my friends or family back home are reading this and are worried that I might get lonely on this side of the planet, be reassured. Loneliness just isn’t part of my genetic make-up!
But what does being sociable really mean? I already have the beginnings of a rather wonderful small (or exclusive if you prefer) circle of friends that are there for me when I try to kick the drug of “me time”. Sadly the drug is frequently stronger than me, as there are endless temptations in my little house, to keep me happily occupied for days on end (books, DVDs, PVR, music and the wonderful comforts of bed). So I decided to keep an eye on myself over the last 7 days to see if I really am as unsociable as I think.
Firstly it is important, for those that don’t know me and my family, that I explain my genetic coding. My mum is the first to make friends with randoms in queues. She has an ability to chat with anyone at the most unexpected moments and put them at their ease. I am definitely my mother’s daughter. As a result, I now realise that if I truly want social seclusion I can’t leave the house! Even the front garden is a danger zone of potential social exchanges. All it takes is for one small child to spot the ginger fluffiness of Louis and next thing I know I’m having a deep conversation about pet ownership and parenthood with the accompanying adult.
So what have I discovered about myself over the last 7 days? While I have a small system of close friends, I have a huge universe of orbiting satellites that make a very real and positive impact on my life. How can a girl feel lonely or socially isolated when there are people and their stories everywhere that she turns? So this blog post is dedicated to these people that make up the village community of my Australian life.
There is my Vietnamese manicurist who is missing her children, particularly Lucy who turned 1 last month and is the cutest little girl you could wish for (I’ve seen the photos). Lucy and her 5 year old brother Ryan (serious looking boy that doesn’t like to be photographed) are currently in Vietnam staying with their grandmother, but they’ll be back in October as their mum is flying all the way to Vietnam for a long weekend to pick them up. I reassure her that the time will fly, but it is clear that she feels the gap they normally fill like a painful physical absence.
There are the lovely ladies that work in the cafe round the corner from my house that know that I just love their Thai Chicken salad of a Saturday lunchtime and who always ask me how Louis is doing and whether he has grown (the answer generally being yes).
There is the girl at the hairdressers that always smiles and asks me how I am. The family who run the Green Grocers who work 7 days a week 52 weeks of the year, but never complain as they love what they do. It really is a family operation with their eldest daughter (early teens) sharing my love of fresh figs.
I mustn’t forget the corner shop, the Japanese take-away and the butchers again all within a block of my house and they’re all ready with a smile and a “hi” when I walk past, or a full conversation if I’m in consumer mode.
That barely skims the surface of the satellites orbiting my life. We haven’t even touched on my work week. The coffee shop near work where the coffee cup lid reads “Steph” not “Soy flat white”, I think that means I have a signature coffee. I find that pretty cool. Or the Korean place I like to go for lunch, where they always give me a sweet as I’m leaving, and if I order the noodle soup with dumplings they know to sneak me in a serving of mushrooms too (all I can say to that is yummy!).
All in all I really can’t be accused of being anti-social. If anything I’m compulsively social, because even if I do lock the front door in an attempt to cut myself off from the world, there is no one there to confiscate my computer. With the wonders of the internet at my finger tips the first thing I do when I get home is switch on my laptop. After feeding Louis I wait impatiently for the computer to fully boot up so that I can check my emails, my facebook and my twitter. Next thing I know, an hour has passed, my tummy is rumbling and I’ve been chatting away with lovely tweets from all around the world.
If any of my friends or family back home are reading this and are worried that I might get lonely on this side of the planet, be reassured. Loneliness just isn’t part of my genetic make-up!
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Wow is it August 2009 already?
Taking a break from posting fiction, I thought I’d share with you the latest from the world of Steph & Louis.
Is it just me or did 2009 start just yesterday? Where have the last 7 months gone? They’ve simply flown by. Louis is now 11 months old, and growing at a crazy rate. I am starting to suspect that I got myself a dwarf lion and not a normal cat at all.
He is a lovely, good natured boy though. I managed to intercept him yesterday when he was going to bring a lizard to play with into the house. Giving him my sternest look I said “Don’t even think about it!”
Well he did think about it, you could almost see the synapses sparking behind his eyes as he assessed his options. Deciding that Mama Steph was not to be messed with, he slowly lowered his head, eyes fixed on me and opened his mouth. The liberated lizard darted away to hide in the weeds (I’m not the world’s best gardener) and Louis, seeing something move fast promptly forgot that he just set it free and started to pursue it again. It must be lovely to be a kitten, with the attention span of a goldfish.
My nephew Tom, aged 9 yrs old (I still like to think of him as 6 yrs old, it comforts me) came round to see me on Thursday night and he played with Louis for hours. He only got scratched twice, which isn’t bad given how over excited the two of them were. It was a lovely evening. I’d been signed off work by my doctor because of a stomach virus that I couldn’t shift. Saying that I think he mainly signed me off because he wasn’t that sure what I had and I was the colour of cement. Apparently grey is not a good look for me, as he kept saying that I looked awful, the flatterer.
Tom had baked me “moon cookies” which look a bit like small scones and taste lovely. He believes in using really large choc chips, he’s a good boy. Tom thought they might make me feel better and I think it worked as by Friday I was feeling vaguely human (although still slightly cement hued) and Saturday I even walked up the road without hyperventilating. Today I feel normal again, and the writing has recommenced. My main problem being that I have just too many story ideas at the moment, I’m finding it hard to commit to one.
So 2009 is over 7 months old now, what are the top ten things that I’ve learnt so far:
1) I’m a much happier human if I have a pet
2) Writing makes my soul sing, even though it is frustratingly hard work and can feel like you’re head butting a wall at times
3) You meet the loveliest people on twitter. Sure that my work colleagues will look down on the whole thing as they describe it as “you like talk to strangers, weird” but I don’t want to explain it to them, it is my space to chat. They can stick to facebook. Why do people have to be so negative about things they don't understand?
4) Friends are a wonderful invention and really enrich my life
5) I’m looking forward to my trip to the UK in December, even though it will be so cold, can’t wait to see everyone, I’m ready for a holiday “back home”
6) You can only live for about 1 month without a vacuum cleaner before going insane
7) You should listen to the doctor when he says rest, otherwise you’ll just keep getting sick every other week
8) Work is fine and can even be fun, if you don’t let it take over your life
9) I’m very good at what I do, day job wise that is, but I don’t necessarily want to do it forever
10) It really isn’t that important to be understood, just so long as people give you the space you need to simply BE. You really don’t need to apologise for that
Ok so maybe I am still feeling unwell to be drivelling on, but life is pretty good at the moment. I’m enjoying it before I hit the office tomorrow and have to do 5 days work in 1 day. I’m contemplating going out and walking to Mosman to buy the most beautifully tomatoes on the planet at the Fourth Village, Vista Street (if I big them up, they might find out about it and give a free lifetime supply!)
The sun is shining and hope continues to spring eternal in my world
Is it just me or did 2009 start just yesterday? Where have the last 7 months gone? They’ve simply flown by. Louis is now 11 months old, and growing at a crazy rate. I am starting to suspect that I got myself a dwarf lion and not a normal cat at all.
He is a lovely, good natured boy though. I managed to intercept him yesterday when he was going to bring a lizard to play with into the house. Giving him my sternest look I said “Don’t even think about it!”
Well he did think about it, you could almost see the synapses sparking behind his eyes as he assessed his options. Deciding that Mama Steph was not to be messed with, he slowly lowered his head, eyes fixed on me and opened his mouth. The liberated lizard darted away to hide in the weeds (I’m not the world’s best gardener) and Louis, seeing something move fast promptly forgot that he just set it free and started to pursue it again. It must be lovely to be a kitten, with the attention span of a goldfish.
My nephew Tom, aged 9 yrs old (I still like to think of him as 6 yrs old, it comforts me) came round to see me on Thursday night and he played with Louis for hours. He only got scratched twice, which isn’t bad given how over excited the two of them were. It was a lovely evening. I’d been signed off work by my doctor because of a stomach virus that I couldn’t shift. Saying that I think he mainly signed me off because he wasn’t that sure what I had and I was the colour of cement. Apparently grey is not a good look for me, as he kept saying that I looked awful, the flatterer.
Tom had baked me “moon cookies” which look a bit like small scones and taste lovely. He believes in using really large choc chips, he’s a good boy. Tom thought they might make me feel better and I think it worked as by Friday I was feeling vaguely human (although still slightly cement hued) and Saturday I even walked up the road without hyperventilating. Today I feel normal again, and the writing has recommenced. My main problem being that I have just too many story ideas at the moment, I’m finding it hard to commit to one.
So 2009 is over 7 months old now, what are the top ten things that I’ve learnt so far:
1) I’m a much happier human if I have a pet
2) Writing makes my soul sing, even though it is frustratingly hard work and can feel like you’re head butting a wall at times
3) You meet the loveliest people on twitter. Sure that my work colleagues will look down on the whole thing as they describe it as “you like talk to strangers, weird” but I don’t want to explain it to them, it is my space to chat. They can stick to facebook. Why do people have to be so negative about things they don't understand?
4) Friends are a wonderful invention and really enrich my life
5) I’m looking forward to my trip to the UK in December, even though it will be so cold, can’t wait to see everyone, I’m ready for a holiday “back home”
6) You can only live for about 1 month without a vacuum cleaner before going insane
7) You should listen to the doctor when he says rest, otherwise you’ll just keep getting sick every other week
8) Work is fine and can even be fun, if you don’t let it take over your life
9) I’m very good at what I do, day job wise that is, but I don’t necessarily want to do it forever
10) It really isn’t that important to be understood, just so long as people give you the space you need to simply BE. You really don’t need to apologise for that
Ok so maybe I am still feeling unwell to be drivelling on, but life is pretty good at the moment. I’m enjoying it before I hit the office tomorrow and have to do 5 days work in 1 day. I’m contemplating going out and walking to Mosman to buy the most beautifully tomatoes on the planet at the Fourth Village, Vista Street (if I big them up, they might find out about it and give a free lifetime supply!)
The sun is shining and hope continues to spring eternal in my world
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Lost Property: The complete story (at last!!)
For those that have already read parts 1-3, I've kept the "part" dividers in so you can easily scroll down to Part 4 (the final part - woo hoo - sorry by I've grown to really dislike the main character, she's what my work colleagues would call "a mole")
Otherwise, here is the full story, all in one place, so you don't need to go through the archives to track them down and get up to speed. After all, if I make it all too hard, you may decide you have better things to do with your time.
I hope you enjoy it! If not, I'm sorry but admit it, you've wasted more time watching some truly awful dross on TV
Part 1: The Hangover
Morning light leaked insipidly through gaps in the curtains, the tendrils of pale sharp-edged white hinted at the cold lurking outside. An arm emerged from the sanctuary of the duvet and felt around blindly for the source of a hostile ringing noise. Failing in its mission, more of the body emerged into the cold “barley white” morning revealing Michelle in the company of one hell of a hangover.
Splitting open crust-sealed eyes Michelle looked around only to be reminded that in the spirit of drunken malice the night before, she’d placed her alarm clock on the other side of the room. This left her with two equally unpleasant alternatives: she could either leave the warm bed cocoon or put up with the continued clang of her alarm. Given its continued insistence she get up, she opted for the former and moved with the grace of a semi-frozen gazelle across her room where she violently took her frustration out on the noisy inanimate object. Once she was sure it was dead, she stood shivering in her rather dilapidated night shirt, not awake enough to make a quick decision regarding her next move.
