COSMIC HAS AN IDEA
No I don't want it there. Can you put it there? No there. Oh alright then that will do. Fine I can always move it later can't I? I can? Good well thanks for everything. Wait a minute, how do I move it? I do what with what and who? I have to go where? Click what? Well can I ask you to move it if I want it moved? Or I can ask my Sister, she knows about this sort of thing. Well that's fine then. What's Beverley writing? My internal dialogue? That wont make sense to anybody, No you are right. Well thanks again.
A FEW DAYS IN THE LIFE
The week starts of with me deciding to vacuum my room in the lighthouse and a few of the top steps. I empty the dust in the bin and go and post a few letters. Cass has done some work today and I take a look at some other stuff that needs to be done. Then in the late afternoon, just as I am about to have some beans on toast, the phone rings. It is a withheld number but Cass answers it. She manages very well and is trying to practise her speech. Good thing too as it is the hospital. They want her to have another blood test tomorrow and an operation the day after if the blood test is alright. She will need to stay in hospital for at least a few days. I am puzzled as Cass has had no blood thinning drugs or anything. But what do I know? So the week begins.
Cass spends the next day having marks put on her neck by the experts ready for the operation. Three hours later the operation is called off as the blood tests for the cyst they found in one of the earlier scans didn't include a cancer test. Which oddly was the only test that was actually required. So more appointments to be made and more frustration. Have to admire her strength.
The next day Cass shows me her mark the Specialist put on the side of her neck. It is a big black arrow pointing to a big swelling. Now I thought when they did an ultrasound and found something it would be some hidden, secret evil. But it is a swelling the size of a small golf ball. Hardly needs the big arrow pointing at it. Like having a broken leg and fitting a big head brace with a large stick protruding from it with neon sign flashing BROKEN LEG THIS WAY with a sign post attached. Trouble is I mention this and Cass was unaware there was any swelling so we both worry that the swelling is something new. But there is a point where one can no longer second guess so called experts. So we joke about it. Neither one of us is fooled for long. I spend the rest of the day doing nothing. The long Bank Holiday Weekend is a day away and I feel inclined to find some petrol, buy some bread and check on Cosmics house. At least as much of it as I can see. However wanting to do something and doing it are two different things completely. It becomes a struggle to find the enthusiasm to dress let alone go out.
Cass says we could order shopping on line. This is madness as we ordered not that long ago. So we order on line. This still means I only need to check on Cosmic's house and find petrol just in case next week the stupid people learn of a tanker strike or the rumour of a strike and start taking it all. My petrol tank is a quarter full. I am still not dressed but the feeling I may become dressed at a not too distant point in the future becomes more of a possibility. I collect the post. Amongst the letters is one from the hospital confirming the appointment for the operation yesterday that Cass was stopped from having. So the letter is a day late and wrong anyway. Rubbing salt into the festering wound. I go out for petrol and check on Cosmic's house. The weeds are beginning to grow again. That at least never changes. Another few days in the life.
Right then. So here we are. This was Cosmic’s idea. He has them sometimes along with writing songs and first paragraphs of novels. He said as long as he could use it sometimes I could keep it here at the lighthouse. Then Beverley said, once Cosmic was out of ear shot, that she would like it as well. As long as nobody minded. I said fine. Now Cass, my Sister said She would use it at a push but doesn't want me using it for evil. So I dug up the evil, wicked body and gave it to Cosmic to take with him back to shore in the rowing boat. Beverley went with him. Tight fit with Cosmic, Beverley and The Evil wicked dug up body but they bobbed along happily and the sea was calm.
Then the drilling started. Cass has a drill and Cosmic left some stuff he thought I would like. Truth is the stuff came from his house and he keeps talking about moving. There is always a long pause after he tells me this. It's as if he wants me to say something. But I never do. I know he would like to move into one of the rooms. But the lighthouse is too small. Although the money would come in handy.
I notice there are Area 51 metal signs put everywhere. The walls are hard to drill into and it takes effort and cursing. But Cass says Cosmic said I said it was alright to put them up. Along with the Bates Motel Vacancy Sign. I worry people will think this is a real Motel and people will sue me if I don't let them in. This is irrational I know. So I decide to watch the football and then have a shower.
TEA TIME
I am awakened by voices. Not my usual voices but real voices. I climb out of my mattress, I haven't slept in a bed for over a year. I am trying to find one that fits the lighthouse. Well we have found one but then it is a case of moving things around. In a lighthouse there isn't much room to move things around. So I go downstairs and there are people there. They are talking about the pub owner. The Smugglers is owned by a man who accuses all his patrons of stealing from him. He is quite nasty in his accusations even though he collects the money and puts it in the till. I feel sorry for him as I am scared of going senile. But Cosmic is holding court about the latest insults. Beverley is sitting in a chair writing, looking lovely with a hint of mystery, that can only mean.....wait a minute. I am not thinking that. Having somebody else write your internal monologue, always check for errors.
So Cosmic and Beverley and a few others are there. A man I know by sight. who used to write for a newspaper but drink found him out. He has promised to write Cosmic’s biography. Cosmic used to be a backing singer back in the 70s. That famous star who wore one sock and sang with his back to the audience, Can't remember his name. Anyway Cosmic was the one in the cloak with a guitar standing behind him but facing him. Ethel is also there but watching one of my DVDs as there is nothing worth watching on TV. The DVD is Pierrepoint and Ethel is lost in the film. She has watched it before but Ethel loves films. Well loves TV and films and anything she doesn't have to work at herself. She went all misty eyed at the Glee Christmas episode but would deny it if ever asked.
I am still being ignored in my own home. It is dark outside and I am worried that all these people will stay overnight. Even more worrying is them trying to row back to shore in the dark. I feel like that girl from an early Buffy episode who vanishes because everybody ignores her. So eventually I make a noise. Not the noise I had planned but a noise none the less. Cosmic stops talking and turns to me. I ask them what's going on? Cosmic says that they are waiting for pizza. No delivery boy is going to come out here at this time. As if to answer me the door bell rings. Cass comes in laden with shopping bags and complaining how hard it is to row with six plastic bags of shopping. Nobody offers to help but they all agree that it must be hard. Cass puts the frozen pizzas in the oven.
Over dinner the conversation turns to the news. The news is bad and we have pictures to prove it. Another film taken on a phone of people in trouble. Another exclusive of tearful people. I wish I could do more to help. What do you mean more? Just write the thoughts Beverley. Then Ethel says she blames Vietnam. Naturally we all fall silent and await an explanation. The cameras she says. That's when TV really started to take pictures of instant misery. Cosmic nods sagely.
When everybody has gone I have some cheese and biscuits
THE SMUGGLERS AND MICHAEL JACKSON
A couple are at the bar with a few friends. The band hasn't started yet and, as it is a Sunday night, the place isn't buzzing. Another girl comes up to the bar and has a phone or some other modern hand held time waster in her hand. She talks to the couple and is one of those touchy feely types. She puts her hand on the mans arm and then touches the girls hand. She points to the contraption in her hand and then to the camera on the wall. She waves at the camera and then points to her hand. She laughs. The couple smile. I wave back. The girl then lifts her blouse up and flashes at the camera. She wears no bra and a few of the customers casually lift up their phones and take a photo of the flashing girl. The couple smile. I wave. The girl laughs again. This little vignette of life is repeated. Until the couple move away and the phones stop taking photos and I stop waving. But the girl keeps laughing at herself on her phone flashing at the camera.
I have a phone call. What did I think of the Football. I didn't. Why go all that way and not turn up. We discuss that it was a throw back to our last manager. Lets go away and not play. We both agree. Then the subject turns to Michael Jackson and a statue. My caller goes quiet. I don't have any feelings on the subject. But nobody seems to want it. The Michael Jackson fans don't want their idol at the site of a load of football yobs. While the football fans don't want a pop star in their football ground. Lots of talk and abuse. But my caller stays quiet. I still don't have any feelings on the subject. Then we talk about this blog. He asks if he will be in it? I tell him I doubt it.
I think I am alone and its three o clock in the morning. I am not tired. Still I have work to do tomorrow or later today. I have to post back my rental DVDs and the faulty one that couldn't play at all on any of my machines. So I think about sleep. But Cass is still up because I here clicks and buzzes coming from somewhere. She is playing a game or quiz on her computer. I tell her the time. She asks who was on the phone earlier and I tell her. Beverley says she has to have her beauty sleep, not that she needs it as her skin is like porcelain and....I tell her to stop writing what I am not thinking. She says she will just as soon as I stop thinking. This makes no sense. So I turn off the lights, except the one that shines out as a warning to passing shipping. I wonder what ships will pass in the night?
PUNCTUATION
Beverley has been out for the morning. She has brought some work with her to do. She asks if I mind. I don't. She tells me she has told some people where she works about this blog. I am not happy. Well if I didn't want people to read it then why not keep a diary is her not too persuasive argument. Actually very persuasive argument actually, thank you very much. Those aren't my internal thoughts are they? No Beverley is once again adding insightful and helpful .......My train of thought clearly has left the station with a different driver. Anyway when Beverley decides to return to the point, or should that be points, as we are talking about railway lines. No it shouldn't, can I get on. The point is, Beverley tells me that my blog has been criticised. I tell her I don't care and then ask her why. Lack of punctuation she says. This confuses me seeing as she is writing my internal monologue. Isn't that her responsibility? She nods her head and says exactly. But Beverley informed everybody where she works that she used to work in a solicitors.
Shouldn't there be more to the story? Beverley puts in question mark, everybody happy? Oh look another one. Returning to the point again I wonder what a solicitors has to do with punctuation or the lack there of. Well in a solicitors letter, nobody ever puts in punctuation. They do that so when you read it, you pass out through lack of oxygen waiting for the comma. I didn't know that. Well you do now. They want punctuation they can have punctuation -.,??."!!". --.
It was foggy last night and I couldn't see the shore when I eventually went to bed. But everybody who was going ashore arrived safely. Today it is very bright and sunny. There are wonderful views from every window. So I go on the Net and log on to the camera site. I can see the World on this screen. While the World passes me by outside.
THE COSMIC TALE
Hi there, the clock on the wall says it's time to call. So let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here ready to play songs old and new, green and blue. That's. right, songs to make you sick or sad. I bet there are a number of people who will remember those famous opening words to my much lamented radio show. I had taken a sabbatical from my music career as backing singer to Calvin Moonsoil, and embarked on a bright new journey into being a disc jockey. If you remember I followed Tony King on the radio schedules in what we in the business call the golden hour. Two in the morning to half past six. They were great days. I often had to fight my way through the crowd of fans on my way in to the station. Most of whom were waiting for Tony King to come out. Man the buzz of show business never leaves you.
I am often asked whatever happened to Albert Springfwillow. Yeah he was the other backing singer to Calvin. No I am not surprised few of you remember him. I, as everybody remembers, wore the mask and cloak and used to fling the cloak over my head. I sometimes had a tambourine in my hand and was known as a versatile musician. Albert, God love him, always seemed to be lost in my shadow. Well after Calvin decided to leave the business after the disaster of the sales for our last Album 'Moonsoil madmen in a rowing boat'. A genuinely ahead of its time concept Album. 'Conceptually compelling and highly forgettable. ' so wrote the Old Musical Stationwagon. Albert left to go to the States. Where I am afraid he sold out. He married a model, not sure what of, and bought a ranch. He started a company and now owns a major Public Relations Firm. Springfellow Enterprises. Poor fellow forgot his roots.
Still, when we were big, we were big. I met all the stars. I even met Morcambe and Wise. No we never made their show but I remember back in the day, as we in the trade like to say. I remember meeting them at a book signing. I was in the queue ready to meet the Kings of Comedy when I myself was recognised. By the bloke in the book store who was setting up the desk. You guested it. That was when I met The Pic himself. He was working in the book shop. Man he met a few stars too. Flora Robson and the woman who was in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. No not her the other one. Yeah a good day for me. I could tell you such stories of Morcambe and Wise. Everybody remembers them as good blokes always ready with a joke. Always 'on' as we in the trade like to say. Well I can tell you I saw them when the public were not around. They were delightful and funny and still 'on'. Charming people. They really don't make them like that anymore.
Anyway, I only popped in to leave my Mums Ashes Urn here. A good job I did because The Pic has left a note. 'Man coming to deliver screws, Money in dragon ashtray' I am concerned that The Pic is becoming what you call those people scared to go out and meet people. Yes that's right. I am worried The Pic is becoming a coward. That reminds me I also met the journalist for the local rag that day, as we in the trade call them. Yeah he was waiting to get a quote from the Comedy Pair. That was the beginning of the end really for him because he never managed to get one. Don't think The Pic ever met him that day. Still doesn't know him that well. Anyway best wait for the screw man.
BERNIE WOODSTAIN JOURNALIST
Good Morning, I am reporting to you from the ravished, war torn, hell that Cosmic’s back garden has become. It is true that we first met many years ago during a Morcambe and Wise Book Signing. I had hopes beyond my talent and have failed in making the tea at several local papers. Now papers are dead on their feet leaving only TV and Radio, both of which have simply become too busy. We are now reporting on the bombs falling on a dictator we once hated, then liked a bit, then hated again. Although too many Whiskey Macs may have dumbed down my journalistic senses, I am only now aware that being sober helps no one.
Good Morning. I can report that I am at this very moment about to embark on writing a mighty tome concerning the life and works of Cosmic Antidust. My hope is that the trivia book world will open up their collective eyes to read what Cosmic and his fascinating collection of famous friends actually did to make them famous. Swoon at the Tambourine lessons, gasp at the orgy of prescription drug taking, mainly for back ache apparently. What in hell am I doing? I could have been somebody. A famous journalist read by millions. I could have been invited on Question Time. I am the ONLY person Not to be invited on Question Time. I could have been a contender. I could have been somebody.
So I hang out with a bunch of people I don't really know. Hoping for a story to come flying at me. Wishing that my byline will come up. One day it will. One day from the bottom of a bottle will come a story that will change my luck. Meanwhile the biggest natural disaster is put back because we are bombing people and they are bombing people. One day my story will come.
AND SO TO BED
I am alone thank goodness. I notice a few extra additions to the entry in the blog. I always wanted to know who that journalist was. No interest to anybody but me. Anyway for some reason the Lighthouse is empty. Except I notice a few more bits of furniture have been added. Plus an urn I don't remember seeing before. Yes it's good being alone. You can sort out thoughts and put the mind in order. Yes it is just fine.
Nothing much on TV tonight. No good watching the roulette thing on TV because the women presenters aren't on it. Actually what did I see tonight. Oh no wait a minute. Better not say too much. I promised Ethel she could do some Film and DVD reviews. So I expect she would like a free stage to do her stuff. So then what else is there? Oh I know, I can watch the old camera site on the Net. Except everything is dark for reasons I don't really need to go into. Still can look at The Smugglers though. Let's see what is going on? Oh well there you go. Another band or maybe the same ones. Now this is one of the cameras that has sound to go with it. But my speakers are off. Well why not turn them on again? How shall I turn them on again Dear Beverley Dear Beverley oh how..... sorry went off on one then. Now if I can just reach for the on switch ...I can.....just.......No can't reach unless I actually climb to my feet. If I do that then parts of my body will start signalling to each other. Quick Bladder Control, he is on the move , start operation empty. Heart he is moving start pumping again. No not worth all the effort. So we will leave The Smugglers alone.
Right then I suppose I should read for a bit. Except I have only......a pile of.......November 2009 Magazines to read. Well those are the only ones I can reach. So then a bit of work tomorrow and then may do some cleaning up. Or not. Probably not. Oh I know its recycling day the day after tomorrow. Big day for me that. Have to collect all the stuff together, put it in a plastic skip or three. Then row over to the shore and let the bin men collect at the appropriate time. They are really good here. As long as the stuff is in the right place. They allow me to mix my recycling up into one skip. It all goes into a tip anyway I expect.
I was told that the new thing to do is to eat as much as you like before Six in the evening and then nothing at all after that until breakfast. I have tried that but sometimes it is just not a viable thing to do. But today I have managed it. So a bit of will power and there you go.
At least it will be early to bed tonight. Not that I can sleep in all this silence. I wonder where everybody is? Still nice to be alone for a while. May just have a sandwich before I go.
LOSE CONNECTIONS
Last night I had a dream. I won’t bother to tell you about it but suffice to say it meant something to me. Now I find that when I dream I dream in TV format. The episodic type of dream. Often leaving off what will happen next and featuring people I may vaguely remember from TV series. Now the one last night featured Kate Silverton, the News Presenter. She was walking around an audience, presenting a talk show type thing and I was in the audience. She talks to somebody and that sets the events of the dream into motion.
Do my dreams come with an Equity Card now? Or is it simply that we have lost the connection that TV used to give us. I am of the age when I used to hear people talk about what they watched last night. They could laugh and debate it because we all saw the same things usually. Now we all watch something different and some good stuff is cancelled after a few episodes because none of us knew it existed.
I look at what is on offer on the Goggle Box for next week and despair. Poor Ethel asks me if there is anything I have to watch that she hasn't actually watched. Usually there is nothing and so she goes off and hopes the postman will arrive with a DVD she ordered. So many channels, so little to see. Although when you live on a lighthouse, you only have a choice of a few channels with reception not what it could be. We used to have boosters the size of industrial air conditioning units. But times have changed and the boosters are a little smaller.
Ironically then, we have lost the art of conversation. Not because we are too busy watching something to notice the presence of another Human Being. But because we don't have a common TV experience to share. It is a strange World.
Time for a cuppa I think and to settle down to watch the quiz show I like. Have you seen it yet?
IMAGES AND DENIALS
Arriving with a few books in his hand, Cosmic sits down and whistles loudly to attract attention. I am the only one in spitting distance so I look up. He tells me he has had a letter from Bernie Woodstain complaining about the state of Cosmic’s back garden. I ask if this is a euphemism. Cosmic says no. The fence is down and the foxes have been growling and prowling. For a moment I can't remember who or what Bernie Woodstain is but it suddenly comes to me. Although I leave the subject of what Cosmic’s back garden has to do with the reporter anyway.
Cosmic is the sort of person who doesn't seem to mind people not listening to him. So he continues talking about matters of no importance. Suddenly I am aware that he is on his feet eyeing my book shelves. They are full. So full that I have had to put books on the floor. Cosmic is telling me that he has had to put books in boxes and will have to rid himself of a few. Just like his music collection. Time to down size he says. Then he asks me if I would like to downsize. I say no thanks. Next time I notice him he has sat back down and no longer has any books in his hand.
The mere fact Cosmic hasn't moved means that he still wants something. Beverley stops writing my internal thoughts and asks Cosmic if he would like a cup of tea? He says he would. Then says he will help with the recycling if I like. I say nothing. When Beverley returns, She is telling Cosmic that I have been mixing names up all day. I called Ethel, Edna and Beverley Brigitte. I say it is nothing to laugh at but try not to show my concern. I am worried. However Cosmic tells me he read the blog this morning and I meant to put 'Loose Connections' didn't I, as the heading. But I didn't and deny it. He asks me if I am sure. I explain why I put 'Lose' and not 'Loose', Cosmic smiles as if he has caught me out. Nothing more frustrating than being accused of something trivial that is simply not true. I feel like Henry Fonda in The Wrong Man.
When Cass comes in she is complaining that her feet hurt when she doesn't put her shoes on properly. Cosmic and Brigitte, I mean Beverley, seem to sympathise but I don't understand. I wonder if senility is catching. How can you put on shoes improperly? Does the confusion not end when you work out which foot to put into which shoe?
I have come to a natural break in what I am doing. But fear makes me pretend I am still working in case Cosmic wants me to downsize a book shelf. Beverley then asks Cosmic what Bernie is doing in Cosmic’s back garden? It is annoying that Beverley asked the question and more frustrating that I am interested in the answer. But Cosmic just shrugs and says we don't want to know. Clearly we do, but I guess Cosmic will wait for a bigger audience before he tells us. Then he says he has a damp patch in his living room that will have to be sorted out before he can put his house up for sale. ‘And the garden’ I say, and he repeats 'the garden' and agrees. He then tells me that the damp patch looks like Bobby Zamora which is why he has let it go for so long. It is too much of a gamble hoping the prospective buyers of the house will be fans.
My feet begin to throb along with my head. I wonder if I put my shoes on properly this morning?
NOT A FILM REVIEW BY ETHEL
Ethel is sobbing in the corner of the room and Beverley is trying to console her. I have been upstairs and unaware of what has been going on. Fortunately Beverley can multi task, so can record my inner dialogue while consoling Ethel. Beverley shows me the film review that I had apparently promised Ethel could write. The review is full of 'that bloke that was in that film,' and ' you know the girl that looks like that other girl from Holby City'. But she ends up by saying she liked the film and the special effects were very good. However there is a meandering epilogue to the supposed review.
I guess it has been in there for some time. I sort of knew that Ethel had separated from her husband. But wasn't aware that he had left a note saying he was leaving her and then had died in a car accident, with their daughter, on their way to the other woman. I am shocked, and yet pleased in a way, that all that bottled up emotion was coming out. It is supposed to be healthy isn't it?
Beverley calls me to one side in a hush hush manner. She points out that we can't put this on the blog. I say why not? She points out that the heading 'Ethel Reviews Prince Of Persia', however complimentary to the film, may be less a review and more a grief counselling. She has a point I suppose. So I suggest changing the title. But Beverley looks daggers at me. She says we can't put this on a blog in case .....then after a pause She says that it would be too upsetting for too many people.
Films and Books are wonderful things. They allow you to drift away into worlds that make you forget about the world you inhabit. I spend my time not wanting to be where I am. Ethel says she is sorry but feels fine now. She walks to the door and Beverley has her arm around her. So I ponder about the review. Should we go ahead and publish and be damned?
Cass comes down from working on something and asks what the noise was about. I tell her and show her the review. She seems less shocked then I expected and says she advises me not to include it in the blog. Cass remembers a few of us all sitting down together and Edna telling us about her Husband leaving her for a cleaner. Cass was sure I was there. I was on a split shift. It was in the afternoon and the TV was on. Just as they were starting to broadcast soaps and stuff during the day. Ethel probably heard the plot line from one of those soaps. Cass doesn't think Ethel and Dick ever had any kids. Besides Ethel was always known to try and make her life a little more interesting.
When Beverley comes back she asks if I want to change 'Edna' to 'Ethel' in my inner dialogue because I keep forgetting Ethel is the right name. I tell her what Cass has just said. Beverley says we all knew that didn't we? But Beverley was hardly going to admit it when Ethel was in the room.
So I just nod.
Funny how what started as a film review has turned into such a........what's the word?
Anyway Prince of Persia is a fun film by all accounts.
THE MOON AND A DREAM
After last nights strange goings on with Ethel, I find myself a bit drained of emotion. Also I was a bit miffed with Beverley who left an 'Edna' in my internal thoughts instead of correcting it because I didn't answer her query about correcting the name. But now we seem to have both been able to put that little fracas behind us (selfish bore). Sorry?
After retiring for the night I wandered up to the top of the lighthouse. The view from the lighthouse was as clear as day. The Moon, although not full, was as bright as any time I can remember. I could see the coast and the town and would have been able to stare into the guest houses if there was anything worth watching. I must have dropped off up there because I remember a dream about a shop. As a young man I used to work in a shop. But the dream shop bore no similarity to it. I was asked to apologise for bringing in a packed lunch when the shop canteen provided food. I said nobody had told me but I would explain to the canteen person. But when I went to the canteen, the clear door was closed and two girls were scrubbing the floor. I then noticed little spiders on my coat and a tried to pick them off. Then the moon woke me up. The Moon is supposed to be closer than usual to us. I am not sure if that means emotionally or in distance
A glorious day today so stayed inside to watch some Apes in a live cam at a zoo. They were moving as much as I was. They kept disappearing into a little shelter. Probably watching a live cam of me sitting watching them. The Apes all looking at each other complaining that I don't do much.
I hear water in the pipes which means somebody is having a shower. Oh yes all mod cons here. But if it is Cass it means she will want to go out. She only ever has a shower when she wants to go out somewhere. I am in two minds about whether to call Cosmic as he is the only one with a car and could help. If Cass wants to go shopping for anything other than in the local shops Cosmic can take her. We did have a car but a year ago it just sort of stopped. The garage said it would be too expensive to put back on the road. So if either of us have to go somewhere then Cosmic kindly takes us. I say 'us' but I don't remember the last time I went over to the mainland. So do I call Cosmic or not? I will have a piece of toast and wait to see the lay of the land.
COSMIC SAVES THE DAY
So the clock on the wall says it's time for my quiz show. Not mine exactly but one I could have been fronting, if the audition had gone better. So I am about to settle down to watch it when, 'ring ring', the first part of an Abba song alerts me that my phone is ringing. So I think ‘shall I let it go to answer phone’ but hey it could be my agent. Not that I think I have him anymore. We may have parted company and just sort of drifted apart. That sounds like a cool lyric, let me write it down. Anyhoo I answer the phone but it's no agent. Just Cass ringing saying she wants some tobacco and some idiot has taken both the boats and moored them on the jetty. Well they have a system don't they. One boat at the jetty and one at the lighthouse. Not complicated but the system has collapsed. So will I come and save the blimmin day. Oh yeah like I have nothing better to do.
So I drive to the jetty and row over to the lighthouse. Needless to say Cass isn't ready so I have to walk up and go in. The Pic is munching a toastie and the smell of toast is a real turn on for me. So I go to the kitchen and make myself some. The Pic is pretending to work but I can tell he is watching the quiz show. Not that he would admit it. Anyhoo I sit down ready to enjoy the TV and Cass comes in all dressed in her thick Parka and holding her 'Terminator Bag' around her shoulder. A few hurried mouthfuls and 'here I go again, off down the road again', as Twiggy sung. I ask The Pic if he wants to come. I have already worked out the two boat problem. But he looks at the time and says he doesn't want to be caught in the traffic with all the Schools turning out. Cass says it isn't the right time but The Pic says it is. It isn't. Cass asks The Pic if he needs anything so I tell him he needs bread.
So I am waiting in the car because we have to go to the shop that sells the right type of stuff Cass wants. I notice a Japanese girl in tight shorts and a blazer type of top. She is struggling with a bike lock. Now I don't know how old this girl was. But I know there was a time I felt I had reached the age it was becoming creepy to look at young girls in a certain way. But what was far worse today was the first thought that popped into my mind. I can hardly believe it myself. The thought was, I hope the awful disasters in Japan haven't upset her or her family too much. Then I thought how creepy I felt not being creepy. I hate becoming old.
Cass returns with more bags flung around her neck and arms than is healthy for any human being. So when we arrive at the jetty I row the boat over. Cass carries the bags up to the lighthouse and then returns to row back with me, so she can return the boat and tie it up back at the lighthouse. By the time I get back to my place all the good TV is over and we have the news and repeats of The Eggheads quiz. Now I have already watched all of those. 'If not for me' as Olivia Newton John once sung, what would The Pic do?
I wonder if I could muddle a team together for Eggheads?
BEVERLEY AND FIRST WORDS
We all have an internal thought recorder. Some of us are known and given names. Some hold down independent jobs while not needed for thought recording. While others are dismissed as a thought pattern and sent on their way. Which is fine because on the whole ITRs, as we are referred to amongst ourselves, have no ego to talk of. Well we shouldn't but you would be amazed how the most insignificant ITR thinks themselves above all the others, even if they have never had a five letter word to record.
Which brings me to 'first words'. If you are famous, you may well have your last words recorded and published for posterity. Now I know posterity and it isn't stupid. It knows most of the so called 'last words' are a complete fabrication. Yes sometimes the 'last words' may well have been uttered by those claiming the rights. But more often than not they were simply not the last words uttered. Take for instance Captain Arthur Spigot Picayune of the 17th Huzzahs, at the Battle of Little Point. Now his last words were recorded as - 'My Country I do it for thee'. Where as the true words were ' Cor blimey get it out of me'. I shall admit this may well have been a natural mistake in the jotting down of the words. But I doubt it. We, as ITRs are responsible only for what is recorded in our head not in others. Although it would be fair to say we do on occasion have a small dinner dance and swap stories.
First words can be interesting. Not the guttural nonsense uttered while we are learning to type. There was a time we had to record free hand but I digress. The passing of baby food into the small intestine is often mistaken for a recognition for those within earshot. But it isn't. However much Mummy and Daddy wish it were. I don't suppose I am breaking any confidences, by telling you that the first words of the present Picayune was 'The End'. They were also the first words he read. He was often sat in front of the TV and for hours on end the programme finale was greeted by the words and then the sound 'The End'. Although The Picayune believes it was a sign of his future. Waiting for 'the end'. But it wasn't. Just his parrot like brain trying to copy what was in front of him.
I also know Cosmic’s first words. Well his ITR and myself often have the odd coffee together. His first words were 'Rock Hard'. Now fortunately he is unaware of this fact. Which is just as well because, like The Picayune, he would mistake the fact as some portent for the future. Where as the truth is he liked throwing things at his own face. His parents told him not to and like another parrot he learned the phrase.
Sometimes it helps if you have time to prepare first words. Even then some picky so and so will have a go for years on end if you make the slightest error. First words uttered on the Moon for instance. Also you can write your first words and they will forever be recorded and read by all. For instance the first words written on a message sent to test the telegraph were 'What hath God Wrought'? Or the first words to test the connection for the Internet were 'LO'. All deep and well thought through. Oh alright then the first words on the Internet should have been 'Login' but the connection was broken early. So first words can be interesting more than last words. Either way we read into them what we want to.
BERNIE WOODSTAIN HAS A WALK
I am reporting from the back garden of Cosmic’s House. Foxes have again been seen in the area, acting as if they own the place. In a way they do. Seeing as they use this area as a toilet and a kitchen and even somewhere to snooze during the day. I have not seen Cosmic, or indeed any human life out here in over a year. The thick tentacle like brambles are the other tribe fighting for supremacy. It needs UN intervention to stop the halt of these warring tribes. That nice lady from next door has told me to do something about the fence or she will call the police. I have to inform her that as a reporter, I must remain as a non intervening, independent source. She says something very rude. This seems an ideal opportunity for me to take a wider look at the area.
The front garden has the peace that only the back garden can dream of. Although even here the signs are bad. The brambles and thorns are showing signs of establishing a foot hold. Ironic then that all this seems to have been caused because the last professional army to come into the area thought it a good idea to use a shredder to cut down all the weeds. Then spread them over the whole area like some sort of Reverse Agent Orange. Now the brambles and thorns grow in abundance. No wonder the UN had to force that last army out of the garden.
Beyond the front garden is a tale of hope as well as fear. The shops stand mostly abandoned. Although on closer inspection only one is actually abandoned and why we need two coffee shops is beyond this reporter. A clothing store tells the uplifting tale of a girl down on her luck who made good with the help of a wealthy benefactor. Many years ago the girl was drawn to the area by the lure of bright lights and the pavements paved with gold. By the time She arrived the lights were flickering and you couldn't see the gold for the down and outs. She had to join them and become one of their number. She leaned to clothe herself in rubbish bags and recycled plastic . A passing, yet wealthy, stranger noticed how she stood out from the rest of the less fortunate. She had managed to make a top from a well known supermarket carrier bag, slacks from a brown permanent shopping bag. Shoes from vegetable plastic bags.
After a short discussion, the wealthy passer by bought her a shop & told her to use her natural talent in fashion to build the first shop in an empire of clothing stores. But after a week it became obvious that, in this area, nobody wanted to be seen in the same bag fashion as their neighbours. However the girl continues to try and make a living while the wealthy owner is in prison due to illegal banking practices.
Despite the continued down turn in the economy, shops try their best to hang on. The all day little supermarket has been re-vamped for the umpteenth time which really means the freezer was moved a foot to the left. The butchers remain even though people still point at it from outside with the curiosity of children visiting a Nineteen Fifties Town for a school project. The expensive fruit and veg store is failing to compete with the small all day supermarket so have advertised themselves as The Organic Store. While the two coffee shop owners spend their time chatting loudly to one another outside their shops, putting off anybody who might like to frequent their establishments.
At least the girl and her fashion store have one good customer. The only one in need of surplus carrier bags. This is the one shop above all others that remains busy. The Chemists reign supreme. There has never been so much need for anti anxiety pills.
HAMMERING AND A JABBERING
For some time I have heard strange noises coming from the main land. They are building things anew and knocking bits down. The pneumatic drills and the concrete mixers have been rehearsing the cacophonous opera for weeks now. But suddenly silence. Has the money run out to pay the chorus? Or has everything been flattened that requires flattening? Has the town been brought down to size? I feel as if it is the end of War Of The Worlds, and the mighty invaders have been laid low by the smallest of all of Gods creatures, the germs and common cold. Then a chill of fear grabs me in my soul and I hear it. The noises of the alien building, knocking down and building up, have left the main land and are now here. They are upstairs in the lighthouse.
As I move slowly up the stairs (although handy for effect, 'slow' is in fact my natural pace.) The sounds of hammering are becoming louder, along with the pitiful sound of a voice muttering and jabbering. Is there some poor person of the cloth, waging an internal battle with themselves, concerning the truth of good and evil? Or some helpless victim of the alien machine? I draw close, my breath caught in my throat. Along with the banging and the muttering comes the smell. Oh that awful smell of decay and burning. What monstrous atrocity is being performed?
Then, all of a sudden, it rushes at me. Like a poltergeist on speed, the bits of furniture flung towards me. I clutch the wall and try and press hard against it. This is painful as the lighthouse has real stipple walls that will leave wounds if you lean on them. I see a bit of wood rush past me, what looks like a wardrobe door misses me by inches, a large white plank follows, until eventually enough wood to build hope and a reason for living for a homeless family of four, are discarded and abandoned on the floor. Then the smoke cloud floats towards me. I hold my breath. Oh dear God is that Cass trapped in the thick tendrils of the cloud. Her mutterings are indeed pitiful. ' I have no room to move,' her plaintiff cry is lost as the wood is moved from the floor and down the stairs.
My lungs burst with the need for fresh air, but I am forced to look inside her room and expect nothing but devastation and ruin. Instead my eyes can see no discernible change. There still seems to be no actual space between the furniture. Possibly a chink of light from the window has been allowed to force its way into the room. But otherwise it is hard to see what has been taken out.
Cass brings up a mug of tea and hands it to me. Then there is talk of cork boards and where to put them and there might be a space if we move the microwave. Now I for one have never actually used a cork board to put anything on. I use the fridge door and magnets as my ideal message drop point. There is even a parrot recorder on the fridge that you can leave messages on. So why do we need a cork board.? Fact is we have three of them so far. So it is dump them or use them. It is now, at my most vulnerable, that I must not let my concentration fail. In the past I have agreed to all sorts of things and not realised until it was too late. So now every sinew in my body is strained to make a decision. So I fudge and say we should keep one.
Hoping I have escaped the alien invasion I retire to my room. But the shattering noise and blood curdling scream causes me to meander (I don't do rushing) to the epicentre of the sound. Downstairs under a pile of wood that had been placed by the door is a foot poking out. Cosmic’s muffled voice says that we will have to make a trip to the dump then, next week sometime. Then his hand forces its way from beneath a plank. Cosmic had brought in the post. Amongst the post is a Neighbourhood Watch Newsletter. The headline reads 'Together we can reinforce success'. With this amount of wood we can not only reinforce it, but build a spanking whole new one.
HAVENEDGE RIOT
The local TV broadcaster seemed excited. We had pictures from Havenedge. That's the town we go to, to live a little. They have drugs and drink and people willing to do things, so they can buy some of the drugs and drink themselves. But today even Bernie Woodstain would have bought a bus ticket there, if he could have afforded one or indeed could find a bus. Today Havenedge had a riot. Although not so much a riot more of a slight altercation. But it involved more than three people so the TV called it a riot.
Back in the Sixties Havenedge had riots every weekend. Well they had A riot on one weekend in the Sixties. But, because pictures were taken, it sort of became a legend. It also became a commentary for the decade. So it would have been awkward if the commentary for the decade only actually lasted a weekend. Well only one windy Saturday really, between two in the afternoon and nine twenty five in the evening. So the tale was told of riots every weekend at Havenedge. These riots were said to be between The Mods and The Rockers. This time the facts were stolen from other seaside towns. The actual Havenedge riot was between Cyril Busby’s Saturday Morning Music Club and Mrs Moore’s Flower Arranging Club. Both clubs had double booked the scout hut and neither would allow the other to enter it until their relative deposits were returned. There was even a rumour that the great Bob Dylan wrote a song about it. Some believe that to this day.
So today's riots reminded one of those long lost times. The people on the TV interviewed today were pretty sure the Government cuts were to blame for today's unseemly pictures. A coach was hired to take some of our more vehement political thinkers to London. So they could march in the anti cuts marches going on there. However only one coach was ordered and one more person arrived than the bus could legally hold. The rest of the available buses had been taken by the bus company to ship their own staff up to London to complain about the cut backs. A vote had been taken, and the most unpopular driver told to stay behind and drive up the other protesters. However Mr Patel said he may well be the most unpopular driver but he would complain to some Government body about his unpopularity being down to his parentage and not because he had slept with most of the wives of his fellow employees. . So the next unpopular driver was told to stay behind. That is why Gerald Scrivens was left in front of the cameras as the sole representative of the bus company. The reason why he was nicknamed by his fellow drivers 'Back Stabbing Gutless Smelly Scrivens' and the second most unpopular driver also became apparent. Scrivens blamed everybody else for the riots including in alphabetical order every driver who had ever made his life a misery.
So when the protesters arrived at the bus and Scrivens counted the queue he was happy to let them on except the last one to arrive. But Miss Slacido was eighty two and thought her complaint, about the pensions and being thrown out of the Country after being smuggled here in the back of a lorry full of Korean stain remover, took precedence over the young complaining about cuts in University fees. Her complaint was backed up by Colonel Walter Strong who had fought in the Korean War and hated the kids of today. So a push became a shove. A 'Who you looking at Mister, I have my Dance and Media Studies Degree to protect' became a ' Move it Fatty Grandpa' and thus the altercation became a riot.
As I peer out of the lighthouse to the coast of our small town and then beyond to the lit up sky above Havenedge. I can only hope that the light is from the towns light pollution and not from any fires started in the town.. The late news has just reminded me to put my clocks forward tonight. Yet today feels so much like a throw back to the Sixties. When all was peace and love and we kicked hell out of each other and made a slap the sound of the Sixties.
BANK & LIFE
Banks are self perpetuating organisms that are only there for the good of their own existence. In the good old days when nobody needed to borrow money and the banks wanted you to give them your money. They offered you lots of interest. They were the glory days. I was never as rich as I was when I received my first paycheque for 13 pounds Gross. The beer was cheap and you could have a good night out at least once a week.
Nowadays banks take all your money. Offer you interest rates that wouldn't keep a fly in food. Then expects you to move the money after a year to another of their schemes, because the scheme you are in only lasts for a year, until the interest goes down to .01 per cent. Did you not read the small print? Why not discuss your money with a financial adviser? Has anyone ever had a financial adviser? If they do, do they not charge for the service. In which case do you not need to be rich enough not to need banks anyway?
Now if you are lucky enough to have a bank you can actually visit, you can queue for hours and they thank you for waiting. Or you can go on the Internet and go through the elaborate security system that needs changing every few months, because somebody has hacked into their system. I find the worry of deciding if drawing out from my saver long term account offering 1.2 per cent on my three hundred and twenty seven pounds forty three pence so I can transfer it to my current account offering no interest but pays the bills coming in if the money is there just too much sometimes. Especially now as banks are going to rid themselves of the bother of issuing cheque books. Then the banks really will be a building where you put what pittance you have so the CEO of the bank can live in luxury. What will be the point of banks for anybody not in dire need of a financial adviser.
Now if this was still a working lighthouse, the worry of such trivial matters could not be addressed even if they wanted to be. You would be stuck on the lighthouse with two other blokes, You would all share the shifts and haVE time to think of life without the clutter. Shifts would be spread amongst the three men. Midnight until four AM. Then four AM until midday. Midday until Sixteen hundred hours and then the first bloke would come back and take the sixteen hundred hours until twenty hundred hours and so on. You see nice and simple. Everyone knew what their duties were and everyone was willing to lend a hand.