As the wheels of her brain squeaked reluctantly into her action, she reached for her dressing gown. An annoyingly officious nagging voice squatting in the back of her mind reminded her that alcohol fuelled bitchiness hadn’t been the only reason for the cruel positioning of the alarm clock. She looked wistfully at her bed but the voice would not be quieted, pointedly reminding her that she had a meeting first thing and she couldn’t afford to be late.
Dragging her hangover with her Michelle showered, brushed her teeth, and moisturised while she struggled to maintain a state of out-of-body numbness. She jabbed contact lenses that felt like they’d soaked in acid over-night, into her angry, red eyes. Blinking blearily around the bathroom the full scale of her hangover finally hit. She was in a world of pain and her body was screaming for water. Guzzling rusty tasting water directly from the tap did very little to alleviate her raging thirst. This was going to be a truly shitty day.
Once fully dressed, Michelle examined herself in the full length mirror. She wasn’t convinced the blue top went with the brown trousers, but she couldn’t find the energy to care, let alone change. She rubbed her eyes delicately and peered more closely at the mirror, it misted gently with her sour mint breath. She decided she must still be drunk because she looked positively blurry. It wasn’t just her red eyes, damp tangled hair or pale face that made her look the worse for wear. She felt and looked translucent. Surely she was imagining that she could see the books on the shelves directly behind her? The more she stared the more she realised that the words “Great Expectations” were aligned uncannily perfectly with her nose, or through her nose, or behind her nose..... Her mind balked as she tried to work out the relationship between Dickens’ book and her nose.
Closing her eyes and breathing slowly she decided to move on. No good was coming of her staring through herself in the mirror. Her mind was clearly playing tricks on her and she needed to pull herself together and brave the commute to work. Tardiness was not an option and London Transport waited for no man or woman or hangover.
Part 2: The Commute
Despite her green duffle coat, red woolly hat and 10 miles of blue scarf wrapped around her throat, fingers of morning cold still found vulnerable areas to tickle and nip. Shivering, Michelle blew her warm breath up towards her nose in a vain attempt to defrost it.
Standing at Earlsfield Station was never the highlight of her day. The combination of pain, cold, thirst and tiredness made the whole commuter battle seem impossible. The thought of cramming herself onto an overcrowded train made bile rise to the back of her throat. She’d already let three trains go without joining the herd fighting their way on-board. Unfortunately for every person carried away on the train, another two seemed to appear at the station to take their place. It was now or never, she psyched herself up, ready to muscle her way in.
The next train to pull in was uncharacteristically empty. Although all the seats were taken there was actual standing room, this was a miracle of biblical proportions. Michelle sent a quiet “Thank you” to the god of commuters as she wedged herself in the corridor between the seats. They formed a natural barrier that limited the number of people that could stand or lean on her. Despite this, she still found herself uncomfortably close to an armpit on her left and a newspaper on her right. Couldn’t they stop reading for the 12 minutes it takes to get to Waterloo? She resented being made to feel like a human coffee table. It would have been less obnoxious if the business man reading the paper didn’t glare at her every time she moved her head and it rustled the pages of his Times. She preferred Guardian readers anyway.
Rushing out of the train at Waterloo, Michelle moved with the other commuters, pulled along like water going down a drain. Propelled in to the bowel s of the underground she headed for the Northbound Northern line platform for part 2 of her torturous morning commute. Fortunately Michelle was a seasoned professional and knew exactly where to stand to line up with the doors of the tube train when it arrived.
1 minute later and she had secured herself an actual seat on a train rocking and shaking its way northwards. Michelle briefly closed her eyes and enjoyed the ability to relax. Re-opening her eyes she watched a girl in the far corner carefully applying make-up. As the girl pulled out a mascara wand Michelle shuddered at her bravery, but looked away as she didn’t think she could stomach witnessing an accidental impaling.
She realised that she probably looked pretty shocking. Inspecting her reflection opposite she was startled to discover that she had what looked like stubble all over her chin. Reflexively she stroked her face but there was nothing. No stubble under her fingers and no answering movement in the window opposite. Michelle blinked her eyes firmly to dispel the rather uncomfortable sensation that she wasn’t looking at her own reflection. On re-opening her eyes though nothing had changed. Either she had morphed in to a 30-something ginger haired man in need of a shave or she was sitting opposite the wrong reflection.
Looking desperately along the far window, she couldn’t find herself anywhere and all of the other reflections matched the person sitting opposite them. “Of course” Michelle thought bitterly “I’m the one with an out of whack reflection.” As if to add insult to injury her ginger companion winked and smiled at her. “Brilliant and he’s a comedian” she’d muttered to herself as she scuffed her shoes together violently in confused irritation, stopping only when a maternal looking lady gave her a pointedly concerned look.
Getting off at Warren Street, Michelle moved in autopilot out of the station along her normal route to the office. She was worried that her work colleagues might notice that she had a man’s reflection and she’d never hear the end of it. Surely it was considered a major no-no in client meetings? Feeling rather persecuted, Michelle felt it was just typical something like this would happen to her! Taking a deep breath she stopped and turned to stare in the window of a news-agency. There she was, distinctly transparent but also quite clearly neither ginger nor male. Heaving a big sigh of relief she’d resumed her walk to work.
Maybe everything was going to be OK after all.
Part 3: Eclipsing the dog
Michelle could have hugged her boss when he told her their morning meeting had been cancelled, she doubted she could have survived without seeming completely incompetent. Her gratitude was short lived as he dumped piles of data on her to collate into spreadsheets. It was one of the necessary joys of being the most junior in the team but sometimes she had the paranoid feeling management had meetings to make up mind-numbingly boring tasks for her to do for their own sick amusement.
As it was going to take a while for her geriatric computer to stop complaining and actually start, Michelle decided to go and make a strong medicinal cup of tea. Just as the kettle chorus reached its climax, Rav their creepy CFO ambled in mug in hand. Not in the mood for small talk, Michelle busied herself with the art of tea making, using all her concentration on ensuring that the tag on the tea bag didn’t get dragged in to the swirl of poured boiling water. Looking up to reach for the milk she realised that Rav was staring at her. Feeling guilty for hogging the kettle she offered it to him. Taking it absently from her fumbling fingers before she could scald him with splashes of hot water, Rav continued to stare.
Self consciously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Michelle put on her brightest smile. “Big night last night, think there are going to be a lot of sore heads today” she chirped attempting to deflect attention from her own sore head. She wasn’t sure what the Finance department attitude was to week-day hangovers. They were always the wildest at the Christmas party, but that was only once a year and it was probably allowed in their contracts.
“Michelle, once you have finished preparing your tea, please pop round my office, there’s something I need to discuss with you” Rav answered. Michelle’s heart sank; the distinct lack of inappropriate banter surely meant she was in trouble.
After taking as long as possible to ensure she’d squeezed every ounce of juice out of the tea bag, Michelle headed to Rav’s office, clasping her mug like a weapon between her fingers. As she walked into the office, Rav expressionlessly indicated she should sit before settling in his own seat behind his uncomfortably tidy desk.
“When I was a boy, we used to play a game called “Eclipsing the Dog”. My parents played it, my grandparents. It goes back generations.”
Michelle looked up with surprise from her mug, unclear where Rav was going with this, and confused to find him looking at her with patent concern.
“You wouldn’t be able to play it in London, too much artificial lighting reflected off the sky. But where I grew up, there wasn’t this problem. The days were bright and the nights was pitch black except for a ceiling of stars During the day the sun used to make our shadows stretch out beside us and on cloudy days you could watch the shadows of the clouds dust over fields and buildings. It was on those days that we’d play. I still remember how we used to giggle and scream”
Sighing Rav paused to take a sip of his tea, reminding Michelle to gulp down some of her own.
“It was a serious business. You couldn’t let the shadow of a cloud cover your shadow. The rules stated that, once covered, you’d lost. The theory being that the cloud would steal your shadow. I was terrified that it would really happen to me one day.”
Michelle could eyes were riveted on Rav, she’d never seen him so solemn and there was something in the slow way he was unwrapping his story, his eyes misted over with nostalgia, that soothed her.
“It’s ironic that it’s when I moved to study in the city, that I became exposed to the real threat. In a place where shadows have no room to breathe, where they live on top of each other and are reduced to pale, insipid forms in the glaring lights and teasing half-lights.”
Rav stopped for another sip of tea, Michelle still transfixed could feel a growing knot of unease in her guts. She didn’t want to ask but knew she had to “why are you telling me this?”
“Michelle, you’re a bright, sensitive young lady, you know that something’s wrong. That you’re not yourself”
“Well I’ll admit I’m a tad hung-over today, last night was a little on the crazy side” she tried to joke, while swallowing down the golf ball sized lump in her throat as her mind chose that moment to run an action replay of winking ginger reflections.
“That’s not what I mean. If that were it I’d have the whole office in here. Are you telling me you haven’t noticed anything strange today?”
“Well maybe” Michelle mumbled quietly, reluctant to open up to Rav and embracing her inner petulant six-year-old.
“There’s no maybe Michelle, you’ve lost your shadow and if you don’t get it back soon, you won’t care enough to!” Rav leant forward over his desk to lend addition emphasis to his words “Do you understand? Too long without it and your spark will be gone! Forever!”
Michelle wished that Rav would stop over-doing it with the exclamation marks and the overly dramatic eyebrow lifts. All she wanted was sleep, anything beyond that required superhuman strength. Now he wanted her to worry about tracking down lost shadows.
“Ok so I’m not feeling very sparky today, but I’ve learned my lesson, tequila shots are a stupid idea. I don’t know what else you expect me to do? I just want to get through today and go to sleep, I feel rotten”
“Think beyond the hangover Michelle, this is on top of the hangover”
“Rav, no offence but I really can’t cope with anything on top of the hangover and I really should be getting back to my desk, I have a mountain of data to get through”
“Michelle, please” The earnestness of Rav’s plea stopped her as she moved to get up. She slumped back awkwardly into the chair and turned to look at him. His brown eyes were darkened with worry. “I’ve seen what this does. I don’t want this to happen to you. You must find it, it can’t wait. I’ll tell your boss that you’re unwell and I sent you home. Go and look please!”
Intimidated by the urgency in his voice, Michelle cracked “but I don’t know where to start” she protested as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away, sniffing loudly over the injustice of this happening to her.
“Try the lost property office at Waterloo. It’s in a corner in the corridors near the entrance for the Bank train. It’s easy to miss if you aren’t looking for it. The man who works there may be able to help you, his name’s Jenkins”
Part 4: What did you expect?
“What am I doing?” Michelle muttered to herself as she staggered wearily through Waterloo. The static whine of the death-glow lighting was making her head buzz. She’d never been gracious when sick so being hung-over and shadow-less wasn’t helping her demeanour one bit. She trundled along oblivious to the looks other commuters were shooting her while giving her a wide berth, reluctant to be dragged into her circle of gloom.
Shrugging her over-loaded handbag to balance more comfortably on her shoulder, Michelle squinted at the options ahead of her. Deciding that this “Lost Property” office was probably lurking on the most inconspicuous looking corridor she headed semi-purposefully to her far left, to an entrance that seemed to be trying its utmost to be ignored. Within seconds she was rewarded with a dilapidated sign saying “←Lost Proper##”, the last couple of letters obscured by what looked like engine oil.
Following the arrow Michelle found herself facing a dimly lit staircase that smelled strongly of urine. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Michelle held her breath as she tripped awkwardly up stairs which curved upwards and round for a lengthy flight.