Now everything is more complicated. We are given all these labour saving devices to help us, but instead we just have to rush to keep up with it all. Life has become automatic. We don't stop to look at where we are.
(A note from Beverley, Internal Monologue writer).
The above rant is a replacement for Ethel's review of the TV Series 'The Pacific'. Her review thought the characters too similar and the fact that they were all based on real people, they should have been more distinctive. She also said the special effects people liked the blowing off, of legs too much. However Ethel then became upset and wrote about how it brought back the memory of her own Father dying in World War Two. However Ethel's Dad is alive and well and can often be seen shouting at the local youth for making too much noise and looking scruffy. Ethel will no longer be writing any Reviews again. Bernie Woodstain will take that position over.
Also The Picayune has never rushed or tried to rush since 1987. So while he talks of a life full of rushing and the dizzying pace of life. He is merely going on hearsay.
Thank you.
ETHEL AND BERNIE DEBATE
With less than two reviews completed I have been told that my career is over. While it is fair to say my reviews were from a very personal point of view, I don't accept they did not have their place. Besides, if I included some private matters within the review, then it merely shows how involved I was with the project and the films themselves.
One of the criticisms of my criticism was that not all the personal matters I mentioned were true. But then who really cared? Nobody really cares what anybody else thinks of a film, let alone a 45 year old woman that has gone through in life what I have gone through. The personal inclusions need only to be taken out, not the whole review banned. Besides it would have been better if I had just been told not to include certain elements in my reviews and that would have been it. Did I not need help more than exclusion?
Already there has been a petition on Facethebook to have my reviews reinstated. Please support the petition and have those who would silence a thirty five year old woman who has a voice, reverse their decision. A twenty seven year old single mother shouldn't be silent.
Good Morning, I am Bernie Woodstain reporting from Cosmic's back garden where things are worse and the animosity along with the plants, still growing. I was asked to take over the Film Reviews last night. As anybody in the Newspaper World knows, this is not a proper job for a serious journalist like myself. Normally it is done by people with no talent or the Arts reviewer. They normally sit alone anyway and have nothing to do when there isn't a painting to look at or an Amateur Play to sleep through. So it is not a step up for me to take over The Film Reviews.
As in any review, there has to be some background, some extra information. It is not good enough just to say one liked or disliked a film. Even if the reasons given are valid. Ethel's reviews would have been fine. But it is rather bad taste if nothing else, to include matters of a personal nature. Especially as the personal matters prove to be untrue. It can upset those readers who identify with the writer, because they have genuinely gone through a similar experience. only to find they have been duped and their emotions manipulated.
Within the review one has to accept what is read is at least well researched. Ethel's above argument to have her reviews reinstated includes three errors on her age. Her real age is above even the highest quoted. Even a cursory look at any or all of the Social Networks online would prove there is no petition anywhere to have her reviews reinstated.
Besides does anybody really need to see yet another review. We live in an age where we can all comment on films we have watched. The one thing I agree with Ethel about is, who cares? So while there may well be a place for Ethel, we should accept that that place is not commenting on Films. I have learned over the years, a true journalist cannot become too involved in what or who they are writing about.
PICAYUNE AND THE BIG SHOP
There is a muffled cry and a bang from outside. I ask if anybody heard that. Cass answers from another room. I don't hear what she says. So I shout again if anybody heard the noise? Cass shouts something that I don't hear. So I have to leave the luxury of my book and go to the stairs. I shout if anybody had heard the noise? Cass says She had heard the noise. She then asks me if I heard it and what it was. We both discuss the possibility of it being important and whether it needs closer investigation. As it's time to do the big shop for the month, we both decide we can check on the reason for the noise when we do the shopping. So I return to my room, put on a coat and sit down and carry on reading my book.
Having both been driven to the kitchen by hunger I find myself with an armful of post. Again I am faced with the idea that whenever I move, my body and brain decide it is time to kill several birds with one small pebble. So with the post in hand I go to put it by the door so Cosmic can pick it up, next time he is over. It is then I remember the noise I heard earlier. So carefully I open the door and find a whole pile of wood. So we have had a delivery of wood for some reason. This isn't that unusual. I have often found things delivered to the door that remain a mystery to me. Cass appears to know what most of it is for. I know that unless it is shaped like a book or DVD, it isn't for me.
So I shout to Cass that her delivery has come. She says something from the kitchen I can't hear. I begin to bring the planks and the boards in until I see a hand poke out from the pile. Cosmic has brought over the post. I take the letters and pointless offers and give him back our post to take over to the mainland. There is a muffled voice and I clear some space. Cosmic asks me why I am taking the wood inside. I tell him. He informs me it is the wood that was thrown out only a few days ago and has to be dumped. He hasn't had time to clear it yet. Could I help him up? Having conceded to his wishes, I tell him I felt a certain deja vu with this situation and then ask him why he was trapped under the wood if he knew it was there. He tells me I don't want to know.
Once inside I tell Cosmic we are about to do our big shop. He remarks by saying 'Oh Joy'. Cosmic also tells me I will never guess what has happened at his house. So I don't. Then he says I wouldn't want to know. So for the time being that is out of the way. I make sure my scarf is tight around my neck, my coat is done up and my shoes are on. Then I sit down at the computer and log on to the Supermarket Site. When it eventually loads I start shouting out items. Cass scurries around shouted 'yes, we need fourteen of those', or 'no of course not'. She shows her annoyance whenever any item She has no interest in is shouted out. Then debates with herself for what seems hours whenever an item She likes come to the fore as to the amount desired. Cosmics has to remember if there are any items he needs because the shopping will be delivered to his house Although he can add them to the order once he is at home.
Having managed to complete the order in more time than it would have taken to physically go out and do the shopping, we all stop for a break. I ask Cosmic what it was he wanted and why he came over. He says I wouldn't want to know. So I don't ask again.
LOVE IS IN THE AIR
Do you remember the single 'Love is in the Air' by Pope John Paul. No hold on it wasn't him. John Paul Young was the name I think. I was not a fan of the song, not that John Paul would care. But whenever I heard the lyrics, I thought they sounded like 'Lovers in the Air'. So whenever the song came on the radio, I had a mental picture of low flying naked copulating couples. Whizzing about making aeroplane noises. The reason why I bring this up is we have our first romance of the blog. Well I say romance, more a meeting of minds. When you first think about it, it seems unlikely, But the more you ponder the fates the more you begin to realise it was kind of inevitable.
The speed of the romance has me shocked. I wasn't aware these kids (using the term loosely) even knew each other. I didn't even know they knew of the existence of each other before yesterday. So I feel rather proud. If it hadn't been for something I put into motion than these two may never have met. I didn't know they had done. I feel like speaking in a strange Liverpudlian accent and talking endlessly about buying a hat. But I wont. For that may just be jumping the gun a bit.
The first I heard of it was as Cosmic was leaving. I told him to be careful of the thrown out wood piled up outside. He seems to be in the habit of using it as a temporary dwelling. Maybe he is actually trying to use it as a half way house between where he lives and the lighthouse. Anyway he said he may be back tomorrow as Cass had said she needed more tobacco. 'More tobacco already,' I said? As Cosmic is her lift to the shops I made a joke about hoping his intentions are honourable towards my sister, considering the time they are together. This comment made us both involuntarily shudder. But did lead to the fascinating facts of the real romance.
So I asked Cosmic why he hadn't told me before. He told me I didn't want to know. I hit him. Not a punch, more a rather dodgy slap. Both of us felt embarrassed. Cosmic said that he first noticed them this morning. He was up at eleven (early for him) and there they were. Talking in a rather intimate way in his back garden. Bernie and Ethel, large as life and deep in conversation. Could they just be in discussion about the Film Review. 'Get over yourself' Cosmic rather needlessly replied. Even a fantasist and a journalist couldn't find enough to talk about over a pointless review on a pointless blog. Hurt and stunned I took this comment to be nevertheless fair. Cosmic continued by saying that besides all the talking there was gazing and eye looking. Eye looking I asked meant what exactly. Cosmic replied 'looking into eyes'. But isn't that what we all do when talking to other people? Tishposh' came the down and with it ex pops stars reply. Apparently people don't look at each other in their eyes unless they want to sell you something or scare you. 'Or they like you' was added as an afterthought. So I said he meant 'gazing into eyes'. But he said no that's eye gazing and is creepy and means something else. I gave up
What do we do? Do we allow it or can we encourage it? Or do we just ignore it? Cosmic thought for a moment. He would give them some rubber gloves and some shears and they could start cutting away at the thorns and weeds in his garden. I didn't think this was very romantic, but as I was already losing interest in the grubby love life of two minor characters, I nodded my head in agreement.
So now is the time to start thinking about wedding presents. They can all be sent care of the lighthouse. I could do with a new TV.
PICAYUNE AND THE VACUUM CLEANER
How many Picayunes does it take to change a light bulb? Well one to find the right bulb, another to take the old one out, a third to go shopping for a new fitment, because the old one just came out with the bulb. A fourth to turn off the electricity, a fifth to fit the new fitment, a sixth to go out and buy a new screw driver because none of the screws in the new fitment actually match any screw driver made. A seventh to go out and buy another bulb because the new one doesn't work. An eighth to realise the bulb doesn't work because the electricity is still turned off. Finally a ninth to go round the lighthouse resetting everything because instead of turning off just the light circuit, the mains switch was pulled. Thank goodness I don't actually have to change the main lamp in the lighthouse anymore.
Electrical goods don't like me. They see me coming and nudge each other and giggle. When a car headlight goes out I look at the manual and see what bulb I need. Go off and buy one. It doesn't fit. Go back to the shop, ask for help. Then this kid of twelve looks at me as if I'm a simpleton, shakes his head, tuts a few times and then tells me I need a two prong A7589034 not a B7589034c. Then in under five seconds he fits it and its over. That's why I leave the car stuff to Cosmic. He goes in and announces to the whole shop that he needs a new headlight bulb and knows nothing and needs help. Then drives off waving and thanking everybody and they all think he is such a nice man. I however have my pride. Which is why it's all electrical goods, not just bulbs and light fitments that plot against me.
Televisions only like me when they have rubbish showing on them. Otherwise they go all fuzzy and start hissing at me. If I have a DVD, those wonderful, indestructible entertainment discs. I slot them in and just at the good bit it s t a r t s t o stic k. Then jumps back to the beginning of the plot again. I take it out of the machine and look at it. Then carefully wipe it and it is fine. Until the next good bit and we start all over again. Why are the credits always undamaged? Still we now have Blu Ray and 3 D and the rest. These are more scratch resistant. Yeah right, sure they are.
So it was with this background in guerrilla war tactics that I approached the vacuum cleaner. Now the last time I actually approached the vacuum to partake in a proper workout was about a year ago. Yes I know it is bad. But the lighthouse has seen some changes, sorting out and deciding what to keep and what not to keep. So speed was never my best attribute. I like to ponder things. A bag from a charity came over in the post and clearly stated it needed books to sell. Now one thing I have in the lighthouse is books. On the stairs, in the bathroom, in the light fitments instead of ligthtbulbs. I have books. So I put a few books in the bag so somebody can row them over to the mainland and before I reach the door the bag is broken. Why ask for books if you cannot handle the weight in the bag provided?
Back to the vacuum cleaner. Now this vacuum cleaner is a small, bend over hurt back, kind of cleaner. Cosmic lent me a stand up one but it was a bit impractical for a lighthouse. So we use this one. We bought an extension for it that wasn't really made for it and it keeps falling off. Besides the extension nozzle hole is bigger than the nozzle hole of the vacuum. So there is occasional build up of dirt and dust. So you take off the extension nozzle and have to work the towering dirt tower into the smaller hole. So I expected the usual problems. The cleaner cuts off and doesn't work unless you let it cool down. Then it fills up easily and you spend time trying to empty the easy empty bucket it has with it. Manage to spill most of it and you have to vacuum the dust up again. So as I say I approached the vacuum with some trepidation. It looked at me as if it was asking what it was I wanted. But not to be put off I started to find its lead and plug. Oh yes it put up a battle to keep them hidden. Which one of us is the more superior? A vacuum cleaner or a biological being with millions of years of evolution behind him?
Twenty minutes later I had found the plug and lead and decided to vacuum downstairs and halfway up the stairs. Now I wasn't about to move chairs or anything. This wasn't the decade clean for goodness sake. However where I saw dirt I pointed my extension nozzle at it. Yes it became blocked a few times and yes I had to empty the bucket thingy. But I managed to actually vacuum downstairs and go halfway up the stairs as planned. My back didn't hurt too much and I wasn't gasping for oxygen with all the exertion. So tomorrow I feel confident and able I can carry on and finish off the vacuuming.
There it sits. The Vacuum Cleaner, all smiling and helpful. Knowing that, having lulled me into a false sense of security today, it will give me hell tomorrow. I can hear the giggling from here.
COSMIC AND HIS DELIVERY SERVICE
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Hi there, Cosmic here ready to make the day a happy place to be. You may well remember the radio show I did after my successful pop career. Now however, I seem to be involved in a delivery business. Normally, if I have a spare moment in my busy schedule, I will pick up the post for the Lighthouse and then row over to deliver it. Takes no more than a quarter of an hour, half an hour round trip. They tend to use my address for items that need delivery, because there is no way the poor old postman has time to stop and spend half an hour on a few letters.
Sometimes one has days like today that all I seem to have time for is the Lighthouse delivery. At half eight this morning, there is a ring at the door. Ethel is standing there and says she has signed for the packages. They are both for The Picayune. Half eleven, ring at the door and the delivery chap is holding a parcel, addressed to the Big P himself. A quarter to one and the shopping delivery arrives. So I go through all the substitutes they have put in. Yes Evaporated Milk is fine instead of Light Evaporated Milk. Not sure about the Vegetarian Spaghetti and Cheese Quiche but I will take it. So I bring all the stuff in and then take out the stuff that I ordered just for me. Tick them off the invoice and then load the rest in the car. Now there are plenty of frozen foods so no real time to mess about. The car boot is full, the back seat is full and the passenger seat has enough long life milk on it to supply war torn Bridlington.
I then drive to the quay and fill up the rowing boat, allowing enough room for me to sit and paddle. Why The Pic doesn't invest in a motor for the boat is beyond me. But he says he can't afford it. So I paddle there and hand over the parcels and then the first part of the shopping. Making sure that the invoice is there so they can check the shopping off. I then take both boats back and fill them up with the shopping and row back again. Now the steps to the Lighthouse take some climbing but The Pic waits until a few Chocolate bars are left in the boat before he comes down to help. He says he has been transferring the shopping to the kitchen.
So with the last shopping delivered, the kettle is put on and he sits with me and asks how I am. Meanwhile the shopping is being put away by Cass who also ticks off the items from the list. She brings in the tea and offers me a scone. I always say yes please, just to see the look on Pics face. He seems to think I should drop off the shopping and be on my way. So I am eating my scone and drinking my tea, when The Pic starts opening up his parcels. He has ordered some American TV Series from France because it is not available over here. He then fits some slippers on. They are the sort that have a flap at the top, so people who have trouble moving and bending can put them on easily. Despite this apparent feature, The Pic has trouble manoeuvring his feet into them. Until, that is, he actually climbs to his feet and then has no problem at all, despite the pained expression in his face.
Then comes the moment that I dread. The Pic looks about him like a startled Meerkat and asks where the lager is. I say there wasn't any. He looks at me accusingly and says he ordered it. Cass looks at the list and says it isn't listed. The Pic says he ordered it. I say he couldn't have done because it isn't on the list. He then blames the computer for not registering the lager he ordered. He then blames God and The Labour Party, goes off into a long diatribe about Fascism and munches sulkily on crisps and a chocolate bar. Before he has time to ask me to bring some lager back with me, I am out of there.
I am by the boat and have in my arms a computer. This is a computer that needs mending by the nice bloke in town. I also am asked to give a lift to Cass for her work this time tomorrow. So having done all that and then delivered the computer, I arrive home. Ethel and Bernie are in the front garden. They are both drinking hot beverages. Bernie says he is glad he caught me as I seem to be running low on coffee. What goes around comes around.
CASS GOES OUT TO WORK
Awaiting phone call re computer, can it be fixed or is it dead? Not sure if I should go out to work today or stay in and do work here. If computer can be fixed by Wednesday than it would be easier to work from home on that computer instead of the computer down stairs. But if it can't be fixed I need to finish on the computer downstairs before Wednesday. Or it may be Thursday. I have lost the phone number to the chap who is mending my computer. But suffice to say I think it best to go out today, at least have tomorrow to work on the computer downstairs. Although I need to go out next week if I don't go out Friday as well. Hate not having a car.
So having decided to go out to work today, I have time to take some more furniture out of my room. I have to dismantle it as I go. Over the years, whenever anybody has said they want to keep something, but don't know where to put it, it has ended up in my room. I have no room to move. Must have a cigarette. Now I am moving stuff out to leave room to move stuff in from another room. Plus there is furniture to come from Cosmics house. At least I think he has arranged to move in. The money would be nice. But I am not sure The Pic, my brother, has any idea what is going on. Decisions seem to be made that pass him by. It is like the books. He has emptied loads of shelves. Now the books are in cardboard boxes. So I ask him is he sure he wants to rid himself of the books? Yes he says. So I ask him again if he is sure? He says yes. So I start taking a few out to leave for the charity shop. I know we will have to deliver most of them, but the van is coming round, so I said I would leave them out. So I do, but I can tell The Pic isn't happy. I ask him if he is alright with the books going? He says he is. But I am not so sure he is. I need a cigarette.
A shroud of mist has descended on the coast. I ask The Pic what he will be doing today. He says he may finish the vacuuming. So I go off to work. I notice the bags with the books in for charity haven't been collected. Cosmic is waiting in the car to give me a lift. I mention the books not being picked up. Despite the damp, they seem alright. But why leave them instead of picking them up? Cosmic agrees and we drive to where I am working. It is the short drive today. The longer one, where I may go tomorrow, haven't really decided yet, is along the coast and right near Havenedge Harbour. Today is in the back streets and solid work all day. Must have a cigarette.
At last it is at the end of the day and it is still damp. Cosmic picks me up and moans about the traffic. We arrive at the quay and the bags of books are still there. I go back to the lighthouse and The Pic tells me the man mending the computer has phoned and asks if it is alright to buy a part. Could I give him a ring? So I say to The Pic why didn't he answer it? But The Pic doesn't answer the phone anymore. Besides the part will be ordered for the computer if I don't ring back anyway or so The Pic says. He tells me he has taken the vacuum upstairs ready to use. I ask him if he has eaten. No he hasn't, except for some toast and cheese this afternoon. Does he want something? He asks like what? So I say Chicken, Fish, Meat Pie, Sausages, Fish Fingers, Quiche. Bacon, Spam Fritters and or an assortment of any of the above. He asks what I want? ‘I don't know’ I reply and have a cigarette.
So I have some salmon and rice and The Pic has something with beans. Now tomorrow, I am not sure if it would be a good idea to go out to work or to stay in and finish the work I have to to do by next Wednesday. Now if my computer is working by next Monday ...................
THE APRIL FOOL AND AN UNINVITED GUEST
Thick fog and the mainland is cut off from the lighthouse. Not that I care today. I can feel the other thing coming. It will just hang around, probably won’t come up to the lighthouse. May just appear at the window. There was a time it followed me about everywhere, barking and snarling. Even bit me a few times. But it is when it actually nuzzles up to you and you have to hug it that you know you are on the border line. When it's bad, it is worse than I have ever known it. But then it doesn't often come around now, certainly doesn't hang around all the time.
There it is. Despite the fog, I can see it from the lighthouse. Squatting down on all fours, smelling the air like an animal. It's decaying body, liquefying and putrid. A horror to behold. A nightmare from the works of Edgar Allen Poe. A demon and a right pain. I speak of The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body. You can bury it, but time and time again it will suddenly appear for no rhyme nor reason. Its featureless countenance and dripping shroud hangs around it. You can smell the decay. Then, when you least expect it, it will bark like a dog. Not a scary dog, but a cartoon dog. Nevertheless it is enough to make one realise it is there. But as I say , today it is outside. It may well drift away on the wind like the fog. Or I may well find it standing by my side at any time. Until I can bury it, or ask Cosmic to row it over to the mainland.
There is a ring at the door. I am torn between running away and hiding. Or facing it straight on. Then I hear the singing. For a second I am puzzled. I go to the door and three small children are singing to me. They have a scarecrow standing next to them. I wonder if I am still asleep. The kids start singing Christmas Carols. They go through complete chorus of ' The Holly and the Ivy' and then start on ' Good King Wenceslas'. I am then asked for a penny for the Guy. At which point Cosmic appears beaming from ear to ear and shouts 'April Fools'. The kids laugh hysterically and take the scarecrow and run down the stairs, to where a man is waiting to row them back through the thick fog. Cosmic is standing in front of me waiting for a response. So I debate with him whether or not this was a genuine April Fools. At which point he frowns and tells me to do something unpleasant.
I have forgotten how long Cosmic has known me. But he should have realised I am not a fan of practical jokes or April Fools. When one appears on TV, I complain about the waste of the Licence Money. When we used to read the Daily Newspapers I would complain, either about being fooled or the weak story that was so obviously an April Fool. However Cosmic pushes past me and explains the bother of setting the whole thing up, the time it took and the expense. While he is moaning and complaining about my lack of enthusiasm for his jolly jape. I stop him in mid sentence. 'April Fool' I shout at him and start skipping on the spot. Cosmic looks as puzzled as I was earlier. But then at least my April Fool made more sense. Although I was not amused I fooled him into thinking I wasn't amused and then by shouting April Fool made him think I was impressed. Double April Fool. I feel smug at my quick thinking but Cosmic seems hurt. Both by my lack of enthusiasm of April Fool and by the fact he may well have been done on the cheap.
Outside The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, shrugs to itself, as baffled as the rest of the World. Then drifts away in the fog. Feeling just a little unwanted and depressed.
BERNIE AND ETHEL
Bernie Woodstain reporting from the the back garden of Cosmic Antidust, where the Fox Poo becomes as intrusive as the thorns. I have never before seen such flagrant disregard to health and safety. The fox, we must call, that one, has deliberately made an assault towards the back door of the house by marking a drain cover. While this reporter cannot move easily without being stung by nettles or pierced by thorns, these night howlers seem to be able to move about with free will. They make strange, bizarre noises at the dead of night. We are unaware if the sounds are from fights to the death or from them having sex. They seem to do both with alarming regularity. One thing is for sure. Unless something is done soon, neighbouring areas will start to insist on action being taken. The World holds its breath, while the super powers decide.
If I may just pause for a moment and introduce a personal note into this report. I am proud to say that my relationship with Ethel has reached the point where we can almost tell what the other one is about to say. That warm and fuzzy feeling one has, when we no longer feel alone but a couple. That sudden realisation that.... hold on Ethel is talking to me. Yes beloved, what is it?
Yes Ethel I was just saying that....Yes dear.....yes dear....but I cannot just take a spade and clear up the mess myself. Well because I am a reporter and we can't just encroach upon a story we are reporting on. I know..... yes dear I know but.....yes true enough but you see......If I start taking clippers and saw to the garden and start to clear the mess myself, it will appear I am taking sides. I have to remain impartial. Yes I know the fence panel has come down and the rest is being held up by string. Well nobody can fight their way to the fence because of the weeds and brambles. Yes I know I could but....yes dear.....yes dear...but you....yes I see. However it is not my back garden is it? I mean I am not trained am I? It would be like me invading someone else's garden to clean things up and then cutting down their favourite flowers. I wouldn't know what I was doing. Yes I know. But I wouldn't know where to cut the tree and all the overgrown stuff. Could I just take a saw to it and cut wherever? I don't think that would be a good idea. Yes I know they do but they are politicians.
Well Ethel my sweet, the problem is the garden has just been left to its own devices. Nothing anybody can do to weed now. We should just let it run its own course. Survival of the fittest. What do you mean that sounds familiar. Cutting back and destroying everything sounds familiar too. No there is no middle ground. Its all covered in weeds. Where are you going Ethel? What do you mean somebody has to do something? We should leave it for the authorities. No you can't ask Cosmic for a spade. Well you shouldn't even be here. This is after all my work. No I am not fed up with you already. Ethel. Ethel, where are you going now? But Ethel dear. Ethel? Ethel?
Once again it appears my job has intruded upon my personal happiness. It seems like only yesterday when everything in my life felt good. Wait a minute it was only yesterday. Now it is all over. The remnants of my relationship are like ashes in a cold fire. Only the breath of what air is left in me, will disturb the remains of hope. Now as I await ...... hold on what's.......Ethel where did you find the spade? Put it down, no don't do it, Ethel stop it...stop it, it will change everything.......stop it. No!!!!!!!
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The Picayune turned off the Television. Nothing on as usual.
THE ROAD TO TOMORROW IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS
There are two things I know for sure. When I go to bed tonight, I will feel a little ashamed and disappointed in myself. When I am in bed and thinking of the following day, I will be confident that I can step through the front door of the lighthouse. Even work outside for a short time. I even believe I can go down to the boat, clamber in and row to the jetty. Climb out and then walk to the post box. In my mind I can. In reality, the next morning, I can't leave the confines of the lighthouse.
There is plenty to do in the lighthouse. It is not as if there isn't tons of work to be done. But I shall think about the work and eventually do a little here and a little there. But the enormity of the work yet to be done, will grind me down and I shall stop. Then something else will crop up and I will feel even more under a pressure that doesn't exist.
May be it is just a guilt thing. I need to feel guilty. I swore to myself that, despite any feelings of being self conscious, once people I knew and loved began to die, there was no point and no room to feel this way. I have always believed we fill a space in time and that's it. God’s plan is no more than that. I believe in God but He is a nice person who sees all but can influence, not a lot. God will sit there and say to himself, 'why on Earth does Man allow this to happen. If Man really exists, why couldn't he stop the suffering'. So I have no reason to face the day in dread. It is not like I am going to let anybody down. But I need to feel guilty about the lack of achievement.
Or is it because I dislike the outside so much. Not so much the sights and sounds, but the people. They all have a pointless existence and all look as if they have somewhere to go. Whereas in reality, we are all heading to the same point in time. So what is the point in doing anything before we reach that point. You understand the point I am making? It is pointless I know. Wasn't there someone doomed to see the death of others but not his own death until it happened? Or maybe I am making it up? Anyway that's how I feel every morning. Hope in bed, hopeless out of it.
Cosmic is here, telling me about Ethel and the reporter bloke. Ethel is a fantasist. Somebody who is so broken and vulnerable that she has to make up her life. Yet She is outside. She can relate to these people. Or to any people. While I dislike people but care what they think even though I cannot relate to them.
I think I have decided that being alone is wonderful. That is the point. I enjoy it so should stop beating myself up about it. Lazy and lonely. Why try and change after all this time?
(Note from Beverley - As I write the internal monologue of The Picayune (please see past blogs) I think I know what is missing from the above. Most shy people actually have a superiority complex. The irony being if you think you think you have an inferiority complex you have the opposite. So while The Picayune may well feel crippled by his inadequacy, he is in fact a cocky so and so, who looks down on others failings. He simply doesn't like the Human Race. He thinks he is the very god like person he describes as believing in. Less time looking down and in. More time spent looking up and out will do wonders. Not that it will ever happen.
If you are walking along and close one eye. With the open eye, stare at your nose. That's who you are. A brain trapped in a body. I know that sounds the sort of thing The Picayune would say. But the fact is, he would go on about the inadequacy of the nose. Sometimes a nose is just a nose. A life is just a life. The Picayune has both. He should be thankful and do something with it).
STAMP IT OUT
Ethel leans on a spade. Cosmic has asked her to join him later to go the lighthouse and help bring the dumped wood over, so it can be transported to the official dump dump. Ethel nods and is half listening to Bernie report to himself on the rise of stamp prices. Up to forty six pence for first class stamps, he is saying. Thirty Six pence for second hand stamps. She remembers receiving Birthday Cards from aunties with a ten shilling note inside as a present. Now just sending the card costs that much.
Ethel used to collect stamps as a girl. She had albums full of the things from all over the World. Then she just stopped and drifted onto other things. Although the thrill of collecting special edition stamps was rekindled earlier this year. They had brought out the anniversary editions stamps for Gerry Anderson's Thunderbirds and a few other of his series. Ethel remembered them all and listened with amusement as Cosmic and The Pic talked about their favourite episodes and then replayed them all on DVD. Her thrill was remembering the stamps collecting. But she couldn't remember when philately became an embarrassing hobby to have? Or indeed why? The Pic had said he found the word 'Philately' still haunted him. When he worked in a bookshop, the hobbies section was by the medical section. So he always equated stamp collecting with a decease. For Ethel that is exactly what it had become.
Silly really the way people collect things and sometimes just stop. Cosmic once had a huge music collection. Vinyl, Tapes, Cd's and a few strange Cartridge things. It was a collection that he had started long before he became famous. But, one day, he just decided to break up the collection and sell a few. Then sell most of them. He was only left with a few dregs. Not much money in ' That's what I Call Music and Dance eighty three'. So they were the only ones he now had. Bernie Woodstain once had a collection of type writers, or so he was saying. All gone now. The Pic had a huge collection of books. All gone or going. Finance and lack of space is always part of the excuse. But it sometimes appears to go beyond that.
Ethel remembered her Fathers collection of Porn. Only the magazines and books. When the videos and the films became easily accessible, her Dad said it took the heart out of the subject. So he sold what he could of his collection and threw away the rest. Some people keep on collecting until their days have ended. Anything and everything. Some people are killed when the collection of newspapers collapses on them after sixty years. But then that is when collection strays into hoarding.
Bernie is finishing off his piece to camera and is ready to hand back to the studio. Ethel is still leaning on the spade and Cosmic has gone indoors to have a cup of tea. Ethel thinks of the things she collects now without realising it. There is a knock on a window and Cosmic is pointing to a mug of tea. Ethel nods and stops leaning on the spade. She glances over to Bernie who is asking the studio if they need him to go again or was that alright. Ethel smiles to herself. We never really stop collecting.
TAKING SIDES
For over thirty years, Cosmic has known Bernie. While not exactly mates, they have been in each other’s orbit for over half their lives. They have shared a few laughs and a few tears. They were together when some of the great news events of the past were going on. At this point Cosmic went off on a diatribe of disasters. A sort of 'where were you' when the four twenty bus to Havenedge was cancelled. I suppose it didn't help when I had to keep telling him these shared experiences were not actually shared. The four twenty was not cancelled, but delayed for an hour. Theoretically it was the five twenty that was cancelled. No they couldn't have both watched live on TV, as the first snow fall hit the fun fare big top, as the cameras were not there at the time but arrived later. I think he would find that the man found on the beach, dressed from head to foot in a woollen coat, was in fact a sheep. However as I sat there, listening to this list, I did concede that Cosmic and Bernie were long standing acquaintances.
So what is the problem? Bernie has taken to sitting in Cosmic’s front garden. He refuses to ever set foot in the back garden again. Bernie says he can stand the attacks from foxes and insects, He can even put up with the lost tribesman he sees up there. Along with the brambles and the thorns, ripping at his coat and skin. But the one person he refuses to be around is 'that woman'. Ethel has taken to staying in the back garden and has become very helpful. Now it should be explained that both front and back gardens of the Antidust residence are in a bit of a state. But it is, without doubt, the back garden that is in dire peril of exploding onto neighbouring property. Although that isn't stopping Ethel. She told Cosmic, while she helped him move the wood from the lighthouse front door into the boat, that she would clean up the front garden as well. If Bernie was there it wouldn't bother her. Not that she is a gardener. Just a 'cleaner upper'. So Cosmic said fine, and Bernie saw them in the car together, Ethel sitting on a wooden bed frame, and Bernie blamed Cosmic for taking sides. Or at least not taking Bernie’s side exclusively.
Cosmic rarely talks to his neighbours. They either ignore him or moan behind his back and park their cars in the road instead of their drives, making it hard for him to back out into the road. Until his move into the front garden, Bernie too had very little contact with anybody. Only the shouts and curses from people in their gardens about the fence coming down or the Fox being allowed to enter their property from Cosmic’s garden. But Bernie just told them it had nothing to do with him as he was simply an impartial observer. All changed when he moved into the front garden. Suddenly he has become the voice of the people. Talking to everybody and anyone as they pass, or go off to work. Agreeing with them when they complain about Cosmic. Reassuring them that despite Bernie’s best efforts reporting on the state of the garden, Cosmic has remained deaf to all pleas to improve the situation. What is more, Cosmic seems to be allowing any homeless passer by to settle in the back garden. They all nod their heads and wish each other a good day. Until Cosmic comes out and then everybody shuts up and coughs.
I listen to Cosmic as the clouds begin to roll in. I think it is going to rain. A telephone call has some good news. Cass will have her computer back by tonight. As long as Cosmic can bring it over and here is a card to draw out some money to pay for it. Could he buy some bread on the way back as well? Oh and if he is passing the post box? So Cosmic pulls up his collar and heads back. I am glad I am able to help him with his problems. Sometimes one just needs to talk to ease the worry. Although I must admit to feeling a little drained after spending so much time as a sounding board for others. Still if there is anything else I can do?
However I am fully aware that it is important for me not to take sides. I can be supportive and listen, but I have to be able to see every ones point of view. I remind Cosmic not to let the computer get wet when he rows it back. He says something that I cannot quite hear. Maybe just a 'thanks'. I feel good for once. You see I don't need to go anywhere to help people. I can just help them from here.
PUSHING THE ENVELOPE
When one day goes by, without major mishap, one tends to try and go for it again. Not always a good idea and one I try and steer clear of. It is late and Ethel is at the door. A computer, fixed and paid for and another parcel is in her hands. She smiles and hands them over. I struggle with the computer but hand it on to Cass. A gushing conversation takes place and everybody seems enormously happy that everything is fine. The computer hasn't been switched on yet but the gushing overflows. Ethel said what a nice man the computer man was and will use him herself, should she ever own a computer that needs fixing. Or indeed own a computer at all.
In the other parcel is a toilet seat. I wasn't aware computers need them but the lighthouse needs one apparently. Actually it needs a new everything so why not start with a toilet seat. Ethel then takes me to one side and says she wasn't sure about 'the other letters'. So she has left them and will bring them over if I want, or shred them if I decide that that is the best course of action to take. I ask her what other letters. The answer does slap me on many levels. Cosmic never bothered to keep the 'other letters' away. So we just shredded them ourselves. Ethel says she knows how upset Cosmic is when he receives these 'other letter'. Again I am surprised on many levels. How does Ethel know the intimate post of Cosmic’s letter box. She has only been in the garden for a few days. It turns out we are talking about letters addressed to loved ones long passed. Except for me, eighteen months still doesn't seem long since my Mother died. Although why the Australian Lottery and Olga Mystykover the mystic, should need to keep in contact with Mum is a mystery. Ethel says Cosmic has the same sort of letters and his parents died many years ago. I would complain that mystic Olga isn't very good at her job, but we still have banks sending correspondence despite having the relevant details on their mystical systems. I thank Ethel and tell her to shred them. I am warming to Ethel. She tells me about her trip to the dump to help Cosmic toss all our unwanted wood. When did Ethel became so important? But then I think it may because I have insulted Cosmic in some way and Ethel is picking up the slack. I worry easily.
Cass tells Ethel that there will soon be more furniture to chuck. Cass had decided to wait to test the computer when it is in its new place. What new place? A different room and with furniture being moved and I can move that there and where I sleep now will move to somewhere else. Then that other thing I wanted to keep can go where that other thing we decided to move is now. If it fits with the picture where it was. I ask Ethel if she wants a tea and she says no as she is off to The Smugglers for a swift half. Since when did Ethel go to the Smugglers? I feel left out of the loop of what is going on. Especially as twenty minutes later Cass comes up for air after continually talking and asks "if that's alright with me?" What is it I was supposed to be listening out for to agree with? I shrug and make a sort of snore come groan noise in hope that that will suffice as an answer.
I am not sure if tomorrow will be safe. Ethel has taken over the recycling to the mainland and I suddenly feel even more useless than before. Things are at last happening without any input by me. Just as well as if people waited for me to do something then nothing would ever be done. I look at the bookshelf I cleared. I look at the dusters I put on it, still waiting to be used. It has only now occurred to me. I don't want to disturb the past. Very deep and meaningful I am sure. But still true. Everything stays the same but everything changes. I remember steam trains and waiting on bridges as the steam disappeared one side and then magically appeared the other. I remember walking to and standing for hours at Football Matches. I remember going to the cinema and going out to work. Now I have a computer and the Internet and a heart condition. When did I become so cut off?
The thought of just stepping outside fills me with dread. But maybe tomorrow will be a good day to push open the envelope a little more. But I don't promise anything.
COSMIC TAKES A BREAK
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here to play songs old and new, with fish or stew. The cooking segment comes up just after this song by Speed Achievement. Lets rock this place.
All of a sudden my responsibilities have been taken away from me. Ethel seems more than happy to take up the slack of my duties and I for one am loving it. There is still a certain atmosphere in the garden. What with the negative reports coming from Bernie Woodstain in the front garden. Ethel appearing to be above such tactics in the back garden. She seems more than happy to leave the fight against the tribes and just pop out to deliver or pop back to her place for a sleep and a wash. I have never had it so good.
Went to The Smugglers last night and had a drink with Ethel. Oh stop it, we just enjoyed a break from the normal routine. Mind you it was quiet in there. What with the prices and the fear of being shouted out by the landlord for not paying him for the drinks, I think people prefer the trip into Havensedge. Mind you prices everywhere are high.
Still it's great to relax. Ethel has already delivered the post to The Pic this morning and says she will collect the rubbish and return the recycle skips. She has plans for the garden but the enormity of the project is hitting home. Although once she takes that first step, she says, then it will be a start. As far as I am concerned, Ethel can do whatever she wants whenever she wants. It gives me time to catch up with some reading. I can have a look at some of the fan letters that still come in. Yes then I can...um...sort out a few things that have been on the back burner. You know the sort of things that keep being put off. Yeah I need to spruce up the old place so I can sell it. I know Ethel will be fine but not sure how Bernie would cope when I move. Still that's a long way off yet. Can't worry about Bernie. So yes then, having Ethel take over some of my little jobs has been just great. Really a relief. Left me some time to sort a few things out. Yes sirree, time for myself to treat myself.
Not much on Television this afternoon. Not that I have the time to stop and look and TV. No just making an observation. I could go out and help Ethel in the garden or even with some of the chores she is helping with. I don't want her to think that I have abandoned her. Yeah that's what I will do then. See if she needs any help this afternoon.
It's great having time to oneself. Nice to be able to take a break.
TOMORROW AND TOMORROW AND TOMORROW
I am watching the sad sight of a ferry being moved for an overhaul. Part of my daily routine is watching, via the Web, the ferry go back and forth. I shall miss it as will many of the patrons of the camera we watch the ferry on. I then turned to witness the tide go out on The Poole Harbour camera. But my big event of the day was I watched for Ethel, without the aid of a camera, to bring over the recycling skips and met her at the boat with the rubbish. It was the first time I had been out of the lighthouse for some time. It was a nice day and I felt proud. But on the way back to the lighthouse, up a slope I never realised was so steep, I noticed the path being over taken by grass and weeds. Also the steps were crumbling. I knew that going out would throw up more problems than answers.
I was surprised but pleased to see Cosmic today. He was less pleased. I thought he would be happy that Ethel had taken some of the work load off him. Up to a point he was, but he seemed less than enthusiastic. Apparently he had asked Ethel if she would like him to help her in the garden. But she said that as Cass was throwing out furniture and as Cosmic had rubbish filling up his garage, wouldn't it be a good idea to clear up the garage. Cosmic says that along with garden rubbish. there are old reclining chairs, a settee and a whole lot of broken computers from the lighthouse. Cosmic said they need the hard drives taken out and there are plenty of old screens. A few big TVs that are no longer able to be mended and a whole lot of creepy crawlies. So with all that in mind could I give him a hand. I wouldn't have to do much, just take stuff from one end of the garage and pile it by the garage door. Then it would be taken to the dump later. I said I thought I would be too busy tomorrow.