Her destination resembled an old fashioned coat check area, nothing more than a glorified hatch with a shadowy room behind. She would have thought it completely deserted if it weren’t for “Careless Whisper” playing on a retro eighties style boom box, perched incongruously on an otherwise completely empty shelf.
Clearing her throat Michelle called out “Um hello is anybody here?”
Other than George Michael’s singing there was no response
“Hello I’m looking for someone called Jenkins?” she tried again after a brief pause, feeling semi-relieved that it looked like she’d be able to call this whole thing off and head for the refuge of her bed and the welcoming arms of oblivion, where she belonged.
She almost jumped out of her skin when a face popped up from directly below the hatch, as if he’d been lying on the floor.
“Yes, what do you want?” The face was followed by a lanky body, pulling itself up from behind the counter, before finally towering over her, complete with scowl and thick layer of dust.
“I’m looking for Jenkins” Michelle repeated in her most helpful, efficient office voice, which was her standard default when uncomfortable.
“I heard you the first time, I’m not deaf. I’m Jenkins”
He wasn’t what she’d expected. In her mind’s eye Jenkins had been a Dickensian character with tufts of haphazard white hair, a letter box mouth and a tendency to repeat phrases like “aren’t we in a pickle”. He hadn’t been a 20 something scruff who clearly couldn’t be arsed to deal with her.
“Is there another Jenkins?” She asked hopefully, peering behind into the empty room behind. At least she thought it was empty but the more she looked, the more it seemed to churn with life. Feeling queasy she looked away and back towards the unsmiling face of hopefully the wrong Jenkins.
“I’m sure there are plenty of Jenkins’, but I’m the only one here. I see you’ve a little problem”
He nodded his head to indicate the conspicuously empty space behind her where her shadow should have been squatting obediently at her feet.
“Yes, I was told you might be able to help” So he was the right Jenkins after all, well maybe he’d warm to her. In her mind she was already concocting romantic scenarios where he’d save her shadow and turn out to be the love of her life. She had a bit of a thing for tall skinny men.
“Depends on where you lost it, I haven’t seen any shadows matching your description today”
“But I haven’t described it yet” Michelle answered pleadingly, only to be rewarded with a look that spoke volumes about just how stupid her last remark was.
“Oh right, I see what you mean” she answered lamely. “Sorry, it’s been a weird day. So, if my shadow isn’t here, any ideas of where I should look next?”
“Well it depends” he answered, chewing on a rather well worn pencil. “Either it got took, or it left. What were the circumstances of its disappearance?”
“I was out with work colleagues, just the usual crowd, drinking too much. I woke up this morning with a hangover and without a shadow. That’s the long and the short of it.”
“Ah I see. What do you do?”
“I work in advertising, well the planning side, I don’t actually make ads. I just make sure the right people see them.”
“And is this what you always wanted to do?”
“Not really. I’ve never really known what I want to do. I just stumbled in to it. I got offered the job and I took it. But I’m not sure what this has got to do with anything?”
“Let me be the judge of that” Jenkins responded before plunging into an interrogation that the Inquisition would have been in awe of. Michelle answered his questions as best she could with a bruised brain, feeling a wash of relief when he eventually stopped quizzing her. Suddenly silent he seemed fascinated by a spot about a metre over her head.
“Well?” she prompted.
“Well? What did you expect?” Jenkins responded tetchily, his eyes snapping back to look critically at her. “You don’t create anything. You don’t help people. You don’t seem to serve any real function in life. Seriously what did you expect?”
“Being a judgemental bastard isn’t helping me feel any better.”
“I wasn’t being a bastard, I was explaining the situation. Your life is aimless. Chances are your shadow’s decided to go off and do something a bit more rewarding with its time on the planet.”
“But shadows can’t do that” Michelle spluttered, not knowing whether he was being serious or if he was just trying to upset her even more.
“Really, you’re an expert are you? What’s to stop them? It doesn’t sound like you really need it. Your life is pretty two dimensional. You seem happy enough, you’ve no major goals, no ambition, what are you worried about? You can function perfectly fine without it.”
“But I want it back” Michelle was astounded by just how blasé Jenkins was being
“And I want a multi-million pound house with river views, but life’s shit that way. “
Michelle gaped at Jenkins. She couldn’t think of a single good retort. Her head hurt. “Holding out for a hero” was now playing on the radio and it was way too hectic for her.
“So you’re saying I don’t need it?”
“Nah, not for what you do. You’ll probably do better without.”
“Oh. Wll in that case...” Subdued Michelle stifled a yawn, her eyes aching under the weight of un-used sleep. Mumbling a half-hearted “thanks” she turned, too tired to argue anymore. She slowly trudged away, drawn inexorably bed-wards.
Once home she slept a deep, dark sleep. She didn’t dream. She didn’t move. When she woke up the next morning, she felt fine. She didn’t waste time wallowing in the events of the day before. She got up, washed, dressed, commuted, worked (avoiding Rav), drank and came home again. Again and again she followed the same cycle, interspersed with weekends and sporadic holidays to exotic places with friends and lovers.
Cradled in the comforting arms of routine, Michelle was happy. While she quickly forgot all about him, it turned out Jenkins was right; she never did miss her shadowy hanger-on.
Otherwise, here is the full story, all in one place, so you don't need to go through the archives to track them down and get up to speed. After all, if I make it all too hard, you may decide you have better things to do with your time.
I hope you enjoy it! If not, I'm sorry but admit it, you've wasted more time watching some truly awful dross on TV
Part 1: The Hangover
Morning light leaked insipidly through gaps in the curtains, the tendrils of pale sharp-edged white hinted at the cold lurking outside. An arm emerged from the sanctuary of the duvet and felt around blindly for the source of a hostile ringing noise. Failing in its mission, more of the body emerged into the cold “barley white” morning revealing Michelle in the company of one hell of a hangover.
Splitting open crust-sealed eyes Michelle looked around only to be reminded that in the spirit of drunken malice the night before, she’d placed her alarm clock on the other side of the room. This left her with two equally unpleasant alternatives: she could either leave the warm bed cocoon or put up with the continued clang of her alarm. Given its continued insistence she get up, she opted for the former and moved with the grace of a semi-frozen gazelle across her room where she violently took her frustration out on the noisy inanimate object. Once she was sure it was dead, she stood shivering in her rather dilapidated night shirt, not awake enough to make a quick decision regarding her next move.
As the wheels of her brain squeaked reluctantly into her action, she reached for her dressing gown. An annoyingly officious nagging voice squatting in the back of her mind reminded her that alcohol fuelled bitchiness hadn’t been the only reason for the cruel positioning of the alarm clock. She looked wistfully at her bed but the voice would not be quieted, pointedly reminding her that she had a meeting first thing and she couldn’t afford to be late.
Dragging her hangover with her Michelle showered, brushed her teeth, and moisturised while she struggled to maintain a state of out-of-body numbness. She jabbed contact lenses that felt like they’d soaked in acid over-night, into her angry, red eyes. Blinking blearily around the bathroom the full scale of her hangover finally hit. She was in a world of pain and her body was screaming for water. Guzzling rusty tasting water directly from the tap did very little to alleviate her raging thirst. This was going to be a truly shitty day.
Once fully dressed, Michelle examined herself in the full length mirror. She wasn’t convinced the blue top went with the brown trousers, but she couldn’t find the energy to care, let alone change. She rubbed her eyes delicately and peered more closely at the mirror, it misted gently with her sour mint breath. She decided she must still be drunk because she looked positively blurry. It wasn’t just her red eyes, damp tangled hair or pale face that made her look the worse for wear. She felt and looked translucent. Surely she was imagining that she could see the books on the shelves directly behind her? The more she stared the more she realised that the words “Great Expectations” were aligned uncannily perfectly with her nose, or through her nose, or behind her nose..... Her mind balked as she tried to work out the relationship between Dickens’ book and her nose.
Closing her eyes and breathing slowly she decided to move on. No good was coming of her staring through herself in the mirror. Her mind was clearly playing tricks on her and she needed to pull herself together and brave the commute to work. Tardiness was not an option and London Transport waited for no man or woman or hangover.
Part 2: The Commute
Despite her green duffle coat, red woolly hat and 10 miles of blue scarf wrapped around her throat, fingers of morning cold still found vulnerable areas to tickle and nip. Shivering, Michelle blew her warm breath up towards her nose in a vain attempt to defrost it.
Standing at Earlsfield Station was never the highlight of her day. The combination of pain, cold, thirst and tiredness made the whole commuter battle seem impossible. The thought of cramming herself onto an overcrowded train made bile rise to the back of her throat. She’d already let three trains go without joining the herd fighting their way on-board. Unfortunately for every person carried away on the train, another two seemed to appear at the station to take their place. It was now or never, she psyched herself up, ready to muscle her way in.
The next train to pull in was uncharacteristically empty. Although all the seats were taken there was actual standing room, this was a miracle of biblical proportions. Michelle sent a quiet “Thank you” to the god of commuters as she wedged herself in the corridor between the seats. They formed a natural barrier that limited the number of people that could stand or lean on her. Despite this, she still found herself uncomfortably close to an armpit on her left and a newspaper on her right. Couldn’t they stop reading for the 12 minutes it takes to get to Waterloo? She resented being made to feel like a human coffee table. It would have been less obnoxious if the business man reading the paper didn’t glare at her every time she moved her head and it rustled the pages of his Times. She preferred Guardian readers anyway.
Rushing out of the train at Waterloo, Michelle moved with the other commuters, pulled along like water going down a drain. Propelled in to the bowel s of the underground she headed for the Northbound Northern line platform for part 2 of her torturous morning commute. Fortunately Michelle was a seasoned professional and knew exactly where to stand to line up with the doors of the tube train when it arrived.
1 minute later and she had secured herself an actual seat on a train rocking and shaking its way northwards. Michelle briefly closed her eyes and enjoyed the ability to relax. Re-opening her eyes she watched a girl in the far corner carefully applying make-up. As the girl pulled out a mascara wand Michelle shuddered at her bravery, but looked away as she didn’t think she could stomach witnessing an accidental impaling.
She realised that she probably looked pretty shocking. Inspecting her reflection opposite she was startled to discover that she had what looked like stubble all over her chin. Reflexively she stroked her face but there was nothing. No stubble under her fingers and no answering movement in the window opposite. Michelle blinked her eyes firmly to dispel the rather uncomfortable sensation that she wasn’t looking at her own reflection. On re-opening her eyes though nothing had changed. Either she had morphed in to a 30-something ginger haired man in need of a shave or she was sitting opposite the wrong reflection.
Looking desperately along the far window, she couldn’t find herself anywhere and all of the other reflections matched the person sitting opposite them. “Of course” Michelle thought bitterly “I’m the one with an out of whack reflection.” As if to add insult to injury her ginger companion winked and smiled at her. “Brilliant and he’s a comedian” she’d muttered to herself as she scuffed her shoes together violently in confused irritation, stopping only when a maternal looking lady gave her a pointedly concerned look.
Getting off at Warren Street, Michelle moved in autopilot out of the station along her normal route to the office. She was worried that her work colleagues might notice that she had a man’s reflection and she’d never hear the end of it. Surely it was considered a major no-no in client meetings? Feeling rather persecuted, Michelle felt it was just typical something like this would happen to her! Taking a deep breath she stopped and turned to stare in the window of a news-agency. There she was, distinctly transparent but also quite clearly neither ginger nor male. Heaving a big sigh of relief she’d resumed her walk to work.