Cosmic stayed to watch the football and we talked about The Grand National and The Big Game Saturday. Cosmic said we could all watch the race and listen to the football together. He would pick me up tomorrow at the quay on the mainland at about eleven thirty. I said fine and he left. I walked down to the rowing boat with him and as he was half way across realised what I had agreed to. So I called to him and he waved back. I shouted again to try and catch his attention. But he either pretended not to notice or didn't want to. So I began to panic. I must leave him a message on his answer phone telling him I cannot possibly help him tomorrow. Or I could just leave it and wait until tomorrow and tell him something has come up.
Back inside Cass was moving furniture and filling up every spare bit of space we have on the stairs. I told her about Cosmic and the garage, She said it would be a grand idea. The sooner there was space in his garage, we could move our stuff to his garage and he could either dump it or give it to charity. That would leave space in the lighthouse for him to bring over his furniture. Then he could put his house up for sale and we would then be setting the wheels in motion. Besides it would leave room for me to have a proper bed instead of sleeping on a mattress. I wondered if I wanted my wheels set in motion.
All of a sudden I feel I have gone from being an outsider looking in, to somebody who is screaming and kicking as he he is dragged into the maelstrom. So it looks as if I am actually going out tomorrow. I mean proper going out, as in going out out. Still not sure if I will back down yet. I am torn between feeling as if I have been let out of a prison hulk for a day, or am facing the firing squad. No doubt somewhere in between lies the answer. Wish me luck.
AS COSMIC AND I WERE SAYING
The garage was full. Not just fullish but full. I was still buzzing from making the journey. I had dressed and walked down to the rowing boat. Hesitantly I put my foot in the boat and after a few attempts actually balanced myself. Then I slowly lowered myself onto the seat and wiped the sweat from my brow. Carefully I picked up the oars and began to paddle. Within seconds my arms were aching and my heart bursting. Drops of watery effort dropped onto my shirt. By the time I eventually reached the other side, Cosmic was waiting, clapping and smiling and dancing a little jig. This was not how I wanted to arrive on the main land. People were looking and frowning at Cosmic's antics. I rather hoped to draw no attention to myself at all. But the hardest part of my arrival was to come. I tried to reach for the jetty edge so I could heave myself up. Cosmic took the rope from the rowing boat to secure it and watched in pained fascination as I struggled to climb up. After the third attempt I managed to support my elbows with my man boobs and then my stomach, then rolled onto the safety of the jetty. Cosmic was shaking with laughter. He put his arms up as if to restrain a crowd pushing forward. "No don't push him back, he wants to be beached" cried Cosmic, as I flapped about on my back, doing my very best impression of a fish out of water. So I lay on my back for a little while gasping for breath. At last I made the effort to roll over on to my knees and then climb up onto my feet, with the aid of Cosmic's arms. Tears rolling down his face he told me nobody had noticed my arrival and began giggling like a school girl.
The passenger car seat had to be slid back and the back tilted. I couldn't easily climb in normally so I had to put my bottom in first and then swing round, banging my knees on the dashboard. I feared that I would leave a sweaty stain on his car seat, but the fumbling and the contortions trying to put on the seat belt soon put all other fears out of mind. On our way to his house we passed the windmill I had forgotten existed and the shops I am glad I didn't have to visit. The place looked horribly crowded but Cosmic said it was quiet. When we arrived at his house, Bernie was sitting in the front garden. He put his finger to his head and did a little salute. I smiled back. Climbing out of the car was no easier the fitting in it. Again I had to swing my legs out first and then my head wouldn't go low enough to fit through the door. But after a couple of complicated manoeuvres, the freak was free.
We had a cup of tea before entering the garage. When we did the size of the job in front of us became apparent. Cosmic rubbed his chin and took a broom from the collection of things he had scattered about. He began brushing away the cob webs as far as he could reach. The problem was there was only a brief pathway between the side door of the garage and a gas meter on the far side. The rest of the floor space was taken up with tools, old beds and a few large chairs I remembered from the lighthouse. There was a wall of plastic draws separating the front of the garage to the back. At the back were piles of computers and other beds and settees and couches and every known hose known to man. Cosmic looked worried. We agreed this was going to take a bit of working out.
As we sat down, me on a tool box, Cosmic on a dusty mattress, we discussed the problem that lay ahead of us. Cosmic decided that the best thing to start with was taking out, through the side door, all the stuff by the front garage door. Then we could move the plastic tool support things out from the wall. Move the stacks of draws separating the front from the back of the garage, to the walls. Thus allowing access to the rubbish that we could then pile next to the front garage door. From there we could transfer it to the car at a later date to be dumped. The plan was set.
Cosmic explained that we could start Sunday. Today had been the planning stage and tomorrow will be too busy. Saturday will be Sport and that left Sunday to make a start. I was a little bit reluctant to say yes and have to repeat my exhausting journey, But he said the second time will never be as bad as the first. So it was agreed, Besides on Sunday we would both either be moaning at Fulham’s goal difference having been withered away or euphoric at a brave defeat. Plus the racing, so Sunday was ideal.
I had expected to be taken back but Cosmic began to talk. Did I know for instance that Richard Osman from the quiz show Pointless was a Fulham Season Ticket Holder? Was I aware that the real reason a man kisses a woman, is to transfer ahead of pregnancy, a virus. This virus was harmless to fit adults but harmful to unborn babies. So it served a two prong purpose. Harming a baby that wasn't his and vaccinating the woman against this virus for future progeny. I pointed out the hole in the logic but Cosmic had read it somewhere so that was the end of it. A whole afternoon was spent discussing life and blaming governments and being rude about football teams and their managers. We talked about films, great songs and books. We laughed out loud and we put the World to rights.
The trip back was easier, still awkward but at least I knew my limitations. Today had been a good day. I was actually looking forward to Sunday and another trip out. Who knew?
MY HEART SKIPS A BEAT
As a reward for braving the outside World and arranging a further trip out. I find a large bar of caramel chocolate. I always vow that I deserve just one every so often. But as I break off just a few squares I realise this is my third bar in three weeks. After that realisation my pathetic performance of trying to row the boat and sit in a car today makes me depressed. Did I see this creep up on me?
Cass is asleep again and is missing nothing on the telly. When I arrived back at the lighthouse I was full of the days exciting tales. But after seeing what she had managed to do while I sat and chatted with Cosmic, I felt less like boasting and more like apologising. Her room has been totally rearranged and she has room to move around a central desk type concoction. How did the room grow so large? I look at what I have achieved in eighteen months of planning and feel I have let things go completely. I am unable to move into first gear. The neutral gear remains dominant. Oh well to correct a problem, you have to understand you have a problem. My name is The Picayune and I most definitely have a problem.
I seem have finished the large caramel chocolate bar and wake Cass up. It is time she went to bed. This means she will go up stairs to her room and work for another few hours. While I will read for the same amount of time in my room. Again I manage to achieve nothing. As I walk up I do at least congratulate myself on taking the briefest of exercise today. With this in mind I walk up the stairs without using the handrail. Not out of breath that much so I guess I am heading in the right direction.
Then my heart does a flutter. Then it freezes and suddenly gallops and then freezes again. The heartbeat becomes irregular. Skip,beat beat beat quickly, pause pause, skip,flutter, beat,beat ,beat, beat,pause, skip. Still no pain but I am waiting for one. I go to the phone and take it. I will leave it within my reach just in case. That chocolate was a mistake and all the other chocolate before it. However if I died in the next few seconds I don't regret anything I have done. I wait for the next few seconds. I wouldn't have done things at the time if I regretted them, I decide bravely as the next few seconds pass. Besides it wasn't all down to me. Fate played a role. Always blame others is a good philosophy to live by if you think you are about to die.
After an hour my heart regains its rhythm. Sixty Eight beats a minute with only the odd skip. No pain yet and I feel better. Well I guess this is the start. Except I remember waking up and having my heart to a fan dance a few months ago. Blimey things are worse than I thought. Still maybe after Sunday I will feel as if I have more energy. I begin to think of all the famous people who have died younger than I am now. For goodness sake, self obsessed and now a superior feeling of survival. I decide to read until I feel tired.
I read about a woman who is a hundred and seven year old Holocaust survivor, who lost most of her family in the war. Her son died a few years ago. She is optimistic and hates nobody. My heart skips a beat.
DRIVING MISS CASS
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Playing songs old and new, if you have a cold or the flu. Cosmic Antidust here making drive time that bit easier.
Except driving on a Friday afternoon, in the sunshine by the coast, will never be easy. Cass is working a late shift by the docks. No I didn't like to ask either. I knew by the journey to the lighthouse it was going to be busy. But having to drive through Havenedge was like driving through treacle. OK the Sun is out and it is around fifteen degrees. Or whatever that is in modern terms. Or is that modern and the other one old fashioned. Whatever the case it was about fifteen degrees. I was at school when I learned all this plus Pounds, Shillings and Pence in the LSD system. Or was that a drug? When decimalization came in it was just an excuse to put up the prices. Nine old pence for a paper or something suddenly became five new pence. That is three old pence more overnight. All through history we have been cheated by the system. Or The Man as we used to say back in the day. Bastards all of them.
Anyway so I am driving through Havenedge. I know it is warmer than usual, so I have taken my sweater off. Still have vest, under shirt, shirt and body warmer jacket on. But people seem to think it is high Summer. Men dressed in shorts with no shirts and the women in shorts and bikini tops and such like. Now the girls are fine and are very pretty, But I am concerned they will catch a cold wearing so little. Besides why do they have to cross the road in relays instead of crossing in one big crowd. Havenedge wants to be green so there are traffic lights every few yards. Plus the pedal bikes zones and the bus zones. I used to like driving but now I am just relieved if I haven't picked up a traffic ticket or a parking fine, at the end of my journey.
This weekend, on top of everything else, Havenedge is hosting a marathon. So the main roads will be closed. Lots of moving heart attacks waiting to happen and the show-offs. Not sure having the excuse of running for charity is good enough. The cost of these marathons to the taxpayer must far outweigh any good charity receives. Already main roads have signs on them directing people to water stations. We have bollards popping up in strange places. Plus you have never seen so many Policemen and Firemen standing around discussing tactics with Ambulance staff. You can see them (you can watch in safety as the traffic is at a stand still) all debating on the best place to hide come the day of the marathon. All deep in thought over where to put that bollard, or that bit of tape or that sign and arrow. Meanwhile my car has moved a foot in ten minutes. Would have been quicker to drive through the runners on the day of the marathon.
I drop off Cass and say ring anytime to be picked up. There was a time I had to make sure I wouldn't miss anything worth watching on the box. But there is only one programme tonight worth bothering about. So I head home. Too late to start anything really. Ethel catches me as I go in the back door of the house, and asks about the garage. I say it is 'almost there'. My answer could mean anything so I close the door before we can enter into any discussion. Right now I have time to watch the things I didn't want to watch before. Or I can play a DVD of our last concert. It looks a bit blurry and misty. There is plenty of drop out from the transfer from video. But it reminds me on a day like this, that priorities change. Hold on this is good timing. The quiz show I like is on. See you later.
BERNIE WOODSTAIN AND THE GRAND NATIONAL PREVIEW
Good Evening, my name is Bernie Woodstain and I am here in the front garden of Cosmic Antidust’s house. With me are Cosmic and Ethel. On the phone live from the lighthouse are The Picayune and his sister Cass. For the purpose of this preview we also have Beverley, who writes the internal monologue of The Picayune and The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks.
Now before I hand over the microphone to each of you, I was just wondering how interested each of you are in The National and if you have a bet.
The Picayune - Hi Bernie, if I can come in here. My memory of the Grand National goes back many years. I remember the great races as well as the not so great. I also remember my Mum picking the winner or a finisher in the first four on many an occasion. Much to my Fathers annoyance.
Cass - We bet on line, but I don't think The Pic would bother if it wasn't for me doing it. Our interest will be on the game. If at half time Fulham are doing OK at United we will only be half listening to the start of the National.
The Picayune - Yes but I will be watching the four hour preview to the National
Cass - And I will be working
Bernie - So have you picked out your winners?
The Picayune - Yes I have picked three but will go for Big Fella Thanks. Trained by J Mangan and and ridden by Graham Lee
Cass - I have gone for Comply Or Die
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF
Bernie - So to Cosmic. Any feelings on the Race
Cosmic - Well I have to say my mind has been taken up by the traffic in Havenedge today. If it is this bad so early in the year, can you imagine how bad it will be later in the Summer. I also had to go through a red light today because a Police Car with lights flashing couldn't have pushed passed unless I did. What's the betting I pick up a fine and have to explain it all because they are too stupid to realise.
Cass - Don't worry we will write to the Havenedge Courier or to the BBC if you do. They wouldn't get away with it.
Bernie - And the horse you are going for?
Cosmic - Oh I don't know. How about West End Rocker
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF WOOF
Bernie - Ethel?
Ethel - What?
Bernie - You know very well what? What horse do want to put the skids under
Ethel - Well my late uncle was a jockey.
Beverley - The one that sleeps in the Library and is sixteen stone and very much alive?
Ethel - I have a problem, I don't deny it. I shall go for Character Building
Beverley - The Tother One for me.
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF
Bernie - Well that's easy for you to say. My pick is Hello Bud
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF
Bernie - A fair point well made. So The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body is plumping for Quinz because it sounds like Quint, the evil ghost from Turn of the screw.
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF WOOF?
Bernie - Yes indeed, or was Peter Quint just a figment of Miss Jessels imagination? Another point well made.
So there you have it. A bunch of people who know nothing having a good guess. Much like life it self. My name is Bernie Woodstain, goodnight and good luck.
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF
Bernie - I know, but hasn't everything been done before?
WATCHING THE RADIO
The lighthouse seems to be entertaining the hoards today. Cosmic was first over and is now working on the Video. I want to cancel the pre-recorded programmes or is it 'program' that I set up yesterday for today. But instead of setting up for today I set it up for yesterday next week. There is also another problem. The program or is it programme I want to record is Glee. Now I am not gay or a hypocrite. But I have already had a conversation about the state of TV with Cosmic. One of the programmes, or is it program, we singled out for jumping on a bandwagon of Fame type campism was the aforementioned Glee. However I do enjoy it. I also enjoy Cyndi Lauper and Cher and especially enjoyed their duet in a concert I saw on YouTube. Why do I have to hide the fact?
Beverley mentions that I am just insecure and the spelling of programme is English English and Cosmic swears at the instruction booklet to the video and says he has to go to the toilet. So I tune in via the computer to listen to the radio. Sitting next to the computer is a radio. No not a DAB Special Forces Surround Sound Digital Receiver. But a transistor radio of the old sort. But I still turn on the computer. Now I realise why. You can now watch the presenters as they talk. Just like watching a TV. At first I must admit you feel sort of dirty. As if you are peeping through someone’s windows and looking at them read a book. However one soon becomes used to it. It is a good way to forget just how dull radio can be.
Cosmic returns and asks the time I want picking up tomorrow? I had almost forgotten my second trip out in a week. It will be warm and a Sunday and there will be crowds around. I begin to panic. But Cosmic reassures me that if I make it to the garage, I will be too tired after five minutes of clearing and moving stuff to care about other people. Although I suspect Cosmic is just trying to impress anybody within earshot. Trouble is I am the only one in earshot and the comment just scares me.
We settle down and watch the first half of the football. Bernie Woodstain and a few other friends have joined us. But by the half time whistle, Bernie is doing a piece to camera and the friends have left. So I am torn and have both the racing AND the football on. Watching the radio is like watching paint dry so may well be my next big time waster.
The racing ended with few dramatic moments or excitement. I finished the race and Cass is pleased enough. The football had few moments in the second half to set the pulse racing. But we all agree we would have taken the result.
Then the moment comes when you feel as if somebody has taken all your presents. No denying the day has been a let down. We all smile and are polite but the day failed to fizzle. I see another Caramel Choc Bar and feel the guilt already closing in. Cosmic and Bernie sulk off to the Smugglers. Cass goes to work on her room. I look to watch the radio on the computer. Suddenly watching paint dry has its attractions.
GARAGE MUSIC
Well the clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here to play the tunes of yesteryear. Songs that make you want to weep, when life was so cheap. As I look across at The Pic trying to row across from the lighthouse, I am pulled back into the studio of the mind. Our last great, misunderstood album, 'Madman in a Rowing Boat', a Concept Album without a concept. If only I had the image that's in front of me now, way back when we were writing that album, I would be quids in.
Chest heaving and face streaming, The Pic arrives at the jetty. I know he appreciated my understated behaviour the last time he was here, he does shun embarrassment after all. So I help him tie up the boat and heave him onto dry land. More people are around than usual. So I have an audience and explain that the mass of human flesh on the jetty, trembling like the inside of an Alien egg, is a late entrant for the marathon at Havensedge. The Pic seems to groan and I help him to his feet.
After the usual fuss of trying to fit him into the car, we are at last on our way. The Pic is silent until we reach the house and prize him back out of the car. He tells me that Cass is still off loading furniture from her room at the lighthouse. So another trip to the dump will be in order. I ask just how much furniture and stuff did that room actually hold? There were at least three filing cabinets, a wardrobe, two desks, three chairs and two chest of drawers thrown out already. It must be like a Tardis room. The Pic says that is what his sister says. But slowly but shortly they are sorting things out.
Which brings us to my garage. Now we have a plan of action. However Ethel has decided to lend a hand which means take over the operation. I tell her we have a plan. So she says wouldn't it be a good idea to take the rubbish from the garage and put it straight into the car. Naturally we laugh at that. Well at least I do as The Pic is sitting on a step taking in the sunshine. I explain to Ethel that we simply don't have time or enough space in the car to do that. Besides we have everything in hand. We have a plan of action.
Bernie Woodstain sticks his nose in and starts supporting my point of view. I know he is just doing this just to annoy Ethel, but nevertheless I am happy for the comments. Still, the time comes when things have to be organised. So I tell The Pic to stand at the side door to the garage and take out the stuff I give him. As I am handing stuff to him, he tells me that there is a load of fox poo about. So I have to hand out spades and brushes so he can clear it up. I would help but I am now trapped in the garage. I can hear Ethel telling The Pic where to put the poo in the garden. That is when I find I can leave the garage and fetch a radio. I must have music to drown out the sounds of the underground, as we say in the trade.
When The Pic returns he asks where I found the radio? I lie to him because to upset him now would be foolish. So I hand him a dustbin full of garden rubbish to put somewhere out of the way so we have room to move. It is like those old puzzles where you have to move tiles in a square to make patterns or put the colours together. So when The Pic has done that, I repeat the gesture with another dustbin of garden rubbish. I do this a further two times. We now have a bit of space to move in. So I ask The Pic to start shifting the black bags full of whatever they are full of, and start making a pile at the the front of the garage, so they can then be transferred to the car and from there to the dump. He asks me where I am going? I need to go the little boys room for a while.
When I return The Pic is leaning on a broom handle and wheezing. He has disturbed enough bags to disturb the spider colony that have been happily living there for years. This is not fun. However we have a plan. We begin to unearth screens for computers, computers, telephone fax machines, answer machines, a sewing machine, kitchen utensils, a cuddly toy, a set of dinner plates, old computer games for machines that no longer exist and enough paper and packing to set up Father Christmas for the next fifty years. This is before we have even thought about the two large reclining chairs and settee (or couch, depending on where you were brought up). We then can move all the garden equipment, spades, forks, toilet seat (don't ask) and packs of rubber gloves and trowels into a pile to be transferred onto shelves and into drawers that will come from some of the furniture from the lighthouse. Simple isn't it?
Three hours later and the poor Pic is dead on his feet. He can't sit anywhere through fear of being eaten alive by the native population. I am not sure he has been on his feet, let alone shifted stuff around, for this long since he was at school. So we decide we have done alright and begin to bring in the dustbins and the garden rubbish from outside. The garage now looks as full as it has always done but at least we know what pile needs to be dumped and what pile needs to be kept probably to be dumped later. So I close the garage side door and The Pic joins me in a sit down and a cup of tea. We are both a bit stinky but there is no way I will have the strength, after I have driven The Pic back to the boat, to have a shower tonight. We congratulate each other on a job well done and after tea I drive back to the boat. Thanking The Pic as he rows back to the lighthouse (hope he makes it) I return to my house I stick my feet in a bowl of warm water.
I must have dropped off because I am suddenly awoken by a knock on the door. It is Ethel asking how we did today so I tell her. Only Ethel mentions that there is a noise of muffled music coming from inside the garage. I wearily open the side door. From somewhere amongst the pile of computers and answer machines comes the haunting refrain. The spiders and assorted bug mates are having a dance and sing song and generally having a great time. But if they think I am going through this lot again to find the radio they are sadly mistaken. Let them enjoy a bit of garage music while my feet go back to enjoying the comforting bowl of water.
SITUATION HOPELESS, PLEASE SEND MONEY
Alone in the lighthouse, what bliss it is. Cass is out at work, which leaves me to look at some outstanding paperwork. Having looked at it, thought it looked fine, I settle down to rest my weary bones. I am still struggling to repair the damage from yesterdays exertions. When Cosmic dropped me off, I waited until he drove off in his car before collapsing in the rowing boat. I could just see the sky above and nothing else. It would have been magical if cramp hadn't clutched at my legs and pulled me back into the world of pain. By the time I reached the lighthouse I was more than happy to sleep in the boat. Somehow I did manage to walk up, after a few rests. I was reminded of a lovely old lady who shouted "VIEW" when she wanted to stop walking. Those walking with her would stop as well and pretend to look at the lovely countryside around them. Even if the view was just the back of a dilapidated bus shelter. I have become that old woman.
When I eventually sat down last night, Cass told me how busy she had been in her room. The television was full of people running huge distances for charity. No sympathy for me then standing for a few hours in the black hole of Cosmic's garage. Still never mind, I at least was able to force down some food and drink that Cass cooked. Then watched television late into the evening. Although I must have dropped off because I imagined Inspector Lewis playing golf in Georgia and putting for a birdie in an Oxford College. He missed the putt and blamed a bloke in the crowd who had a camera, promptly arresting him. Anyway it all seemed very exciting.
The other day I was reading about ancient Aztec texts. This reminded Beverley, who writes my internal monologue, that we have a few letters to answer regarding questions brought up by this blog. A Miss Annie Forthright has asked where the lighthouse is actually situated? Well Miss Forthright, it is on a rock just off the coast at Caustic Cove, near Havenedge. If you follow the A43904 to Buttringham and take the B34904 then you will miss us by some distance. So don't make that mistake. Another question now from Alan Prisongirl. He writes that he well remembers Cosmic on the radio as he had the show that followed him. It was called 'Alan’s Breakfast Show'. He wonders if Bernie Woodstain would like to write his biography as well as Cosmic’s? I shall certainly pass on your message, Mr Prisongirl, thanks for writing.
Another letter asks how Cosmic and my good self became supporters of Fulham Football Club, as they seem to be mentioned a bit. This goes back to when I worked in a book shop and met a life long fan. He persuaded me to go up and watch them and then when I met Cosmic, I persuaded him. Both Cosmic and my good self are waiting for the photographs to come to light, so we can no longer be blackmailed. The last letter today comes from Elsie McTavenstaven. She writes 'your punctuation is appalling, boat sinking, lost all contact with coastguard, situation hopeless, please send money'. Well Ms McTavenstaven, I think we have dealt with the grammar and lack thereof in an earlier blog. But thanks for writing.
Just time for me to have a cup of tea before Cass comes home to cook my dinner. Thanks to all those who wrote.
(Beverley says - Some letters were shortened and some made up. Others were lengthened and scribbled on. We are sorry we cannot participate in any private correspondence or return pictures sent to us. Any money sent to Ms McTavenstaven should be sent via the lighthouse. We are unable to send it on but have you seen the state of the lighthouse?)
THE CHARITY WORKER ALWAYS RINGS TWICE
Ding-a-ling-a-bing-a-dring-a-ling, the front door bell chimes. The lighthouse has three bells. One at the jetty to save people coming up to the door. One at the front door and one at the back. Oh yes, the lighthouse has a back door of sorts. It is really a side door by a building we can put the boats in, should a storm that would otherwise cause them damage be on the prowl. Not that it is used for much other than the dustbin and the rubbish. Just like Cosmic's garage in a way. Ding-a-ling-a-bing-a-dring-a-ling, the bell chimes again. This immediately puts us on our guard. If Cosmic or any of the others ring the bell, having come up here unannounced, which in itself is unusual, they always ring just once. They know the lighthouse is not a place one can sprint down to the front door. Who is that snickering at the back? Alright the thought of me sprinting is somewhat hard to picture. But still, you understanding the meaning of my drift? Good, then I will continue.
Cass marches to the door. She is wearing a thick longish coat that billows out behind her. The coat is worn for two reasons. It is old and she is still working in her room shifting furniture. The second reason is that, despite the bright sunshine, the cold air is whipping off the sea today and it is a bit chilly. A lighthouse is cool in the summer but will retain the heat after a time. The same is true in the cold winter months. Today it is just chilly and most people would have put on the heating. We tend not to until we can see the breath coming out of our mouths.
Opening the front door, looking like a cross between Margaret Rutherford and Hattie Jacques, Cass scowls at the intruder. Who would bother to row across to the lighthouse on the off chance other than our favourite type of person. A sallow youth beams at her. His first mistake I am afraid. Then he quickly follows it with his big second mistake. The youth asks her if she has been enjoying the sun? Bad opening gambit. So Cass says she hasn't and what does he want. The youth then asks her if she has any children? Well we now know what the charity is for. The last time I was asked this question I looked sad and said that it is something I never talk about. This shuts them up usually. Cass is more forthright. She asks what he wants without answering his question. He then delivers his spiel.
Now don't make me feel guilty. I have been persuaded before to give to charity by a passing professional charity broker. I give to deaf and blind and Motor Neurone and old people and homeless charities. Yes I could do more but my poor box is empty too. But there comes a time when the professional charity beggar becomes a pain. They always say they are in the area. Meaning we have been told to swamp the area with our pretty badges and trained chat. We will spend hours putting the punter at their ease, like the same sort of people that try and sell you cheaper gas and electricity. The charity worker will then give you the facts and figures about whichever charity they are flogging. Then they say they are not collecting money now but sign you up for a bank payment. All well and good and good luck to them. In a World where we pay Governments taxes not to use on important things that people need, charity has become clever and business like in trying to receive more donations. But enough has to be enough. So don't be upset when the particular charity, however well meaning arrives too late at the trough.
The youth retraces his steps back to the boat. I can't help feeling sorry for him but proud we rebuffed the open hand. But more importantly a word of advice. If you want people to give you or your charity money. Don't pretend your my best friend, or care about my well being. Just come to the point. That way I can say yes or no without fighting to try and understand what it is you want. Take a leaf out of a certain Ms McTavenstaven from the letters page yesterday. 'Situation hopeless please send money' would be a fine first sentence to come out with. Which reminds me, I haven't sent money to her either. Something else to feel guilty about.
LIVE FROM THE SMUGGLERS
The Smugglers is a pub owned by a franchise who know nothing about pubs. The landlord is a man who suffers from periodic fits of abuse. However he always without fail, claims not to be paid for the drinks he serves. He is Australian, because by law all landlords of pubs on their last legs have to be Australian or Irish. The English having sold out long ago to Corporate Pubs R Us. Tonight the landlord has his white hair pulled back into a pony tail. He looks older than he is, but younger than he feels.
On occasions he has a live band or singer playing at the pub. He has no licence for this entertainment and waits every night for the call to come. Every customer could be from the council or the police, handing him a notice or a fine. He doesn't care anymore. The entertainment is lucky if it is paid and so we have a lot of new bands or singers who just want to sing live for the first and last time in their lives. Tonight it is Bobby and Vivian from one of the newsagents in Caustic Cove. They are calling themselves The Journey Minstrel Duo for no reason that anyone can think of. Vivian is singing and has maracas in her hand and wiggles her bottom a lot. Tony has a guitar and a cowboy hat. He plays with both items with equal passion. The small crowd are enjoying the music for what it is.
I am watching all this on the camera feed I can pick up from my computer. It is one of the few cameras that have sound as I have mentioned before. I feel like Gene Hackman in The Conversation. Catching half yelps and muffled speech. Young girls talking too loud to care, while young men hover around laughing too much at each others jokes. The older patrons look on and enjoy the music. They walk out every so often to have a smoke. When they return they look more unsteady on their feet than they did before they left. People struggling to enjoy themselves while trying to drown out tomorrow.
A girl in her twenties and a man of about the same age are sitting at the bar. They catch my eye because they look a little more up market than the Smugglers usual clientele. They are dressed casually but have the demeanour of people who are not used to being in each others company in surroundings such as these. They both nurse drinks and the man is banging the bar in time to the music. The girl starts to sway but is not very good at it and nearly falls off her seat.
The landlord comes into camera shot and talks to the couple at the bar. The girl nods and the man shakes his head. The landlord begins to wave his hands in the air. If I couldn't hear the music I would think he is trying to encourage audience participation for The Journey Minstrel Duo. Or be having his usual accusing conversation with the patrons over non payment. Or this may be the moment the council have served him with his licence violation notice or whatever it is called. But then the girl does something that surprises me. She flings her arms around the landlord and they both appear to be sobbing. The Man with her is looking awkward but smiles. The landlord disappears out of camera shot and the girl says something to the man. He nods his head and comes behind the bar and starts serving. The girl waits for the song to end and the half hearted clapping to stop. She goes to the microphone and whispers something to the woman with the maracas who nods. The girl goes to the microphone. The announcement is swift and clear. Tonight The Smugglers is to lose its landlord. The big faceless corporation has gobbled up another pub. He has sold out. A last bastion of insanity falls to the big faceless thug.
For a moment the small crowd in the pub say nothing. Then The Journey Minstrel Duo break into 'Thunder only happens when it's raining' and the crowd begin to talk and the buzzing grows. I have just been a witness to personal change and major upheaval. Yet I will forget about it as quickly as I forget most programmes I watch on TV or as quickly as I forget a dream. Such is a life. All live from The Smugglers
MEET SILAS STRAW
Silas Straw has no official fixed abode. He travels about and seems to fill in his time making things to sell. He crafts things from scrap. Anything he finds on his travels, from bits of metal to bits of what were once road kill. Pretty pendants and broaches for the ladies. Rings and medals for the more manly taste. He never approaches people to try and hoist his wares onto them. But waits for them to come to him. Come they do and word of mouth has been as powerful as the Internet for spreading the news.
Not that craft work is Silas Straws only means of making a living. He is a gaunt fellow, tall and gawky with features that have been well weathered over the years. When he smiles, the creases around his eyes are like sun beams around the sun. Silas Straw is a happy man. Silas Straw is a professional scarecrow. His crow like beak of a nose make him an ideal scarecrow. He looks like the birds he is paid to scare away. Farmers line up during the summer to employ him. They each give Silas a map of the fields they want patrolled. A small fee, one meal a day and a shelter (often just a barn) is all Silas asks in return.
When the taxman comes a calling, as he once did, farmers deny there is such a person as Silas Straw. He is a nobody to officialdom. He has no money and takes nothing off them so they stopped making life awkward for him long ago. I always thought of myself as a loner until I met Silas. The word 'loner' was coined with him in mind. I am a party animal compared to Silas.
This morning when the front door bell sounded, Cass was first to the door. I say first as if there was any likelihood of me rising from my chair, let alone trying to beat her to open the door onto the insane asylum outside. Two men were standing there in black business suits. They asked her if she wanted to come to Jesus. It must be Easter soon. The God squad are on the prowl. Now Cass is not the person to ask about Jesus. Anything like religion scares her, because people tend to be so serious and certain when they talk about such things. So Cass said she wasn't interested and half slammed the door. I say half slammed the door. But it was a sort of firm close, if you understand me. As I had made no effort to answer the door I had the perfect right to criticise Cass for dealing poorly with our visitors. It must be a thankless task going from place to place. Especially dressed so formally, rowing over in the boat. Quite a comical sight I would think. So Cass said I could answer the door next time. No, no I didn't mean for me to open the door and react to people. I don't need to know their take on Jesus or God or whoever they have written down in a book. I have my own thank you. No I was rather hoping I could try and make Cass more sympathetic.
So when the bell rung again an hour later, I was forced kicking and screaming towards it. But I could see the straw hat silhouetted against the glass and the big long nose. So I happily opened up the door and welcomed Silas in. Now I have to be honest and say I have no idea why I became friendly with Silas. I have no idea why Cass is friendly with him. Silas is just Silas. He doesn't ask for much and doesn't over stay his welcome. Besides he is one of the few people who you feel better for spending time with. Silas was given a cup of tea and while he used the computer, he told us about his exploits and the jobs he already had lined up around the local farms. While he logged onto a site he uses to play games and talk to friends. He asked how we were? How were things with us? For some reason Silas is the only person who can genuinely sound as if he cares. So we tell him.
I wonder to myself how a loner like Silas has so many things to do online. But I never bother to enquire further. It is not really my place. Except it is as he is using my computer. Could be on the stock market for all I know. I could check later. But decide not to. Unless I come across the history by accident.
Reminded of our earlier callers I do ask Silas if he is religious in any way. He says he never knows what religion is? Silas sees God in the countryside and the innocent laughter of the kids on holiday. So I tell him I always found children's laughter spooky. Silas doesn't disagree just nods his head. He then says God is in the detail and Jesus is in the design. Now Silas seems ready to leave and walks towards the door, He is satisfied his work online has been completed. So he thanks me and waves goodbye to Cass.
The cold air makes me shiver. The warmth has just gone out of the day. Cass says if Silas had come to the door and asked her to come to Jesus she wouldn't have closed the door quite so firmly.
I am not sure Silas would care to ask.
FOOTBALL AND THE LOTTERY
Our reserve team in Havenedge has been in the news of late. Well the local news but it counts. The football team has been doing very well in the Bigalow Cars Southern District D League. But they have had a problem with a reserve player who was criticised in a local paper. Apparently the paper said he was too old to still be in the side and was only there because of his connection to the Chairman's auntie. At this point it becomes very hard to work out what is true and what is just a jealous attack on an innocent man trying to ply his trade.
SHANE TRULY IS SCRUMPTIOUS SAYS CHAIRMAN'S AUNTIE. screamed the headlines. At the next reserve game 46 year old forward Truly scored a belter from thirty yards and ran to the only photographer in the ground and started yelling abuse. The photographer, a Mr Harry Sidewinder, woke up and started snapping away. Next morning there was no football report in the paper, just a page of photographs of BAD BOY TRULY IS SHOCKING. The local Association met and banned Truly for five games.
When all the furore had died down, Truly apologised to the media. He said he didn't know what had happened when he ran to the photographer that night, he just opened his mouth and words 'fell out'. The photographer will not let the matter drop however and is suing Truly for loss of earnings. Apparently the photographer hasn't been able to keep his Camera shutter speed constant since the trauma of that night. This story is set to run and run. Unlike Truly himself who must be near to giving up the game after yet another set back in his career.
Meanwhile I waited for the local lottery numbers to be called tonight. Visions of swimming with dolphins and retiring to some exotic place filled my head. But once again those dreams were crushed by the balls failing to deliver. I used to be lucky but that all seems to have deserted me now. So I asked Cosmic to buy me a few lottery scratch cards last week. I was busy scratching when the coin I was using slipped and fell from my eager grasp. Could I find the coin on the floor? No it has mysteriously disappeared along with my hopes and dreams. Still where there is hope. there is hopes mother, bitter letdown. Wife of 'not a hope in hell'. Still they do say ' if you are not in it, you can't win it', and I am right in it, up to my neck. May be next week.
THE PAST IS ANOTHER COUNTRY – CHEAP FLIGHTS AVAILABLE
Good Evening, my name is Bernie Woodstain and I am reporting to you live from the the front garden of Cosmic Antidust. Today I have been on a trip to the seedy underbelly of the metropolis to the regretful past and decisions of so many lost people. My name is Bernie Woodstain. This is my report.
(Opening titles show Bernie Woodstain walking, standing, pointing, talking to a dog and looking into the non existent camera. Lights, camera, sound and action)
Good Evening. Today I have been on a journey. A journey that was totally unexpected. A journey that took me to the depths of a city with so many tales and stories to tell. All of which I missed. To the changes in our culture and the turning over of the sod and grass that covers our secrets.
ADVERT BREAK FOR WHAT SEEMS LIKE FIVE MINUTES. AND IS IN FACT FOUR MINUTES
Good Evening, my name is Bernie Woodstain and I am going to repeat everything I said before the advert break to make it appear I have something more to say than I have. I will look earnest and caring but frankly there is such little body to this programme, most of which isn't live but recorded, that we have to stretch it out as best as we know how.
It all started this morning. I was talking to that nice girl who delivers the morning papers to the houses that still take them. Although she finds me creepy and rushes by I pretend to have a conversation with her. The post arrives and I briefly interview the postman who reveals to me that he thinks a man who lives in somebody else's garden is weird.
Later in the afternoon, Cosmic Antidust is seen leaving the house. He asks me if I fancy a drive as he is picking up Cass and taking her to her job in the docks. My reporter’s instincts kick in and I say I can't be bothered. But I change my mind and find myself being taken on a journey. A journey into the seedy underbelly of a city they named by lottery. To a sod of a past with grass on it.
ADVERT BREAK YOU FAST FORWARD THROUGH IF YOU STILL HAVE THE OLD VIDEO.
Good Evening, my name is Bernie Woodstain and you can fast forward through this bit as well, because I just repeat what I said In the first part of the first part and the first part of the second part.
So we pick up Cass and at a junction comes our first talking point. Cosmic waits for a car to turn and is shocked to find its occupant is an old adversary. Actually he doesn't notice but Cass does. The occupant of the other car is non other that the man who charged a large amount for shredding weeds and spreading them over the garden of Cosmic’s house. Which is why the place is covered in thorns and brambles. It transpires that this man is still in business.
I ask Cosmic how he feels that the person he sacked for being a greedy, unethical ignorant man who wrecked his garden is still trading. Cosmic tells me I don't want to know. I wonder how many times he uses that phrase without being hit.
ADVERT BREAK FEATURING AN ACTRESS SELLING PERFUME AND OR CARS.
Good Evening, my name is Boris Woodstain. No I mean Bernie Woodstain,Yadda Yadda Yadda. We drop off Cass at the docks and wend our way home through the dark, seedy underbelly of Havensedge. Where the crowds come to the coast and the coast hits the sea. A world of drugs and drink and forgotten people, Some of whom do remember to forget what it is they should remember. .
An ambulance with blue lights flashing approaches on the same point, but on the opposite side of the road as the police car did last week, when Cosmic had to go through the red light to let it through. This time Cosmic finds a place of safety and the ambulance passes without incident. We decide not to go home but to visit The Picayune. We phone him and a meeting place and time are arranged. The lighthouse is the place and whenever we arrive, the time.
ADVERT BREAK TELLING YOU ABOUT BETTER PROGRAMMES TO COME.
Good Evening. my name is Bernie Woodstain. Drone on and on and on and on. So we arrive at the lighthouse. The man who lives here is a recluse who sees nobody unless they have an appointment. Or bring food and gossip. So Cosmic tells The Picayune about the day he has had and they reminisce about their days in the garage, cleaning it up. Or rather half day. The music from the radio trapped in the garage rubbish can still be heard wafting over Caustic Cove on still nights.
The discussion comes around to the scenes at The Smugglers the other night. The shocking news is revealed that the Smugglers is to be taken over and have a name change. It will now be called The Smugglers Tavern. Now realising I haven't arrived at the most important bit and the credits are about to roll. I realise I have to gabble my way through this bit.