Maybe everything was going to be OK after all.
Part 3: Eclipsing the dog
Michelle could have hugged her boss when he told her their morning meeting had been cancelled, she doubted she could have survived without seeming completely incompetent. Her gratitude was short lived as he dumped piles of data on her to collate into spreadsheets. It was one of the necessary joys of being the most junior in the team but sometimes she had the paranoid feeling management had meetings to make up mind-numbingly boring tasks for her to do for their own sick amusement.
As it was going to take a while for her geriatric computer to stop complaining and actually start, Michelle decided to go and make a strong medicinal cup of tea. Just as the kettle chorus reached its climax, Rav their creepy CFO ambled in mug in hand. Not in the mood for small talk, Michelle busied herself with the art of tea making, using all her concentration on ensuring that the tag on the tea bag didn’t get dragged in to the swirl of poured boiling water. Looking up to reach for the milk she realised that Rav was staring at her. Feeling guilty for hogging the kettle she offered it to him. Taking it absently from her fumbling fingers before she could scald him with splashes of hot water, Rav continued to stare.
Self consciously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Michelle put on her brightest smile. “Big night last night, think there are going to be a lot of sore heads today” she chirped attempting to deflect attention from her own sore head. She wasn’t sure what the Finance department attitude was to week-day hangovers. They were always the wildest at the Christmas party, but that was only once a year and it was probably allowed in their contracts.
“Michelle, once you have finished preparing your tea, please pop round my office, there’s something I need to discuss with you” Rav answered. Michelle’s heart sank; the distinct lack of inappropriate banter surely meant she was in trouble.
After taking as long as possible to ensure she’d squeezed every ounce of juice out of the tea bag, Michelle headed to Rav’s office, clasping her mug like a weapon between her fingers. As she walked into the office, Rav expressionlessly indicated she should sit before settling in his own seat behind his uncomfortably tidy desk.
“When I was a boy, we used to play a game called “Eclipsing the Dog”. My parents played it, my grandparents. It goes back generations.”
Michelle looked up with surprise from her mug, unclear where Rav was going with this, and confused to find him looking at her with patent concern.
“You wouldn’t be able to play it in London, too much artificial lighting reflected off the sky. But where I grew up, there wasn’t this problem. The days were bright and the nights was pitch black except for a ceiling of stars During the day the sun used to make our shadows stretch out beside us and on cloudy days you could watch the shadows of the clouds dust over fields and buildings. It was on those days that we’d play. I still remember how we used to giggle and scream”
Sighing Rav paused to take a sip of his tea, reminding Michelle to gulp down some of her own.
“It was a serious business. You couldn’t let the shadow of a cloud cover your shadow. The rules stated that, once covered, you’d lost. The theory being that the cloud would steal your shadow. I was terrified that it would really happen to me one day.”
Michelle could eyes were riveted on Rav, she’d never seen him so solemn and there was something in the slow way he was unwrapping his story, his eyes misted over with nostalgia, that soothed her.
“It’s ironic that it’s when I moved to study in the city, that I became exposed to the real threat. In a place where shadows have no room to breathe, where they live on top of each other and are reduced to pale, insipid forms in the glaring lights and teasing half-lights.”
Rav stopped for another sip of tea, Michelle still transfixed could feel a growing knot of unease in her guts. She didn’t want to ask but knew she had to “why are you telling me this?”
“Michelle, you’re a bright, sensitive young lady, you know that something’s wrong. That you’re not yourself”
“Well I’ll admit I’m a tad hung-over today, last night was a little on the crazy side” she tried to joke, while swallowing down the golf ball sized lump in her throat as her mind chose that moment to run an action replay of winking ginger reflections.
“That’s not what I mean. If that were it I’d have the whole office in here. Are you telling me you haven’t noticed anything strange today?”
“Well maybe” Michelle mumbled quietly, reluctant to open up to Rav and embracing her inner petulant six-year-old.
“There’s no maybe Michelle, you’ve lost your shadow and if you don’t get it back soon, you won’t care enough to!” Rav leant forward over his desk to lend addition emphasis to his words “Do you understand? Too long without it and your spark will be gone! Forever!”
Michelle wished that Rav would stop over-doing it with the exclamation marks and the overly dramatic eyebrow lifts. All she wanted was sleep, anything beyond that required superhuman strength. Now he wanted her to worry about tracking down lost shadows.
“Ok so I’m not feeling very sparky today, but I’ve learned my lesson, tequila shots are a stupid idea. I don’t know what else you expect me to do? I just want to get through today and go to sleep, I feel rotten”
“Think beyond the hangover Michelle, this is on top of the hangover”
“Rav, no offence but I really can’t cope with anything on top of the hangover and I really should be getting back to my desk, I have a mountain of data to get through”
“Michelle, please” The earnestness of Rav’s plea stopped her as she moved to get up. She slumped back awkwardly into the chair and turned to look at him. His brown eyes were darkened with worry. “I’ve seen what this does. I don’t want this to happen to you. You must find it, it can’t wait. I’ll tell your boss that you’re unwell and I sent you home. Go and look please!”
Intimidated by the urgency in his voice, Michelle cracked “but I don’t know where to start” she protested as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away, sniffing loudly over the injustice of this happening to her.
“Try the lost property office at Waterloo. It’s in a corner in the corridors near the entrance for the Bank train. It’s easy to miss if you aren’t looking for it. The man who works there may be able to help you, his name’s Jenkins”
Part 4: What did you expect?
“What am I doing?” Michelle muttered to herself as she staggered wearily through Waterloo. The static whine of the death-glow lighting was making her head buzz. She’d never been gracious when sick so being hung-over and shadow-less wasn’t helping her demeanour one bit. She trundled along oblivious to the looks other commuters were shooting her while giving her a wide berth, reluctant to be dragged into her circle of gloom.
Shrugging her over-loaded handbag to balance more comfortably on her shoulder, Michelle squinted at the options ahead of her. Deciding that this “Lost Property” office was probably lurking on the most inconspicuous looking corridor she headed semi-purposefully to her far left, to an entrance that seemed to be trying its utmost to be ignored. Within seconds she was rewarded with a dilapidated sign saying “←Lost Proper##”, the last couple of letters obscured by what looked like engine oil.
Following the arrow Michelle found herself facing a dimly lit staircase that smelled strongly of urine. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Michelle held her breath as she tripped awkwardly up stairs which curved upwards and round for a lengthy flight.
Her destination resembled an old fashioned coat check area, nothing more than a glorified hatch with a shadowy room behind. She would have thought it completely deserted if it weren’t for “Careless Whisper” playing on a retro eighties style boom box, perched incongruously on an otherwise completely empty shelf.
Clearing her throat Michelle called out “Um hello is anybody here?”
Other than George Michael’s singing there was no response
“Hello I’m looking for someone called Jenkins?” she tried again after a brief pause, feeling semi-relieved that it looked like she’d be able to call this whole thing off and head for the refuge of her bed and the welcoming arms of oblivion, where she belonged.
She almost jumped out of her skin when a face popped up from directly below the hatch, as if he’d been lying on the floor.
“Yes, what do you want?” The face was followed by a lanky body, pulling itself up from behind the counter, before finally towering over her, complete with scowl and thick layer of dust.
“I’m looking for Jenkins” Michelle repeated in her most helpful, efficient office voice, which was her standard default when uncomfortable.
“I heard you the first time, I’m not deaf. I’m Jenkins”
He wasn’t what she’d expected. In her mind’s eye Jenkins had been a Dickensian character with tufts of haphazard white hair, a letter box mouth and a tendency to repeat phrases like “aren’t we in a pickle”. He hadn’t been a 20 something scruff who clearly couldn’t be arsed to deal with her.
“Is there another Jenkins?” She asked hopefully, peering behind into the empty room behind. At least she thought it was empty but the more she looked, the more it seemed to churn with life. Feeling queasy she looked away and back towards the unsmiling face of hopefully the wrong Jenkins.
“I’m sure there are plenty of Jenkins’, but I’m the only one here. I see you’ve a little problem”
He nodded his head to indicate the conspicuously empty space behind her where her shadow should have been squatting obediently at her feet.
“Yes, I was told you might be able to help” So he was the right Jenkins after all, well maybe he’d warm to her. In her mind she was already concocting romantic scenarios where he’d save her shadow and turn out to be the love of her life. She had a bit of a thing for tall skinny men.
“Depends on where you lost it, I haven’t seen any shadows matching your description today”
“But I haven’t described it yet” Michelle answered pleadingly, only to be rewarded with a look that spoke volumes about just how stupid her last remark was.
“Oh right, I see what you mean” she answered lamely. “Sorry, it’s been a weird day. So, if my shadow isn’t here, any ideas of where I should look next?”
“Well it depends” he answered, chewing on a rather well worn pencil. “Either it got took, or it left. What were the circumstances of its disappearance?”
“I was out with work colleagues, just the usual crowd, drinking too much. I woke up this morning with a hangover and without a shadow. That’s the long and the short of it.”
“Ah I see. What do you do?”
“I work in advertising, well the planning side, I don’t actually make ads. I just make sure the right people see them.”
“And is this what you always wanted to do?”
“Not really. I’ve never really known what I want to do. I just stumbled in to it. I got offered the job and I took it. But I’m not sure what this has got to do with anything?”
“Let me be the judge of that” Jenkins responded before plunging into an interrogation that the Inquisition would have been in awe of. Michelle answered his questions as best she could with a bruised brain, feeling a wash of relief when he eventually stopped quizzing her. Suddenly silent he seemed fascinated by a spot about a metre over her head.
“Well?” she prompted.
“Well? What did you expect?” Jenkins responded tetchily, his eyes snapping back to look critically at her. “You don’t create anything. You don’t help people. You don’t seem to serve any real function in life. Seriously what did you expect?”
“Being a judgemental bastard isn’t helping me feel any better.”
“I wasn’t being a bastard, I was explaining the situation. Your life is aimless. Chances are your shadow’s decided to go off and do something a bit more rewarding with its time on the planet.”
“But shadows can’t do that” Michelle spluttered, not knowing whether he was being serious or if he was just trying to upset her even more.
“Really, you’re an expert are you? What’s to stop them? It doesn’t sound like you really need it. Your life is pretty two dimensional. You seem happy enough, you’ve no major goals, no ambition, what are you worried about? You can function perfectly fine without it.”
“But I want it back” Michelle was astounded by just how blasé Jenkins was being
“And I want a multi-million pound house with river views, but life’s shit that way. “
Michelle gaped at Jenkins. She couldn’t think of a single good retort. Her head hurt. “Holding out for a hero” was now playing on the radio and it was way too hectic for her.
“So you’re saying I don’t need it?”
“Nah, not for what you do. You’ll probably do better without.”
“Oh. Wll in that case...” Subdued Michelle stifled a yawn, her eyes aching under the weight of un-used sleep. Mumbling a half-hearted “thanks” she turned, too tired to argue anymore. She slowly trudged away, drawn inexorably bed-wards.
Once home she slept a deep, dark sleep. She didn’t dream. She didn’t move. When she woke up the next morning, she felt fine. She didn’t waste time wallowing in the events of the day before. She got up, washed, dressed, commuted, worked (avoiding Rav), drank and came home again. Again and again she followed the same cycle, interspersed with weekends and sporadic holidays to exotic places with friends and lovers.