As we are leaving, The Picayune mentions that Silas Straw came around yesterday to use the computer. The question is asked again. What question I hear you ask? Non other than what would Silas Straw be doing on a computer? So Cosmic convinces The Picayune to have a look at the history of what Silas was looking at. The truth will then be told. Except the truth won’t be told because Silas has deleted the history. Why would he do that? For what purpose? This story is about to turn into a thriller. This is over doing it. But something pretty dull, this way comes.
So we leave the lighthouse and Cosmic and myself have a jolly good gossip about what the mystery could be. Cosmic tells me I don't want to know. Cosmic nearly falls into the water.
ADVERT BREAK SHOWING YOU WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT WEEK SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO BOTHER TO WATCH.
OR DO THEY?
BELT AND BRACES
I don't know why we don't just have the answer phone machine answer every phone call with "I am sorry I am not interested". The amount of drivel you have to wade through before you realise you are being conned. That is the reason I never answer phones anymore. So when I do have a phone call from somebody of interest, why don't they leave a message? I know it sounds as if I have the same reaction to the telephone as I have to the front door. But it is not my fault that people are all out to cheat me. Not just people.
Clothes are another thing that conspire to irritate me. You try and take off a sweater or a shirt and it hangs on playing silly devils. The clothes make the excuse it is static electricity that makes them cling on to each other. But it is just bloody mindedness. Then if you do manage to take them off all in one movement, the sweater, the shirt, the vest. The next morning you go to put them on in one go and the sleeves don't match up and you stand there, entombed in a fabric web, trying to fling your arms about like a trapped escapologist in a straight jacket.
A pair of socks would be easy enough to put on, you would think, wouldn't you? Yes I know, some of us have trouble bending down and trying to lasso the foot with the sock. But even when you can manage to hold onto your leg and put the sock over the foot, the fabric decides to catch on a toe. Or it somehow manages to twist itself on the foot and you have to go around for the rest of the day limping, because there is no way you can face battling with it before you have to take them off.
Since you ask, I am no happier with belts. They are a straight forward bit of material. You would think that an adult human being could manage to put a belt on without too much hassle. Why do you always miss one trouser belt hoop with the belt? Why is it that when you put the belt on straight, it still twists after you have buckled it up? You can feel it is straight, your fingers tracing around the body and making sure the belt is flat. Believe me with my body that takes effort and time. So I make sure that it is all straight and fine. Then I go to buckle it and it twists and turns in different places. How can there be so many kinks? I did try braces once but never really was comfortable. If I wasn't in a constant battle with keeping upright and not forced to bend over as they fought to constrain me , they would suddenly fling off and decimate anybody and anything within a ten metre radius.
Thank goodness I don't wear ties anymore.
THE SMUGGLERS TAVERN
I am watching the re launch of The Smugglers on the internal camera in the pub. At least the camera hasn't been taken down. It seems only a few days ago that The Smugglers was the pub we all knew and disliked. Well it was only a few days ago, that's why it seems like only a few days. Now the mad landlord has been bought out and new tables and chairs have been brought in. Mind you, apart from that, there is little internal change to the pub that I can see. I am told that The Smugglers will serve food and have entertainment on a nightly basis. On top of that the name has been changed from The Smugglers to The Smugglers Tavern. It is hoped that this and the other changes will bring in a more family type clientele.
Mystery still surround the identity of the consortium who bought the mad landlord out. We all thought it was a big Pub franchise. Now there seems to be a doubt who this franchise is. So I wait to see what happens. The music starts and the crowd begin to pour in through the doors. Well more a constant drip. A live band is introduced and they turn out to be a cover band of somebody I have never heard of. Then after a few songs, the official opening ceremony takes place. A big local celebrity comes to the microphone. Shane Truly says a few words and a few people clap. Then the music starts again.
My mind begins to wander and I start clicking on sites I haven't visited for a bit. Then the local paper new site comes up. I am looking at a picture of the people that 'saved The Smugglers' Apparently the pub was threatened with being demolished. This is the first I have heard of it. If it wasn't for these men who part own Pub Save, then the building would have been lost. There is a picture of a bunch of smiling faces. A fat man in a suit, a thin man in a suit, a man with glasses in a suit, a crow like man in a straw hat, a woman dressed in a suit, a man in shirtsleeves and a man in an ill fitting suit. Just your typical bunch of corporate.....wait a minute. A man in a straw hat that looks like a crow. No it can't be can it?
I click on the man’s picture. Yes it is Silas Straw of Road Kill Jewellery Incorporated. He owns a company? I put in Silas Straw Road Kill in a search engine and a web site comes up. It has been trading for seven years. The top company for recycling rubbish into gifts and road kill into jewellery to die for. So this is the man who has been using my computer without paying me a penny. I bet he goes around using other people’s phones and electricity and computers too. He can happily invest and make money without any overheads. I can't work our if I feel betrayed and cheated or I feel admiration for him. Here was me thinking the tax man didn't care about him and now I realise they really have been hunting for him. The crafty so and so.
I phone Cosmic and tell him. He is watching a film and seems only mildly interested. I wake up Cass, who has taken up her now routine position of feet up on a foot rest, while she is covered in a blanket of old furry carpet. She snorts a swear word and seems to drop off again. So I am left alone. Mildly irritated that I didn't realise that the Silas Straw that went through life in a whisper was really Silas Straw, the taker of good deeds without repaying them. All I can say is just wait until I see him again. Just you wait.
IT STARTED WITH A CRISP
So it is a Saturday morning and I am comfy laying on my mattress. I yawn and stretch and hit my hands on the stipple walls of the lighthouse. My hands hurt. I scramble to my feet and thank the world that today is Saturday. Despite nothing to look forward to in the sport department I can at least have no interruptions to do and watch what I like. The front door bell rings. Cass answers it and Silas Straw asks to use the computer. So instead of telling him to go away she says fine. Come in and have a cup of tea. Now in my head I have nothing but hateful remarks and spite to spit at Silas. But I bide my time. Revenge is a dish best served with a bit of toast and marmalade. Sadly we are short of bread. So I have a bag of crisps instead. I go into the room and sit while Silas is there on the computer. He makes no effort to hide his website he is looking at from me. So I say to him, rather sarcastically and cutting. 'How is business'?, yeah that's right. I let him know that I know that he knows that I know. Silas tells me the orphan charity is doing fine as are the others he deals with. "that is the joy of taking no profit oneself," says Silas. That's right, take the wind out of my sails. He has now returned as the Robin Hood figure. Taking from the taxman and giving to the poor. What a guy after all. Bucking the system to help those less fortunate than himself. All this bubbling hate inside me begins to settle into a calm acceptance. Which is a shame. I don't trust him and yet I don't dislike him anymore. How fickle am I?
As Silas leaves the phone rings. Cass answers it, and it is a friend of the family from years ago who used to live near where we used to live when we were kids. They live abroad now. So Cass starts to over do the delight in hearing from them again. These friends are over here and would love to come to visit. Looking at the state of the lighthouse Cass starts to make excuses why they should meet up somewhere else. It is at that point I hear the barking. I don't know why, I never do. Maybe the past is an unfriendly reminder. Whatever the reason I have to let it in. While Cass makes easy conversation on the phone, The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, strides in.
I go to the computer and start to process the piles of paper I have in front of me. BARK BARK BARK. I do my best to ignore the barking. I have been very good of late in doing so. But not today. BARK BARK BARK. After several abortive efforts to work I put down the papers and walk upstairs. Cass is still on the phone. BARK BARK BARK., The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks follows me upstairs. My head and shoulders begin to ache. I hear Cass finish on the phone. She tells me who it was and I interrupt her by saying I don't want to meet up with them. She can by all means. But I have no interest. Cass says something but all I hear is BARK BARK BARK from The Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks. My head begins to throb. I am thirsty all of a sudden. BARK BARK BARK. This is not how I planned my Saturday.
DRUGS, DRINK AND SAUGAGE ROLLS
WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOOOOOF,GROWL,GRRRRRRR,WOOOF. The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks simply would not quit. This time it was accompanied by physical pain. Now I am a pain to others and am a pain to myself. But I haven't had a headache pain for years. Touch wood and prick the devil I won’t have one again for some time. I have no idea if the pent up aggression I felt against Silas, that was never released, played a part in the throbbing pain behind the eyes. Or maybe it was the phone call reminding me of the past, before it became a solid, decaying thing with mould on. Then again I might just have strained my eyes trying to do paper work on a Saturday. Who knows or who cares? But the pain coupled with the unexpected visit of The Evil Dug Up Body That Barks, wrapped together in a dance macabre, called for more than a shrug and a digging in of finger nails in the palm of the hand.
Fortunately, one of the advantages of not clearing anything up, or tidying things away, is you have things remain where you left them. Yeah right, usually you go to the place they were and they are gone. That important document, that means the difference between a loss of money and sleep and joy and happy dreams, always decides to go for a jog somewhere. Sometimes it never finds its way home. However that pack of pain killers you brought home from the last holiday you went on, is still on the table where the document should be. Now it has three tablets left in it. I search for a 'use by' date on the packet. But it has faded. So I reckon it was when my family went on holiday to Cornwall. I had a bad back and these tablets were the only ones that helped. For the odd headache I do have I need two pain killers to knock it out. I swear by these pain killers. I know they work. I am not even sure they still do them anymore. With all the other potions and drugs the doctors give me, I have no idea and can't see that they help with the silent death that I am told approaches closer every day. Unless that is I change my life style, become a monk and run a hundred miles a day and have the love of a good woman. Or buy a dog. But with these pain killers I know they work . I chose them and they love me. Which is why I don't use them unless I have to. Today I have to. But I take just the one.
Rows and rows of angel hair and Ice Cream Castles in the air. Joni Mitchel is here singing as the drug begins to work. WOOF WOOF WOOF woof woof wo................... I am alone at last. I am at peace and for a moment I have no bad dreams. The television must be on because somebody is introducing somebody else and people are applauding. But in my mind I see loved ones smile and appear at the doorway. Not sure what doorway. Must be the door to my room but I am downstairs. Still who cares? I am in a car now and driving us all. Olivia Newton John as a young girl is pointing out of the car window and telling us she used to live there. I look and she is pointing at Blackpool Tower. I tell her I have been to the circus there and the clowns scared me. At the end of the circus, the floor began to fill water. It was magical. But I only remember the scary clown coming out of a mirror in my dream. I was on medication as a child. Not sure why and neither were the doctors. My medical notes were lost. Then they pretended to find the notes and there was no trace of the medicines. Bugger that bit is actually true. But Scully from the X Files appears and that bit isn't. She says she doesn't believe me unless she sees it. Then the actress Gillian Anderson is no longer Scully but in another part in full Victorian costume. I am standing in a bath dressed as a clown by a fire. Gillian tells me not to stand too close to the fire as my make up will run and run and never be cancelled. Unlike The X Files.
I am now lost on a railway station and not sure which train to catch. I know this station I think. I used to arrive here to go to school as a kid. Then I am outside a football ground. But there is no way in. I hear the crowd and I have a ticket. Then I spot a hole in the wall. I squeeze in and arrive miles away from the pitch. Some fan turns to me and says I need to take the train to the away end. I don't belong here anymore. Then somebody sings 'take the ribbon from my hair, shake it loose and let it fall'. A GOAL IS SCORED. Everybody jumps up and I can't see anything.
woof woof WOOF WOOF. I am slowly being awoken by The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks. But the pain in my head is gone. I feel delightfully drowsy. I also feel thirsty. It takes a few minutes for the barking to stop and for me to push through the plastic cover of consciousness. I make the supreme effort and climb the mountain to my feet. I feel content. The barking along with its owner has gone. A brief visit again. Hurrah for all the little children in the circus. A clown appears through a mirror in a doorway and I am frozen to the spot.
I am awoken by my snore. This time I am awake. I climb to my feet and fetch a glass of lovely cold Orange Barley. I look in the fridge. We have bread and cheese and I spot some choccy biscuits on the counter. Somebody has delivered shopping. I must have slept through the arrival and departure of Cosmic? I hear Cass come downstairs. She asks if I want anything to eat. I ask if we have any sausage rolls? I am standing by the fridge but she has to push past me to look in the freezer. Yes we do. I rather fancy some sausage rolls.
I have a good evening watching a DVD. Cass is asleep with an old carpet over her again. I know why people become addicted to pain killers. I am not one of them yet. On the other hand, I may just finish that plate of sausage rolls.
SILAS STRAW AND THE SCARECROW
So they call me Silas Straw. The only one I see here is you. Nobody else cares but you. I know you want the money and I know you want to make me pay into the system. But even you can see that the system doesn't work. Look, I know you start out being genuine. I really do understand that. It never works though does it? The poor and sick and ill informed need help. But you never quite seem to manage to be the one who does it. You become richer and so do the people you know. Meanwhile the ill educated keep on wallowing in their own filth and making the same mistakes. You never stop them or help them. The sick become sicker and the poor become poorer.
No don't make the mistake and think that I don't understand. I think you are very clever. Mind you I am not sure you planned it that way. Did you see when they asked the room full of people who thought themselves as happy? Nearly everybody put their hand up. Very clever I am sure. Clever too, to make them all think that by bringing in somebody else into the system it will somehow make everything right. Believe me I think the class system or the faith system or the tribe system is very clever too. Nothing like democracy to divide a place when we already are in our boxes. But is doesn't work so don't blame me for not playing by the rules.
Do you know how much money is put into helping people with illness? How about just some of the illness that threatens us every day? No you don't because little of that is up to you. How much money we put into killing each other is easier for you find out. Well let's face it most of your mates sit on the boards of these companies. Yes that is a simplistic way of looking at it. It has to be. I don't have the time or money to set up enquiries and hand pick loads of people to look into a question I already know the answer to.
When I am standing in a field and waving the birds away from the crops, I see my job as doing the best I can for the greater number of people. All I ask is for you to stop calling me brother and stop being my friend. Just help me when I am in trouble. If I am ill, help make me feel better. If I am old, don't push me away and make my last years on Earth a nightmare. Do your best to help me.
But I know you never will and so do you. So that's why I am sleeping in a barn. I can see it will be a full moon tomorrow. Others will be warmer tonight than I am but some wont see the moon. But we will all feel it. We all feel the people who govern us. Shame some of us still don't see them or the system for what they are or it is. But we never do. At least you don't. Keep warm and guess who the real scarecrow is?
THE EVIL DUG UP BODY THAT BARKS
So I come and go do I? I am like some will o the wisp apparently. Here today and gone tomorrow. Oh and I seem to make silly barking noises. Well we all know where this is coming from don't we? Some self help book picked up on line because he is too scared to go out to buy one. The Picayune well knows I am here with him, in the lighthouse for as long as he lives.
Not sure when I first arrived here. Probably the same time as he did. I might have been here before he was ever thought of. Maybe I run in the family. I know you can hide away from me with drugs and drink and sausage rolls. But not for long. I visited The Picayune and his parents on occasion. I am always with Cass. In fact the lighthouse is a ripe fruit tree for me. I can feed on the juicy fruit for ever.
Give him his due, The Picayune has learned to live with me. You see I am better with others than I am with him. Nevertheless, I have him in a tight loving hug right at this moment. I am not squeezing too hard, I don't have to. But when I do, oh the despair and the doubt just oozes out of him. The fat, lazy, scared monster rolls up in a ball and rolls towards for the fridge. Food as comfort works for him. But more than that, fear of movement is better. I play some great tricks on him. There was a time when he went over to Caustic Cove, I had him thinking the same people were frowning at him. Little things work you see. He fears being alone because he will have to talk to people. Without the few people he knows, or his sister to act as a barrier, he will end up having to confront the very thing he abhors. Yet he craves loneliness.
The moment The Picayune was born he was a scared old man. I was with him the day when he was told all things come to an end. My work was done for me. Some people decide to pack into their life as much as they can. The Picayune said to himself, if there is a finite life to fill, let's not bother. Fate helped I grant you. Made it into the football team? Oh dear take away his confidence with illness and making him just too darn nice and offering up his place in the team to the sad substitute. Good singer in the choir? Make him freeze one day and just stop him going. Oh I have a million of them. Everybody he likes or loves outside of family, usually die early. Don't fancy Cosmic lasting that much longer. But you reap what you sew. The Picayune doesn't bother to sew a stitch anymore. Everything that goes wrong is a tragedy and everything that goes right won’t last long. There will always be people worse off then he is. But he envies those that are better off.
So how long will I keep nipping and biting at The Picayune this time before I am due a rest? Don't know don't care. The whining, doubt obsessed person is easy meat. I don't really have to work too hard with him. Others I have to make more of an effort with. But for now I am happy to stay here. Until something really nasty comes along and I can switch on the auto pilot.
Oh yes, woof woof bark bark. Fear the past, fear the present, fear the future. There is nothing here for him. Everything he touches turns to ashes. He is an empty shell of a man. The only one who loves The Picayune is me. My flesh is rotting and the bare bones show from beneath. I feel right at home with him. Woof Woof.
ETHEL IN THE BACK GARDEN
A full moon tonight and nice and warm. I have discovered a hut or garden house in the back garden of Cosmic’s. It is rotting and needs a wood preserver. I can't say it is easy to reach with all the thorns and weeds. But if I only had the right equipment I could at least make a start. But since the boys tidied up the garage last week, the garden tools have been put into a pile. I keep being told that they will be moving furniture in once they take the rubbish out. Then they can put the tools back in drawers and cupboards. Everything will be neat and tidy. Meanwhile the trees are bushier, the fence shabbier and the weeds higher. Cosmic is too busy at the moment he tells me. When I ask him what he is doing that keeps him so busy, he just says I don't want to know.
I am passed caring. What will be will be. Tonight I can see into infinity. The moon makes the sky so bright. The garden is bathed in light. Some people don't like the moon but I feel very comforted. I will have to pop back to my house soon. It seems madness to stay in Cosmic’s garden. I am wondering if Cosmic shouldn't stay in his house. I think he wants to move into the lighthouse but he seems to be the only one who wants him to. The Picayune would be happy to steered in any direction. I was just thinking, Why can't everybody move here? Or we could all sell up and buy a house together. Only one small problem I guess. I am not sure how much anybody actually likes anybody. Still it is a thought.
I am on speaking terms with Bernie now. It seemed silly not having the odd chat with him. I wave to the neighbours but they seem less friendly. Well I cannot blame them. They are busy smartening up their gardens and houses and Cosmic is just not bothering. Still I have learnt not to push people. When he decides to sell up, he will have to come around to sorting things. Maybe money is the problem. I thought after his music career he was set up for life. Not so apparently. He doesn't receive much money from royalties anymore. Cosmic appears to be living off the odd personal appearance. He opened a fete the other day. Not sure how much money he can command now. Must be strange being famous once then forgotten. Although he has a local radio programme coming up. I think it's called 'What's in your attic'. Problem is Cosmic knows exactly what's in his attic. He has a few old 'Shoots' and some stuff he isn't ready to move. Besides the ladder to the attic is broken. So they are having to pretend and go around an imaginary attic. Apparently they do that sort of thing all the time.
Oh well I hope it stays warm tonight. I shall enjoy watching the moon move across the sky. Makes me realise how little we can really do to change things. After all if the moon can move the tides then who knows what it is doing to our brain chemicals. Although, on saying that, I may ask Cosmic for the keys to the garage. It is about time fate had a helping hand. It's also about time somebody turned off the radio that they left in there.
THE PICAYUNE AND THE GLASS SAUCEPAN
I am unlucky. I don't care what you say. I am just unlucky. There are worse things that happen at sea and there are always people worse off. But God I'm unlucky. It could have been so much better. Oh I am unlucky. Have I mentioned how unlucky I am?
I had finished my paperwork early. Lot to do this month but I had managed to do my bit. For a fleeting moment I felt proud of myself. So I thought I would do a good turn to share the happy place I found myself in. So I decided to ready all the recycling so Cosmic could just pick the skips up from the bottom of the causeway. I am calling it a causeway now. Although to be fair it is only the length of two cars. But once you walk down the stairs from the lighthouse and along the causeway, and then make the return journey, a good thirty seconds have gone by. So I collect the recycling skips from the shed and take them into the kitchen. We have already a place to put all our paper and bottles and plastic. All I need to do is collect the stuff and put into the skip. We don't have to separate the recycling so life is made easier.