Cradled in the comforting arms of routine, Michelle was happy. While she quickly forgot all about him, it turned out Jenkins was right; she never did miss her shadowy hanger-on.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
IOU an ending to lost property.....
....and this ending will come soon! But not today.
I've been focused on other writing related projects, so it isn't slackness delaying Part 4 going up. The weekend before last I spent 3 days doing storytelling bookcamp a la Robert McKee. I learnt a lot but over 11 hours each day doing my best impersonation of a sponge while sitting in a cramped cinema seat was exhausting. It was definitely worth doing though.
This past weekend I wrote a short story that I'm going to enter in the Guardian weekend short story competition (deadline this Friday scary!). I can't pop it up here as that would disqualify it (as would mean previously published, you have to laugh!). Once the judging has passed though I'll pop it on here (unless by some miracle I win, but I don't fancy my chances, I just need the goal to write towards). I thought I would explore a different genre (a sort of "who done it") for me, but really it's an exercise in character development. I've really enjoyed doing it. It is called Pathetique, and is on the nose 2000 words lol. I've re-drafted the story today following some really helpful feedback from my small critics circle (thanks guys, you know who you are!). It's really interesting what they picked up on. If anything, while I may not directly followed all the feedback, it has prompted me to re-think elements, given the readers perspective. Which has been great fun. My problem is that I know the characters far too well, so some things that are obvious to me needed spelling out more.
So once I have a final version of Pathetique sent out to the Guardian I'm planning to write up the final installment of Lost Property. It is all finished in my head, but I need to put pen to paper so that you can read it. Saying that, it is interesting writing in installments, as it limits you ability to go back & revise. I would probably tweek elements of the first 3 parts if I could, but won't as they are out there now warts and all. Plus for me this is all practise, which make you poor souls my willing guinea pigs. Obviously there's nothing good on TV.
My next project is a short story for the Tonto short story competition. I've got a couple of ideas that are at draft concept stage. I'm going to let them ferment while I finish up Lost Property. So this weekend will be about fleshing up the concepts and seeing if I get really excited about any of them. The joy of the Tonto comp is that you can write as much as 5000 words or as little as a bit of flash fiction, so I'm less restricted on form. For the discipline of writing and constructing I'm going to go for a longer form. I'll leave my flash fiction for this blog, just for you special folk.
Well it is passed midnight so I'd better go to bed. Louis has already turned into a pumpkin on the chair, cutest pumpkin I've ever seen though : )
Happy dreams, whatever they may be
I've been focused on other writing related projects, so it isn't slackness delaying Part 4 going up. The weekend before last I spent 3 days doing storytelling bookcamp a la Robert McKee. I learnt a lot but over 11 hours each day doing my best impersonation of a sponge while sitting in a cramped cinema seat was exhausting. It was definitely worth doing though.
This past weekend I wrote a short story that I'm going to enter in the Guardian weekend short story competition (deadline this Friday scary!). I can't pop it up here as that would disqualify it (as would mean previously published, you have to laugh!). Once the judging has passed though I'll pop it on here (unless by some miracle I win, but I don't fancy my chances, I just need the goal to write towards). I thought I would explore a different genre (a sort of "who done it") for me, but really it's an exercise in character development. I've really enjoyed doing it. It is called Pathetique, and is on the nose 2000 words lol. I've re-drafted the story today following some really helpful feedback from my small critics circle (thanks guys, you know who you are!). It's really interesting what they picked up on. If anything, while I may not directly followed all the feedback, it has prompted me to re-think elements, given the readers perspective. Which has been great fun. My problem is that I know the characters far too well, so some things that are obvious to me needed spelling out more.
So once I have a final version of Pathetique sent out to the Guardian I'm planning to write up the final installment of Lost Property. It is all finished in my head, but I need to put pen to paper so that you can read it. Saying that, it is interesting writing in installments, as it limits you ability to go back & revise. I would probably tweek elements of the first 3 parts if I could, but won't as they are out there now warts and all. Plus for me this is all practise, which make you poor souls my willing guinea pigs. Obviously there's nothing good on TV.
My next project is a short story for the Tonto short story competition. I've got a couple of ideas that are at draft concept stage. I'm going to let them ferment while I finish up Lost Property. So this weekend will be about fleshing up the concepts and seeing if I get really excited about any of them. The joy of the Tonto comp is that you can write as much as 5000 words or as little as a bit of flash fiction, so I'm less restricted on form. For the discipline of writing and constructing I'm going to go for a longer form. I'll leave my flash fiction for this blog, just for you special folk.
Well it is passed midnight so I'd better go to bed. Louis has already turned into a pumpkin on the chair, cutest pumpkin I've ever seen though : )
Happy dreams, whatever they may be
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Lost Property Part 3: Eclipsing The Dog
Michelle could have hugged her boss when he told her that their morning meeting had been cancelled, she doubted she could have survived it without seeming completely incompetent. Her gratitude was short lived, as he dumped a pile of competitive data on her to collate and put in to workable spreadsheets. It was one of the necessary joys of being the most junior in the team but sometimes she had the paranoid feeling that management had meetings where they made up mind-numbingly boring requests for her to respond to for their own amusement.
As it was going to take a while for her geriatric computer to stop complaining about being asked to work and actually start, Michelle decided to go and make a strong medicinal cup of tea. Just as the kettle chorus was reaching its climax, Rav their creepy CFO ambled in mug in hand.
Not in the mood for small talk, Michelle busied herself with the art of tea making, using all her concentration on ensuring that the tag on the tea bag didn’t get dragged in to the swirl of poured boiling water. Looking up to reach for the milk she realised that Rav was staring at her. Feeling guilty for hogging the kettle she offered it to him. Taking it absently from her fumbling fingers before she could scald him with splashes of hot water, Rav continued to stare.
Self consciously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Michelle put on her brightest smile. “Big night last night, think there are going to be a lot of sore heads today” she chirped attempting to deflect attention from her own sore head. She wasn’t sure what the Finance department attitude was to week-day hangovers. They were always the wildest at the Christmas party, but that was only once a year and it was probably allowed in their contracts.
“Michelle, once you have finished preparing your tea, if you could pop round my office, there’s something I need to discuss with you” Rav answered. Michelle’s heart sank as the lack of inappropriate banter or innuendo surely meant that she was in trouble.
After taking as long as she could to ensure she put exactly the right amount of milk into the mug and viciously squeezed every ounce of tea juice out of the tea bag, Michelle headed to Rav’s office, clasping her mug like a weapon between her fingers. As she walked into the office, Rav was expressionless as he indicated that she should sit down before settling in his seat behind his uncomfortably tidy desk.
“When I was a boy, there was a game we used to play called “Eclipsing the Dog”. My parents played it, my grandparents. It goes back generations.”
Michelle looked up with surprise from her mug, unclear where Rav was going with this, and confused to find him looking at her with patent concern.
“You wouldn’t be able to play it in London, too much artificial lighting reflected off the sky. But where I grew up, there wasn’t this problem. The days were bright and the nights was pitch black except for a ceiling of stars During the day the sun used to make our shadows stretch out beside us and on cloudy days you could watch the shadows of the clouds dust over fields and buildings. It was on those days we would play Eclipsing the Dog, I still remember how we used to giggle and scream” Sighing Rav paused to take a sip of his tea.
“It was a serious business. You could not let the shadow of a cloud cover your shadow. The rules stated that once covered the cloud could steal your shadow leaving you behind to live a half life without it”
Michelle could feel her eyes riveted on Rav, she had never seen him quite so solemn and there was something in the slow way he was unwrapping his story that hypnotised her
“We played this game throughout my childhood and when I was grown I still knew to avoid the passing shadow of clouds in case they should hide something wanting to steal my shadow and leave me incomplete. It is ironic that it is when I moved to study in the city, that I became exposed to the real threat.
In a place where shadows have no room to breathe, where they live on top of each other and are reduced to pale, insipid forms in the glaring lights and teasing half-lights. It’s here that I’ve finally met the shadow-less, seen them move robotically through their daily lives completely unaware of their loss and too numb to understand that something is fundamentally wrong with them.”
Rav stopped for another sip of tea, Michelle still transfixed could feel a growing knot of unease in her guts. She didn’t want to ask but knew she had to “why are you telling me this?”
“Michelle, you are a bright and sensitive young lady, you know that something is wrong and that you are not yourself”
“Well I will admit that I’m a tad hung-over today, last night was a little on the crazy side” she tried to joke, while swallowing down the golf ball sized lump in her throat.
“That is not what I mean, if that were it I would have most of the office in here now, it’s clear you all had a drunken time last night. I’ve had some killer hangovers in my time too, that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you. Are you telling me that you haven’t noticed anything strange today?”
“Well maybe” Michelle mumbled quietly back, reluctant to talk about it with Rav and embracing her inner petulant six-year-old.
“There’s no maybe Michelle, you’ve lost your shadow and if you don’t get it back soon, you won’t care enough to!” Rav leant forward over his desk to lend addition emphasis to his words “Do you understand? Too long without it and you’ll lose direction. Yes you’ll still be alive but your spark will be gone! Forever!”
Michelle wished that Rav would stop over-doing it with the exclamation marks. All she wanted to do was sleep, everything beyond that required superhuman strength. Now he wanted her to worry about tracking down lost shadows.
“I’ll admit I’m not feeling very sparky today, but I really have learned my lesson, the tequila shots were a bad idea. I don’t know what else you expect me to do? I just want to get through today and go to sleep, I feel rotten”
“Think beyond the hangover Michelle, this is on top of the hangover”
“Rav, no offence but I really can’t cope with anything on top of the hangover and I really should be getting back to my desk, I have a mountain of competitive data to get through”
“Michelle, please” The earnestness of Rav’s plea stopped her as she moved to get up. She slumped back awkwardly in to the chair and turned to look at him. His brown eyes were darkened with worry. “I have seen what this does. It happened to a friend of mine and I lost him. I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. You must find it, believe me, your shadow is gone and you must find it, even in your current state, it can’t wait. I will tell your boss that you were clearly unwell and I sent you home. Go and look please!”
Intimidated by the urgency in his voice, Michelle cracked “but I wouldn’t know where to start” she protested as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away, sniffing loudly over the injustice of this happening to her.
“Try the lost property office at Waterloo. Not the one on the main train concourse. There is one in the underground. It is in a corner in the corridors near the entrance for the Bank train. It’s easy to miss if you aren’t specifically looking for it. The man who works there may be able to help you, his name is Jenkins”
To be continued
As it was going to take a while for her geriatric computer to stop complaining about being asked to work and actually start, Michelle decided to go and make a strong medicinal cup of tea. Just as the kettle chorus was reaching its climax, Rav their creepy CFO ambled in mug in hand.
Not in the mood for small talk, Michelle busied herself with the art of tea making, using all her concentration on ensuring that the tag on the tea bag didn’t get dragged in to the swirl of poured boiling water. Looking up to reach for the milk she realised that Rav was staring at her. Feeling guilty for hogging the kettle she offered it to him. Taking it absently from her fumbling fingers before she could scald him with splashes of hot water, Rav continued to stare.
Self consciously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Michelle put on her brightest smile. “Big night last night, think there are going to be a lot of sore heads today” she chirped attempting to deflect attention from her own sore head. She wasn’t sure what the Finance department attitude was to week-day hangovers. They were always the wildest at the Christmas party, but that was only once a year and it was probably allowed in their contracts.
“Michelle, once you have finished preparing your tea, if you could pop round my office, there’s something I need to discuss with you” Rav answered. Michelle’s heart sank as the lack of inappropriate banter or innuendo surely meant that she was in trouble.
After taking as long as she could to ensure she put exactly the right amount of milk into the mug and viciously squeezed every ounce of tea juice out of the tea bag, Michelle headed to Rav’s office, clasping her mug like a weapon between her fingers. As she walked into the office, Rav was expressionless as he indicated that she should sit down before settling in his seat behind his uncomfortably tidy desk.
“When I was a boy, there was a game we used to play called “Eclipsing the Dog”. My parents played it, my grandparents. It goes back generations.”
Michelle looked up with surprise from her mug, unclear where Rav was going with this, and confused to find him looking at her with patent concern.
“You wouldn’t be able to play it in London, too much artificial lighting reflected off the sky. But where I grew up, there wasn’t this problem. The days were bright and the nights was pitch black except for a ceiling of stars During the day the sun used to make our shadows stretch out beside us and on cloudy days you could watch the shadows of the clouds dust over fields and buildings. It was on those days we would play Eclipsing the Dog, I still remember how we used to giggle and scream” Sighing Rav paused to take a sip of his tea.
“It was a serious business. You could not let the shadow of a cloud cover your shadow. The rules stated that once covered the cloud could steal your shadow leaving you behind to live a half life without it”
Michelle could feel her eyes riveted on Rav, she had never seen him quite so solemn and there was something in the slow way he was unwrapping his story that hypnotised her
“We played this game throughout my childhood and when I was grown I still knew to avoid the passing shadow of clouds in case they should hide something wanting to steal my shadow and leave me incomplete. It is ironic that it is when I moved to study in the city, that I became exposed to the real threat.
In a place where shadows have no room to breathe, where they live on top of each other and are reduced to pale, insipid forms in the glaring lights and teasing half-lights. It’s here that I’ve finally met the shadow-less, seen them move robotically through their daily lives completely unaware of their loss and too numb to understand that something is fundamentally wrong with them.”
Rav stopped for another sip of tea, Michelle still transfixed could feel a growing knot of unease in her guts. She didn’t want to ask but knew she had to “why are you telling me this?”
“Michelle, you are a bright and sensitive young lady, you know that something is wrong and that you are not yourself”
“Well I will admit that I’m a tad hung-over today, last night was a little on the crazy side” she tried to joke, while swallowing down the golf ball sized lump in her throat.
“That is not what I mean, if that were it I would have most of the office in here now, it’s clear you all had a drunken time last night. I’ve had some killer hangovers in my time too, that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you. Are you telling me that you haven’t noticed anything strange today?”
“Well maybe” Michelle mumbled quietly back, reluctant to talk about it with Rav and embracing her inner petulant six-year-old.
“There’s no maybe Michelle, you’ve lost your shadow and if you don’t get it back soon, you won’t care enough to!” Rav leant forward over his desk to lend addition emphasis to his words “Do you understand? Too long without it and you’ll lose direction. Yes you’ll still be alive but your spark will be gone! Forever!”
Michelle wished that Rav would stop over-doing it with the exclamation marks. All she wanted to do was sleep, everything beyond that required superhuman strength. Now he wanted her to worry about tracking down lost shadows.
“I’ll admit I’m not feeling very sparky today, but I really have learned my lesson, the tequila shots were a bad idea. I don’t know what else you expect me to do? I just want to get through today and go to sleep, I feel rotten”
“Think beyond the hangover Michelle, this is on top of the hangover”
“Rav, no offence but I really can’t cope with anything on top of the hangover and I really should be getting back to my desk, I have a mountain of competitive data to get through”
“Michelle, please” The earnestness of Rav’s plea stopped her as she moved to get up. She slumped back awkwardly in to the chair and turned to look at him. His brown eyes were darkened with worry. “I have seen what this does. It happened to a friend of mine and I lost him. I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. You must find it, believe me, your shadow is gone and you must find it, even in your current state, it can’t wait. I will tell your boss that you were clearly unwell and I sent you home. Go and look please!”
Intimidated by the urgency in his voice, Michelle cracked “but I wouldn’t know where to start” she protested as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away, sniffing loudly over the injustice of this happening to her.
“Try the lost property office at Waterloo. Not the one on the main train concourse. There is one in the underground. It is in a corner in the corridors near the entrance for the Bank train. It’s easy to miss if you aren’t specifically looking for it. The man who works there may be able to help you, his name is Jenkins”
To be continued
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Lost Property: Part 2 The Commute
Despite her green duffle coat, red woolly hat and the 10 miles of blue scarf wrapped around her throat, fingers of morning cold still found vulnerable areas to tickle and nip. Shivering, Michelle blew her warm breath up towards her nose in a vain attempt to defrost it.
Standing at Earlsfield Station was never the highlight of her day. The combination of pain, cold, thirst and tiredness made the whole commuter battle seem impossible. The thought of cramming herself onto an overcrowded train made bile rise to the back of her throat. She had already let three trains go without joining the herd fighting their way on-board. Unfortunately for every person carried away on the train, another two seemed to appear at the station to take their place. It was now or never, she psyched herself up. The next train, she would muscle her way in.
The next train to pull in was uncharacteristically empty. Although all the seats were taken there was actual standing room, this was a miracle of biblical proportions. Michelle sent a quiet “Thank you” to the god of commuters as she wedged herself in the corridor between the seats. They formed a natural barrier that limited the number of people that could stand or lean on her. Despite this, she still found herself uncomfortably close to an armpit on her left and a newspaper on her right. Couldn’t they stop reading for the 12 minutes it takes to get to Waterloo so she didn’t feel like a human coffee table? It would have been less obnoxious if the business man reading the paper didn’t glare at her every time she moved her head and it rustled the pages of his Times. She preferred Guardian readers anyway.
Rushing out of the train at Waterloo, Michelle moved with the other commuters, pulled along like water going down a drain. Propelled in to the bowel s of the underground she headed for the Northbound Northern line platform for part 2 of her torturous morning commute. Fortunately Michelle was a seasoned professional and knew exactly where to stand to line up with the doors of the tube train when it arrived.
1 minute later and she secured herself an actual seat on a train rocking and shaking its way northwards. Michelle briefly closed her eyes and enjoyed the ability to relax for a moment. Opening her eyes she watched a girl in the far corner carefully applying make-up. As the girl pulled out a mascara wand Michelle shuddered at her bravery, but looked away as she didn’t think she could stomach witnessing an accidental impaling.
She realised that she probably looked pretty shocking. Looking at her reflection opposite she was startled to discover that she had what looked like stubble all over her chin. Reflexively she stroked her face but there was nothing. No stubble under her fingers and no answering movement in the window opposite. Michelle blinked her eyes firmly to dispel the rather uncomfortable sensation that she wasn’t looking at her own reflection. On re-opening her eyes though nothing had changed. Either she'd morphed in to a 30-something ginger haired man in need of a shave or she was sitting opposite the wrong reflection.
Looking desperately along the far window, she could not find herself anywhere and all of the other reflections matched the person sitting opposite them. “Of course” Michelle thought bitterly “I’m the one with an out of whack reflection.” As if to add insult to injury her ginger companion winked and smiled at her. “Brilliant and he’s a comedian” she muttered to herself as she scuffed her shoes together violently in confused irritation, stopping only when a maternal looking lady gave her a pointedly concerned look.
Getting off at Warren Street, Michelle moved in autopilot out of the station along her normal route to the office. She was worried that her work colleagues might notice that she had a man’s reflection and she would never hear the end of it. Surely that was considered a major no-no in client meetings? Feeling rather persecuted, Michelle felt it was just typical that something like this would happen to her! Taking a deep breath she stopped and turned to stare in the window of a news-agency. There she was, distinctly transparent but also quite clearly neither ginger nor male. Heaving a big sigh of relief she’d resumed her walk to work.
Maybe everything was going to be OK after all.
To be continued.......
Standing at Earlsfield Station was never the highlight of her day. The combination of pain, cold, thirst and tiredness made the whole commuter battle seem impossible. The thought of cramming herself onto an overcrowded train made bile rise to the back of her throat. She had already let three trains go without joining the herd fighting their way on-board. Unfortunately for every person carried away on the train, another two seemed to appear at the station to take their place. It was now or never, she psyched herself up. The next train, she would muscle her way in.
The next train to pull in was uncharacteristically empty. Although all the seats were taken there was actual standing room, this was a miracle of biblical proportions. Michelle sent a quiet “Thank you” to the god of commuters as she wedged herself in the corridor between the seats. They formed a natural barrier that limited the number of people that could stand or lean on her. Despite this, she still found herself uncomfortably close to an armpit on her left and a newspaper on her right. Couldn’t they stop reading for the 12 minutes it takes to get to Waterloo so she didn’t feel like a human coffee table? It would have been less obnoxious if the business man reading the paper didn’t glare at her every time she moved her head and it rustled the pages of his Times. She preferred Guardian readers anyway.
Rushing out of the train at Waterloo, Michelle moved with the other commuters, pulled along like water going down a drain. Propelled in to the bowel s of the underground she headed for the Northbound Northern line platform for part 2 of her torturous morning commute. Fortunately Michelle was a seasoned professional and knew exactly where to stand to line up with the doors of the tube train when it arrived.
1 minute later and she secured herself an actual seat on a train rocking and shaking its way northwards. Michelle briefly closed her eyes and enjoyed the ability to relax for a moment. Opening her eyes she watched a girl in the far corner carefully applying make-up. As the girl pulled out a mascara wand Michelle shuddered at her bravery, but looked away as she didn’t think she could stomach witnessing an accidental impaling.
She realised that she probably looked pretty shocking. Looking at her reflection opposite she was startled to discover that she had what looked like stubble all over her chin. Reflexively she stroked her face but there was nothing. No stubble under her fingers and no answering movement in the window opposite. Michelle blinked her eyes firmly to dispel the rather uncomfortable sensation that she wasn’t looking at her own reflection. On re-opening her eyes though nothing had changed. Either she'd morphed in to a 30-something ginger haired man in need of a shave or she was sitting opposite the wrong reflection.
Looking desperately along the far window, she could not find herself anywhere and all of the other reflections matched the person sitting opposite them. “Of course” Michelle thought bitterly “I’m the one with an out of whack reflection.” As if to add insult to injury her ginger companion winked and smiled at her. “Brilliant and he’s a comedian” she muttered to herself as she scuffed her shoes together violently in confused irritation, stopping only when a maternal looking lady gave her a pointedly concerned look.
Getting off at Warren Street, Michelle moved in autopilot out of the station along her normal route to the office. She was worried that her work colleagues might notice that she had a man’s reflection and she would never hear the end of it. Surely that was considered a major no-no in client meetings? Feeling rather persecuted, Michelle felt it was just typical that something like this would happen to her! Taking a deep breath she stopped and turned to stare in the window of a news-agency. There she was, distinctly transparent but also quite clearly neither ginger nor male. Heaving a big sigh of relief she’d resumed her walk to work.
Maybe everything was going to be OK after all.
To be continued.......
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Lost Property: Part 1 The Hangover
Morning light leaked insipidly through the gaps in the curtains, the pale sharp-edged white hinted at the cold lurking outside. An arm emerged from the sanctuary of the duvet and felt around blindly for the source of a hostile ringing noise. Failing in its mission, more of the body emerged into the cold “barley white” morning revealing Michelle in the company of one hell of a hangover.
Splitting open crust-sealed eyes Michelle looked around only to be reminded that in the spirit of drunken malice the night before, she had placed her alarm clock on the other side of the room. This left her with two equally unpleasant alternatives: she could leave the warm bed cocoon or she could put up with the continued clang of her alarm. Given its continued insistence that she get up, she opted for the former and moved with the grace of a semi-frozen, partially dead gazelle across her room where she violently took her frustration out on the rather noisy inanimate object that had insisted on torturing her. Once she was sure it was dead, she stood shivering in her rather dilapidated night shirt, not awake enough to make a quick decision regarding her next move.
As the wheels of her brain squeaked reluctantly into her action, she reached for her dressing gown. An annoying nagging voice squatting in the back of her mind reminded her that alcohol fuelled bitchiness had not been the only reason for the moving of the alarm clock. She look wistfully at the bed but the voice would not be quieted, pointedly reminding her that she had a meeting first thing at work and she could not afford to be late.
Dragging her hangover with her Michelle showered, brushed her teeth, and moisturised while she struggled to maintain a state of out-of-body numbness. She jabbed contact lenses that felt like they’d soaked in acid over-night, into her angry, red eyes. Blinking blearily around the bathroom the full scale of her hangover finally hit. She was in a world of pain and her body was screaming for water. Guzzling rusty tasting water directly from the tap did very little to alleviate her raging thirst. This was going to be a truly shitty day.
Once fully dressed, Michelle examined herself in the full length mirror. She wasn’t convinced the blue top went with the brown trousers, but she couldn’t find the energy to care, let alone change. She rubbed her eyes delicately and peered more closely at the mirror, it misted gently with her sour mint breath. She decided she must still be drunk because she looked positively blurry. It wasn’t just her red eyes, damp tangled hair or pale face that made her look the worse for wear. She felt and looked positively translucent. Surely she was imagining that she could see the books on the shelves directly behind her? The more she stared the more she realised that the words “Great Expectations” were aligned uncannily perfectly with her nose, or through her nose, or behind her nose..... Her mind balked as she tried to work out the relationship between Dickens’ book and her nose.
Closing her eyes and breathing slowly she decided to move on. No good was coming of her staring through herself in the mirror. Her mind was clearly playing tricks on her and she needed to pull herself together and brave the commute to work. Tardiness was not an option and London Transport waited for no man or woman or hangover.
To be continued......
Splitting open crust-sealed eyes Michelle looked around only to be reminded that in the spirit of drunken malice the night before, she had placed her alarm clock on the other side of the room. This left her with two equally unpleasant alternatives: she could leave the warm bed cocoon or she could put up with the continued clang of her alarm. Given its continued insistence that she get up, she opted for the former and moved with the grace of a semi-frozen, partially dead gazelle across her room where she violently took her frustration out on the rather noisy inanimate object that had insisted on torturing her. Once she was sure it was dead, she stood shivering in her rather dilapidated night shirt, not awake enough to make a quick decision regarding her next move.
As the wheels of her brain squeaked reluctantly into her action, she reached for her dressing gown. An annoying nagging voice squatting in the back of her mind reminded her that alcohol fuelled bitchiness had not been the only reason for the moving of the alarm clock. She look wistfully at the bed but the voice would not be quieted, pointedly reminding her that she had a meeting first thing at work and she could not afford to be late.
Dragging her hangover with her Michelle showered, brushed her teeth, and moisturised while she struggled to maintain a state of out-of-body numbness. She jabbed contact lenses that felt like they’d soaked in acid over-night, into her angry, red eyes. Blinking blearily around the bathroom the full scale of her hangover finally hit. She was in a world of pain and her body was screaming for water. Guzzling rusty tasting water directly from the tap did very little to alleviate her raging thirst. This was going to be a truly shitty day.
Once fully dressed, Michelle examined herself in the full length mirror. She wasn’t convinced the blue top went with the brown trousers, but she couldn’t find the energy to care, let alone change. She rubbed her eyes delicately and peered more closely at the mirror, it misted gently with her sour mint breath. She decided she must still be drunk because she looked positively blurry. It wasn’t just her red eyes, damp tangled hair or pale face that made her look the worse for wear. She felt and looked positively translucent. Surely she was imagining that she could see the books on the shelves directly behind her? The more she stared the more she realised that the words “Great Expectations” were aligned uncannily perfectly with her nose, or through her nose, or behind her nose..... Her mind balked as she tried to work out the relationship between Dickens’ book and her nose.
Closing her eyes and breathing slowly she decided to move on. No good was coming of her staring through herself in the mirror. Her mind was clearly playing tricks on her and she needed to pull herself together and brave the commute to work. Tardiness was not an option and London Transport waited for no man or woman or hangover.
To be continued......
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Tom's Grandma Pam
My best friend at school is Tom. He’s taller than me and has brown hair that sticks up at funny angles out of his head, which looks cool.
Tom and me sit next to each other ‘cos his last name is Perkins and mine is Parkes and the teacher made us sit alflibeticly at the start of the year and there was no one with a last name between Parkes and Perkins.
This was very lucky coz we was best friends straight away because he likes Batman and he knows that Batman would beat Spiderman in a fight, even if Spiderman was fighting with a bear! Not that he would because Spiderman lives in a city, but if he lived in the country with bears, Batman would still win.
I like going to Tom’s house because he has the best video games and he has no brothers or sisters that he has to share with, so we can play all night until bedtime without a stop except for toilet and dinner. One time we had to stop playing because Tom’s mum was going to visit his Grandma Pam. Tom wanted to go too because the ice cream place near Grandma Pam does bubblegum flavoured ice cream.
We went in the big car with the DVD so we could watch Ice Age again, but that is OK cos I like that movie. His mum drove us to Grandma Pam’s. There was no houses which was funny. Tom explained that his Grandma Pam lives in a hole in the Cement Tree. There was a big stone that told us we were at the right hole. The hole was hidden in the ground, but if you talked loud enough Grandma Pam would hear you.
When I’m old I want to live in a hole in the Cement Tree too. I would have all my video games and I would play all day and not have to share. It would be warm and cosy. No girls would be allowed and I would eat lots of red skins and fantails.
When I got home I told mum about Grandma Pam. My Grandma Alice lives with lots of old people in a big house with green walls the colour of snot that smells of cabbage and is really really hot. Grandma Alice always cries when we visit because she doesn’t like it there.
I told mum that I thought Grandma Alice would be happier in a hole in the Cement Tree too. Mum started to cry so Dad got cross and I had to go to my room without any dinner but that was OK cos I was still full of bubblegum ice cream.
Tom and me sit next to each other ‘cos his last name is Perkins and mine is Parkes and the teacher made us sit alflibeticly at the start of the year and there was no one with a last name between Parkes and Perkins.
This was very lucky coz we was best friends straight away because he likes Batman and he knows that Batman would beat Spiderman in a fight, even if Spiderman was fighting with a bear! Not that he would because Spiderman lives in a city, but if he lived in the country with bears, Batman would still win.
I like going to Tom’s house because he has the best video games and he has no brothers or sisters that he has to share with, so we can play all night until bedtime without a stop except for toilet and dinner. One time we had to stop playing because Tom’s mum was going to visit his Grandma Pam. Tom wanted to go too because the ice cream place near Grandma Pam does bubblegum flavoured ice cream.
We went in the big car with the DVD so we could watch Ice Age again, but that is OK cos I like that movie. His mum drove us to Grandma Pam’s. There was no houses which was funny. Tom explained that his Grandma Pam lives in a hole in the Cement Tree. There was a big stone that told us we were at the right hole. The hole was hidden in the ground, but if you talked loud enough Grandma Pam would hear you.
When I’m old I want to live in a hole in the Cement Tree too. I would have all my video games and I would play all day and not have to share. It would be warm and cosy. No girls would be allowed and I would eat lots of red skins and fantails.
When I got home I told mum about Grandma Pam. My Grandma Alice lives with lots of old people in a big house with green walls the colour of snot that smells of cabbage and is really really hot. Grandma Alice always cries when we visit because she doesn’t like it there.
I told mum that I thought Grandma Alice would be happier in a hole in the Cement Tree too. Mum started to cry so Dad got cross and I had to go to my room without any dinner but that was OK cos I was still full of bubblegum ice cream.
Monday, June 08, 2009
The Princess & the Wolf
The sun scattered freckles of light through the arching canopy of trees. Lifting her face to embrace the rays, our Princess rides at full speed. Immersed in the pure sensation of movement: her hair dancing behind her; the sound of wind thundering past her ear drums; the gentle slap of the air on her cheeks; eyes shining brightly in her up-turned face as she watches the light play between the leaves & branches over-head. She feels the purest joy of movement, a sensation of complete oneness with her own universe. She is the princess, escaped from her castle to run free. Her faithful hound loping rhythmically by her side.
She doesn’t worry for her own safety as she urges her mount forward, peddling faster and faster down the natural tree formed cathedral. Nothing can touch her as she runs free to worship her own religion. She has flowered to be the magical creature she always believed herself to be. Here the rules of mathematics do not apply. Here the real world isn’t allowed in and she can create her very own mythology.
From behind the trees the Wolf watches her with hungry eyes; the eyes of a hunter mentally devouring his prey. Her happiness tortures him with the razor-sharp knifing pain of longing. Her youth casts a twisted spell over him, creating desires that bubble under the surface of his skin. He can feel his fingers tingling with the urge to reach out and touch her light-soaked cheeks. Just one touch would alleviate his pain and distract him, if only for a moment, from the disease eating him from the inside out.
The Princess slows, exhilarated and breathless as she nears the end of the path. She prepares to turn back, to go back to her castle home. Dusk has started to leave her velvety fingerprints across the air.
Turning to her dog sitting panting by her side she exclaims “I’ll race you back”, leaping forward with laughter frothing in her throat.
Hurtling forward through the cooling and darkening air she sees the Wolf step out of the trees ahead. She slows as she approaches him, stopping barely an arm’s reach from him.
“We were racing” she explains slightly breathlessly
“I can see that” the Wolf answers “but now it’s time to go home.”
Smiling the Princess dismounts to walk beside the Wolf, pushing her bicycle as he turns in the direction of their home. Walking along, he reaches out his fingers to touch the smooth skin of her arm.
“I hope dinner is ready, I’m starving” the young girl says innocently turning to smile at the old Wolf that she knows and loves so well.
“Me too” he answers, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes “me too”.
She doesn’t worry for her own safety as she urges her mount forward, peddling faster and faster down the natural tree formed cathedral. Nothing can touch her as she runs free to worship her own religion. She has flowered to be the magical creature she always believed herself to be. Here the rules of mathematics do not apply. Here the real world isn’t allowed in and she can create her very own mythology.
From behind the trees the Wolf watches her with hungry eyes; the eyes of a hunter mentally devouring his prey. Her happiness tortures him with the razor-sharp knifing pain of longing. Her youth casts a twisted spell over him, creating desires that bubble under the surface of his skin. He can feel his fingers tingling with the urge to reach out and touch her light-soaked cheeks. Just one touch would alleviate his pain and distract him, if only for a moment, from the disease eating him from the inside out.
The Princess slows, exhilarated and breathless as she nears the end of the path. She prepares to turn back, to go back to her castle home. Dusk has started to leave her velvety fingerprints across the air.
Turning to her dog sitting panting by her side she exclaims “I’ll race you back”, leaping forward with laughter frothing in her throat.
Hurtling forward through the cooling and darkening air she sees the Wolf step out of the trees ahead. She slows as she approaches him, stopping barely an arm’s reach from him.
“We were racing” she explains slightly breathlessly
“I can see that” the Wolf answers “but now it’s time to go home.”
Smiling the Princess dismounts to walk beside the Wolf, pushing her bicycle as he turns in the direction of their home. Walking along, he reaches out his fingers to touch the smooth skin of her arm.
“I hope dinner is ready, I’m starving” the young girl says innocently turning to smile at the old Wolf that she knows and loves so well.
“Me too” he answers, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes “me too”.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Shorty short story
The Mediterranean Sea plays a soothing sun drenched lullabye, rippling around the tattered collection of old wooden fishing boats that shelter haphazardly in the small cove, sending them bobbing gently like apples.
A woman lies basking on a miniature pier that stretches over the tranquil water. She lies on a towel that only partially protects her from the splinters that spike out of the weather-worn planks of the deck.
An apologetic phantom of a better time, the pier hints at a bygone era of prosperity. Now the cove possesses a reassuringly relaxing sense of neglect; the perfect spot to let the sun massage away any remnants of work day tension.
A battered paperback book lies un-touched next to her as she lets her mind drift to a place with no thoughts, no deadline and no worries. She finally achieves the complete absence of conscious thought that she has battled vainly to achieve in the weekly meditation classes she shoe-horns in between meetings.
Giggles, shrieks and splashes bring her thoughts crashing back to the cove. Tentatively opening her eyes she peers out at the sea through her over-sized sunglasses. A small group of children are playing in the water. Diving, squirming and dunking, they are finding joy in everything around them. A small boy with the dark colouring of a local is standing on one of the boats, sending it rocking from side to side with hoots of exultant laughter.
Idly the woman thinks about telling him to get off the boat, as it’s dangerous, but it’s a half hearted thought that quickly dissipates. Around the boat the other children dive as sleek and cheeky as sea lions, darting glances towards their leader balancing on the boat, eager for any crumbs of approval.
Feeling a bold sense of invisibility the woman watches the playful display. The blond and sun pinked children of tourists mix effortlessly with the dark haired local kids. The universal language of childhood banishing any need to understand each other’s spoken tongues.
A young voice causes the woman to visibly jump and she looks down to find one of the fair haired little sea lions hanging on the side of the pier. She feels slightly flustered, as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Hello, don’t I know you?” the girl repeats, looking at her as if she’s the slow kid in class.
“I don’t think so” she replies, trying to imbue as much adult authority as she can in to those 4 words.
“Aren’t you Hannah’s mum?” the girl insists undeterred
“No” the woman replies wishing the girl would go back to playing with the other kids. The intensity of her questioning is making her uncomfortable
“Take off your sunglasses” the girl orders in a tone that hints at Christmas trees sheltering her entire Santa wish-list. The woman obliges without a second thought. “Oh you’re right you’re not Hannah’s mum. Where are your children?”
The woman feels inexplicable guilt, as if she has somehow let this strange child down by not being able to supply additional playmates.
“I don’t have any children”
“Oh” the girl responds, releasing the deck and splashing back into the water. Without a “good-bye” or backward glance she is quickly back, another set of thrashing limbs in the spontaneously created marine playground.
The woman watches for a few more seconds, absently slipping the sun glasses back on her nose. She lies back down on the towel, determined to regain her meditative calm. But try as she might she continues to feel unsettled. She wants the strange emotions to go away. She wants to ignore the strange aching sensation in her womb.
Lying on the pier she turns her mind to her deadlines, her obligations and the to-do list that will inevitably be waiting for her when she gets back to the office. Slowly the reassuring knot of stress returns, burying any unwelcome emotions emanating from her lonely womb.
A woman lies basking on a miniature pier that stretches over the tranquil water. She lies on a towel that only partially protects her from the splinters that spike out of the weather-worn planks of the deck.
An apologetic phantom of a better time, the pier hints at a bygone era of prosperity. Now the cove possesses a reassuringly relaxing sense of neglect; the perfect spot to let the sun massage away any remnants of work day tension.
A battered paperback book lies un-touched next to her as she lets her mind drift to a place with no thoughts, no deadline and no worries. She finally achieves the complete absence of conscious thought that she has battled vainly to achieve in the weekly meditation classes she shoe-horns in between meetings.
Giggles, shrieks and splashes bring her thoughts crashing back to the cove. Tentatively opening her eyes she peers out at the sea through her over-sized sunglasses. A small group of children are playing in the water. Diving, squirming and dunking, they are finding joy in everything around them. A small boy with the dark colouring of a local is standing on one of the boats, sending it rocking from side to side with hoots of exultant laughter.
Idly the woman thinks about telling him to get off the boat, as it’s dangerous, but it’s a half hearted thought that quickly dissipates. Around the boat the other children dive as sleek and cheeky as sea lions, darting glances towards their leader balancing on the boat, eager for any crumbs of approval.
Feeling a bold sense of invisibility the woman watches the playful display. The blond and sun pinked children of tourists mix effortlessly with the dark haired local kids. The universal language of childhood banishing any need to understand each other’s spoken tongues.
A young voice causes the woman to visibly jump and she looks down to find one of the fair haired little sea lions hanging on the side of the pier. She feels slightly flustered, as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Hello, don’t I know you?” the girl repeats, looking at her as if she’s the slow kid in class.
“I don’t think so” she replies, trying to imbue as much adult authority as she can in to those 4 words.
“Aren’t you Hannah’s mum?” the girl insists undeterred
“No” the woman replies wishing the girl would go back to playing with the other kids. The intensity of her questioning is making her uncomfortable
“Take off your sunglasses” the girl orders in a tone that hints at Christmas trees sheltering her entire Santa wish-list. The woman obliges without a second thought. “Oh you’re right you’re not Hannah’s mum. Where are your children?”
The woman feels inexplicable guilt, as if she has somehow let this strange child down by not being able to supply additional playmates.
“I don’t have any children”
“Oh” the girl responds, releasing the deck and splashing back into the water. Without a “good-bye” or backward glance she is quickly back, another set of thrashing limbs in the spontaneously created marine playground.
The woman watches for a few more seconds, absently slipping the sun glasses back on her nose. She lies back down on the towel, determined to regain her meditative calm. But try as she might she continues to feel unsettled. She wants the strange emotions to go away. She wants to ignore the strange aching sensation in her womb.
Lying on the pier she turns her mind to her deadlines, her obligations and the to-do list that will inevitably be waiting for her when she gets back to the office. Slowly the reassuring knot of stress returns, burying any unwelcome emotions emanating from her lonely womb.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Sonnet for My Grandmother
I wrote the following poem many years ago after my grandmother died. She meant the world to me:
In memory of Krystyna Markiewicz
Are the gates of heaven a wonder to behold
Worth all the pain and suffering of this world?
Or is death as the unbelievers have foretold,
An end to all existence young or old?
Blank silence echoes my softly spoken question.
Perhaps this stillness is your bleak reply.
And yet my soul rejects this harsh conclusion
As I'll hug your essence to me 'til I die.
For in my life your life has ressurection
And in all people that your spirit touched.
They all remember you with deep affection
And in their memories you're never lost.
When I with tearful eyes your portrait see
I see the goodness I long to be in me.
In memory of Krystyna Markiewicz
Are the gates of heaven a wonder to behold
Worth all the pain and suffering of this world?
Or is death as the unbelievers have foretold,
An end to all existence young or old?
Blank silence echoes my softly spoken question.
Perhaps this stillness is your bleak reply.
And yet my soul rejects this harsh conclusion
As I'll hug your essence to me 'til I die.
For in my life your life has ressurection
And in all people that your spirit touched.
They all remember you with deep affection
And in their memories you're never lost.
When I with tearful eyes your portrait see
I see the goodness I long to be in me.
Lovely Louis Lizard Catcher
Just a quick post update as I am supposed to be house cleaning & I keep coming up with reasons not to. Bad bad me!Here is a photo of my lovely Louis, he looks like such a little angel in this shot. Ha! If only! He caught two lizards today and I managed to rescue both (but sadly not their tails) before he could kill them. Pretty good day except I have lizard tail blood trails on my cleaning up list. Those disembodied tails really do wriggle up a storm for ages.
I can not believe just how lazy I have been this weekend. Saying that, with a nasty stomach bug last week, maybe I needed to just keel over this weekend. I do feel more human now.
Really loving the twitter phenomenon, especially having discovered so many writers that I really admire are regular tweeters. Now I have daily doses of inspiration, which is all really helping with my creative endeavours.
I am working on a fantasy book that I started when I was a teenager. Saying that I am not really picking up where I left off. The characters have been fermenting in the back of my mind. They have always been lurking there and it feels really good to be actively spending time with them. It probably sounds nutty but they are very real to me. Before you call for the men in white coats, I know they aren't "actually" real, but they are great company. So I am starting that all over again.
There are another two stories I am also going to be developing. One is a kids story and the other is for adults. Both are set in real world but with magical dimensions to them. I have issues dealing with real + real. Too much real for me. My imagination doesn't work that way. I need to let it run.
Well I feel better for posting about my writing projects. Now that Louis & I aren't the only ones that know about them, it gives them more substance. What is it about writing that is just so magical? I hope that I always feel the magic in it.
Signing off for now.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Oops
Well so much for weekly updates, but I am getting back to blogging now and I really mean it. I had good reasons for the not blogging over the last 9 months. However, no excuses now and it will be a good place to talk about my writing. I've been writing up a storm recently and I've been loving it!
I have gone back to the novel idea I had almost 20 years ago (if you look up procrastination in the dictionary, there might be a picture of me, obviously depending on how recently you bought your dictionary). It is wonderful though as the characters have grown with me. I think I am ready to do them justice now. Mainly though, I'm writing for the sheer enjoyment of it.
Sometimes I feel stiffled by the lack of creativity in my day to day life, but surely I'm the one who is supposed to be putting it there? So here goes. I have the support of fabulous friends, a loving family and the devoted affection of my lovely cats (only 1 lives with me in Aus, but I know that Daisy & Jojo are happy with my Mum in London and I see them via Skype).
Plus living in the Lucky Country, it is amazing how anything seems possible. Maybe all the sunshine has gone to my head. Whatever it is, I like it!
Well that's my start for now. I will give updates on my writing, life, the universe and cute things Louis has done as & when they happen.
I have to go now as Louis is giving me a flirty look and I think that means that he wants me to blow a raspberry on this tummy. He's a very tolerant cat.
I have gone back to the novel idea I had almost 20 years ago (if you look up procrastination in the dictionary, there might be a picture of me, obviously depending on how recently you bought your dictionary). It is wonderful though as the characters have grown with me. I think I am ready to do them justice now. Mainly though, I'm writing for the sheer enjoyment of it.
Sometimes I feel stiffled by the lack of creativity in my day to day life, but surely I'm the one who is supposed to be putting it there? So here goes. I have the support of fabulous friends, a loving family and the devoted affection of my lovely cats (only 1 lives with me in Aus, but I know that Daisy & Jojo are happy with my Mum in London and I see them via Skype).
Plus living in the Lucky Country, it is amazing how anything seems possible. Maybe all the sunshine has gone to my head. Whatever it is, I like it!
Well that's my start for now. I will give updates on my writing, life, the universe and cute things Louis has done as & when they happen.
I have to go now as Louis is giving me a flirty look and I think that means that he wants me to blow a raspberry on this tummy. He's a very tolerant cat.
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