There is a lot of paper and cardboard from cleaning up rooms and things. So it takes some effort to start piling it all into this skip. We have also collected a pile of shredded paper that has been bagged up. So that will have to go into another skip as there is simply no room for it all in the one skip. I am finding the effort on a warm day a little more tiring than I had imagined. So I casually take my sweater off.
God I'm unlucky.
Somehow the sweater catches a handle of one of the glass saucepans we use. I blame the last person to use it for not putting it away with the handle safely tucked away. My sweater catches the handle of the glass saucepan which is on a shelf. The force of motion swings this saucepan around and it ploughs into a counter that I have rested a glass, plate and coffee cup on. They all go flying. The saucepan meanwhile comes to rest on the counter top, just slightly showing itself to the edge. So as I go to pick up the glass, plate and coffee cup from the floor, all of which are miraculously undamaged. My sweater, which is hanging from one arm, somehow leaps up onto the counter and pushes the saucepan to its shattering doom. Glass goes everywhere and I naturally let out a few choice words. I throw open the back door and start yelling at God. Doing my best Basil Fawlty impression I chastise God for never giving me a break. Why can't he just for once allow me to do the simple task of putting my recycling in a skip without over complicating the deed.
After returning to the kitchen and bending over to collect the broken glass, then finding paper to rap it in to throw away, I at last am allowed to complete my recycling duty. I call up to Cass and tell her to bring down the vacuum. It is never in the place you need it to be. She asks what has been broken and I tell her off for leaving the handle of the saucepan easily exposed to the flying fancy of a passing discarded sweater. She apologises but I am not convinced she is genuine in her apology. I take the skip out and put the shredded paper into another skip and walk down the steps. I am about to walk down the causeway when I see a whole crowd of people on the coast looking over to the lighthouse. I presume they have been drawn there by my over exuberant language that seems to have travelled far on a calm day. That blimmin woman who is always glaring at me is at the front. At least I think it could be her. So I leave the skips at the top of the causeway. I am not being exposed to those nosey leeches. Can leeches be nosey? Anyway I leave the skips by the bottom of the steps.
When I return to the kitchen, short of breath and in need of some sustenance, Cass is there cleaning up what few shards of glass are left on the floor. She tells me she has already ordered a replacement for the saucepan. I am not sure why we need a replacement as we seem to have plenty of saucepans. But they are a set apparently. Cass says I seem to have managed to draw quite a crowd. I swear again and put on some toast and tea. Next time I look out there are still people gathered on the coast looking towards the lighthouse. I half expect the coast guard to come calling.
What could have been a nice gentle afternoon has developed into a struggle. No doubt it about it. I am unlucky.
BERNIE WOODSTAIN AND HIS BIG PERSPECTIVE
Good Morning, my name is Bernie Woodstain reporting live from the front garden of Cosmic Antidust. This morning I will be endeavouring to answer the big questions and putting my years of journalistic expertise to the test. My name is Bernie Woodstain and this is my big perspective.
TITLES FLASH ACROSS SCREEN SHOWING BERNIE TALKING AND WALKING AND WAITING AT A BUS STOP. THE BIG PERSPECTIVE TITLES RUNS ACROSS THE SCREEN. THE LETTERS GROWING SMALLER AS THE WORD 'PERSPECTIVE' IS SPELT OUT. IT COST IN THE REGION OF A HUNDRED THOUSAND QUID FOR THIS LITTLE MASTERPIECE.
Good Morning. my name is Bernie Woodstain. I am often asked from passers by about the big questions of the day. People say to me ' Mr Woodstain, that Colonel chap in that Libertine place in Canada. What's that all about? I explain that they are ill informed and the only thing they have right is the Colonel bit. So let me try to explain using my big perspective.
A dictator we once loathed ruled his Country like dictators do. Then somebody shot one of our policewomen from his embassy and we loathed them even more. We bombed his Country, killing lots of people including one of his children. Years passed he said sorry, we said 'oil' and we shook his hands. Then his people tried to overthrow him and we said jolly good. But he fought back. So we have sent people over to explain things.
We cannot give the freedom fighters guns or bullets or anything except advice and humanitarian aid. Anything else would clearly be against the rules. So a sausage and word in your ear type of thing. We send over a few soldiers, who are armed to the teeth to protect themselves. They show the freedom fighters how to shoot these weapons if only they had them. These freedom fighters borrow guns to show their mums what they could be using if only they had them. They then return the guns to the soldiers the next day minus a few bullets.
This is called going in half cocked without an exit strategy because frankly we didn't have one last time and that went off OK. Oh no it didn't. Bugger, I think we better think this one through.
This has been Bernie Woodstain with his big perspective.
CLOSING CREDITS SHOW CAR ARRIVING AT COSMIC’S FRONT GARDEN AND BERNIE BEING ASKED TO COME TO A PLACE FAR FAR AWAY TO BE RENDERED. BERNIE WITH BLACK EYE TALKS TO THE CAMERA.
My name is Bernie Woodstain. Thank goodness we fight the dictators. Freedom is worth fighting for. For goodness sake do it to Ethel, don't do it to me. do it to Ethel. I love whoever it is I am supposed to love. Do it to Ethel.
Ethel is shown in the back garden through an infra red camera. She has a torch shining under her face and is wearing a woolly hat. She needs to blow her nose. She looks into the camera and shivers."Just like a man" she says. The screen goes blank. A distant voice is heard to say ......
STOP PLAYING WITH MY VIDEO CAMERA.
THE LONELINESS OF THE BECALMED SAILBOARDER
A beautiful sunny warm day here at the lighthouse. I have completed all the work I had to do stuck at a computer. So am now free to go out and enjoy the delights of a summers day. But really I don't want to. Instead I am listening to the chatter of a printer working in the next room. We live in a paperless society created for us by the magic of computers. We no longer need to write things down on paper. All the information can be digitally recorded on disk. Except we all have a deep mistrust of computers and how to extract the information we put into them. So we have to print out everything. We need the hard copy to reassure us. We don't trust printers either. The ink keeps running out and the paper still catches in the machine when we look away. The curse of mankind. I am Robot, hear me scream.
Cass enjoys finding out about our ancestors. The Picayunes are always fairly easy to trace. She talks to long lost branches of the family in America and Australia. We had ancestors who stole sheep and jewellery or jewellery in the shape of sheep, and were sent over to the States to suffer appearances on Broadway in failed musicals. Or were sent to Australia to stand around and claim how wonderful this new country was while dying of thirst. While small strange women sang at them. Yes the Picayunes can be traced right back to Prince Picayune the Unlikely who burnt the toast at Runnybutter.
My Mums line is a bit harder to trace back. She had a large family who went through life totally unaware of anything. They never seemed to understand any insult hurled at them by jealous neighbours. They never understood why elder brother George was Jamaican and they never understood why a sister was called Costa Rica Droitwich Elfson. In fact half the Elfsons didn't know how to spell their own names. I remember asking Auntie Costa if she had ever been to Droitwich and she just laughed and said "I have never been to me". What was weird was a song came out the following year using that very lyric. So the Elfsons remain a mystery to us all. I think they were simply too nice. They never questioned anything. Until it was too late for the answers.
Cass starts to swear as all the printing is finished and she has found out that some student in a ice cream shop has been paid three pounds fifty seven pence more than he should have been, so as not to pay the tax throttle payback student scheme loan for the under thirty sevens unless there is a song by Elvis Presley in the charts that month. All of which was announced in the budget last year. So I glance out of the window.
We have an interloper. There are clear signs that are well hidden, about no shipping or pleasure craft between the lighthouse and the coast being allowed. But there is a sailboarder just standing on his sailboard not moving. He looks the part. Dressed head to toe in a rubber wetsuit. He clearly has the balance all sorted out. He just hasn't worked out the relationship between a sail and the complete lack of wind. So he stands there. Pretending not to notice the crowds on the coast or the lighthouse behind him. I am a little irritated as I know Cosmic hasn't brought the empty recycling skips over and therefore not taken the rubbish to be collected. Having a sailboarder in the way could cause countless problems should Cosmic choose this moment to come over. Supposed somebody takes a skip? Or takes a cover to a skip. We haven't had post for a few days either. Cosmic says there hasn't been any but what about my TV Times? Not that we can watch TV at the moment with all the interference.
The sailboarder remains unmoved and unmoving. There is not a lot one can do if one is on a sailboard without any wind. Except not bother to go there in the first place. A lesson in life if there ever was one
ALL QUIET AND LITTLE FRONT AT THE SMUGGLERS TAVERN
A good day to be lazy. A good day for Cosmic to be late. When he eventually came over to collect the bin and return the recycling skips, the evening was closing in. But had he come earlier he would have collected our post which would have had in it the completed P367 or M52 or some such form, which would have had to be returned because of the over payment to the member of staff at the ice cream shop, who would have had to pay the interest on the tax because they wouldn't have known about the underpayment of the overpayment until the police knocked on their door. Some people think this blog is just thrown together. I read what I have written.
(Beverley writes - although there are a few continuity mistakes I have brought up at our daily brain storming meetings)
What meetings are these?
Anyway, the point is everything worked out well in the end. Sometimes putting things off and waiting a while and not doing things, pays off. Which brings me to the big debate on the local news. Will there be street parties for next weeks Royal Wedding? Now I am not sure what is going to happen, but I do know The Smugglers Tavern will only be throwing a few decorations up. When I looked in on The Smugglers Tavern via the close circuit camera it was as quiet as a home game of the Caustic Cove Casuals.
Sitting at a long table in the middle of The Smugglers Tavern were a number of the good and the lacking of Caustic Cove. They had insisted on renting the Tavern for the night for their committee to decide on the up and coming celebrations. However renting The Smugglers Tavern exclusively for the night did not come cheap. Most of their budget was in fact blown on this one little extravagance. At least the committee were able to thrash out a few ideas and run up the proverbial flagpole. It was suggested that the whole front and promenade at Caustic Cove should be closed for a party and bunting and food and drink. The Smugglers Tavern were all for that as long as they could supply the food and drink with only the smallest of mark ups. But the closing down of the main road in and out of Caustic Cove was rejected.
Should they have a party at all? The vast majority of the population of the local area were old enough to remember the last Royal Weddings. Not to put too fine a point on it. Things haven't gone well for the Royals since. On top of everything else the new bride to be has been given the engagement ring of the mother of the groom who had divorced his dad and died in tragic circumstances. Not the sort of ring to be given to give the bride luck. Still the kiddies of the area do like a party. So what to do?
Having eventually made a decision the committee closed the meeting and all shared in a boozy night out. So it looks as if Caustic Cove will run extra buses to Havenedge and let them sort out a party. While the rest of The Cove can watch the whole thing on TV. Now what is everybody doing on this weeks Bank Holiday?
COSMIC AND ETHEL
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. New or old, short or long. All the music just can't be wrong. Cosmic here with another lovely day which immediately brings problems. I would like to go out today. But it doesn't matter how stealth-like I am, directly that handle to the outside world is touched, Ethel accosts me by the back door. I have to decide if I can go out and reach the car before she can bombard me with accusations and instructions. If I am caught and have to work in the garden, do I try and do a snatch and grab at some weeds or go out and have to plan for a long term occupation of the garden? Between Ethel and the neighbours I am stuck in a hard place.
I decide that I will not become a virtual prisoner in my own house. So I grab the car keys and boldly step out. I have a few parcels to deliver to the lighthouse so I am already ready with my excuses. Sure enough, as soon as I step out from my back door, Ethel is there like a missile locked on its target. But instead of wanting to gain access to the garage and find some tools, she asks if I could give her a lift to her house. Directly I let my guard down and agree, Ethel points out all the weeds that have grown a few inches from yesterday.
The roads are not that crowded, but the place is crawling with people in states of undress. As I have mentioned before, my days at looking at teenage girls wearing nothing, has gone from animal like desire to concern that they don't catch a cold in their stomachs. My plan was to drop Ethel off at her home and go on and deliver the parcels and letters to the lighthouse. But Ethel asks me in and says she just wants to pick a few things up. Pick a few things up? Why doesn't she stay home? Why come back to my garden? I am rather hoping this early good weather breaks so Ethel and for that matter Bernie, are forced to move elsewhere. However I park up and follow Ethel into her home.
There is no doubt Ethel is comfortable here. This is her space and she fits in it nicely. A peg that has found that right shape hole. Her natural behaviour makes it an even bigger mystery to me why she doesn't want to spend more time here. Ethel takes me on a quick guided tour of her home. Every room holds a memory and she smiles or frowns depending on the story she is telling. I know Ethel exaggerates a little, but I don't care if the stories she is telling are true or not. They are her stories. Let her enjoy them.
Finally we approach her bedroom. She goes in and the bed looks as if it has been abandoned. The duvet is just thrown on the floor and the carpet looks dirty with bits of paper and tissue scattered on it. She points to the bedside phone. Every bit of bad news she has ever received, she says, has been relayed to her on that phone. The one place where she had felt safe and warm and contented. Her nice comfy bedroom. The atmosphere though has been sullied by that damn phone. There is a phone downstairs in the hall. But with that phone you expect to have to deal with the business of life. The phone in the bedroom catches you relaxed and unaware.
Ethel collects a few things, including a book and few ornaments. Where does she think she is going to put those for goodness sake? Once we return to the car and are on our way to the lighthouse, I notice how quiet Ethel is. Maybe she always was quiet except when she is demanding garden tools and interfering in other peoples lives. Despite the fact I may be a bit of time, Ethel stays in the car as I row over to the lighthouse. The Picayune looks at the TV Times I have brought him and moans about there being nothing on TV. Even on a bank holiday. Amongst the parcels is a replacement saucepan and a TV remote control. The remote that it is replacing works well except for the off switch. Nowadays TV is turned off a lot. Cass tells me that there doesn't seem to be any spring or autumn anymore, just winter and summer. I guess she has a point. A cup of tea later, I am sweating as I row my way back.
When we arrive back at my place Ethel reminds me of the state of the garden. I reflect that both Ethel and myself have our own spaces but want to move on to somewhere else. The last I see of Ethel today is her disappearing amongst the weeds in the back garden. I walk into the house and notice the answer machine flashing. Just for a moment I remember how Ethel felt about her phone in her bedroom. I put on the kettle and make a cup of tea.
Bad news, if indeed it is, can wait.
A VICTIM OF WASTED TIME?
Looking out from the lighthouse I can see great activity. I can see the boats and the people and all the fun loving things people do to each other. I can go on my computer and watch CCTV sites in some of the best places around the world. Zoos and pubs and lakes and countryside are all just a button press away. I can even see you if I wanted to. Thankfully for both of us I don't.
With the odd toilet break thrown in, I can sit here all day in one position and not move a muscle. I can entertain myself with films and shows and chat and even do a bit of work at the same time. I can sit here and eat and drink little or nothing all day. Life meanwhile is passing me by. So even that is a good thing. Now there is a down side to all this. My heart goes as flabby as by stomach. My interpersonal skills suffer and my muscles whither and die. I don't drink heavily and don't eat that much. Yes I need my drugs of choice sometimes, and chocolate and cheese and potatoes are easy to buy. But all in all I don't bother you and you don't bother me.
I know what you are going to say. If it wasn't for all the help I receive from Cosmic and Cass, I wouldn't be able to continue this sedentary lifestyle. You are right to point this out. Sometimes one just has to be honest with oneself. The problem is that you are falling into the trap of thinking I want to live the life I do. May be I am the victim here? If I wasn't surrounded by a lovely view and kind people then I would be forced to do something and become more active. So it's their fault really. For helping me to exist in my state of stagnation.
Now before you all go crazy and start to complain. Yes I mean you Cass and Cosmic. I better point out I don't believe any of that nonsense. However we live in world where everybody wants to be a victim. It is never our fault but their fault. When the Government want to save money it is the single mums or those who are too ill to work who are put under the microscope. Why are they receiving handouts? The idle throng of fat and drunk and mad people. They could all help themselves. After all if you are hooked on drugs why should I pay for you because you can't hold down a job? Are you too fat to go to work, then slim down and take some exercise. Too depressed? Cheer up and smell the roses. Unless you have a hay fever then best not.
When the people want to save money they blame the government for all the pointless tax and red tape that seems to be just invented for no good reason. When the fat and the drunks and the drug addled need to blame something they blame circumstance and life.
So let's stop blaming other people and stop feeling we are the victims. If we can all just remember one thing. If it wasn't for the cheating bankers none of us would ever be depressed again. On this of all holidays let's stop feeling self conscious for not doing what we should be doing. Let's take in the view without thinking it is wasted time.
CELEBRATIONS – A VIEW
A strange time really. I am not sure how I am supposed to react? It is Good Friday in the UK and we have had the usual remarks about how everybody has forgotten the Easter Message. That I think has become the Easter Message. It is as if people buy eggs and hot cross buns and then wonder why they bought them. Then you have the Church telling us what the message is. Which actually turns out not to be the message but a version of a message written in a book about the history of a people written a long time after the history happened. There are people who are digging up places in the Holy Land and using The Bible as a sort of map. This is where we should find the place David killed Goliath. This is where Jesus turned water into wine. All of which misses the point about faith. That seems to be what religion is good at. They forget that it isn't about where somebody killed somebody else or even if it actually happened. It is about faith. Faith can move mountains they say. Shame we keep fighting over which mountain should be moved and whether or not it has moved already.
In the UK it is St Georges Day. This is the day we are told St George wasn't English or a saint and really has nothing to do with us at all. It is also a day people would generally forget about if it wasn't for the pubs like The Smugglers Tavern putting up bunting and little red crosses everywhere. Although the only time we see these little flags is when we lose at football. So I suppose the red cross needs a little bit of faith behind it too. Not that we can feel too proud of our Country. Too many people blaming others. I used to love this country and travel around it and feel proud. Now I stay in the lighthouse and hope the country forgets about us. I hate more than I love. I loathe what others have done in my name. This isn't my country anymore. Somewhere along the line, smart, well dressed, well educated, gangs calling themselves 'New Labour' or Old Faithful or something equally tacky went and made everything dirty.
So that's religion and politics. So time for the Royal Family. Another wedding and another celebration when we are told what a waste of money it all is. Even though the whole wedding thing brings in more money than anything Governments ever seem to do. Although if you are of a certain age it all starts to look like a long running TV series bereft of ideas. What happens next? Tune in next week. Like an episode of a posh soap opera. It at least keeps the wheels turning.
All these celebrations may have ceased to become worth celebrating because I have seen it all before and am tired of all the reasons I am bombarded with not to celebrate them. Does that make sense? I suppose it is like Christmas or Birthdays or New Years. There were some you remember as being exciting and some you remember with sadness. But now you tend not to remember them at all. They all merge into one stale cake.
Enjoy the celebrations everybody.
(Beverley writes - As the recorder of The Picayunes internal monologue, I should point out that the above comments were written while The Picayune had noticed his stomachs were beginning to rub on his legs and he had run out of bread. Nobody had called in at the lighthouse on Good Friday. Hopefully when Cosmic brings some bread and listens with The Pic to the football on Saturday, all will be be well. Depending on the result.)
COSMIC AND CO
Well it shouldn't be there should it? I have never seen it there before. I only noticed it when I heard a slapping noise every time I took a step upstairs. Turned out to be my knee slapping my stomach. Well the bit of the leg between the thigh and the knee anyway. But I didn't put it there so what is it doing? I am explaining to Cosmic my dilemma. He has just helped Cass bring some shopping over. Cass looked like a pack horse, heaving everything up to the lighthouse from the boat. But Cosmic says he has given up trying to carry things for her. He once made the mistake of trying to help with a bag of cement, but Cass pushed him out of the way to reach it. Cosmic was left floundering like a fish out of water, flapping about trying to take a corner of the heavy bag. But Cass would have none of it.
We are listening to the football eating pizza and I am explaining to Cosmic about my slapping noisy stomach. He asks me how long I have had my trousers. I ask him why he wants to know. Apparently I don't want to know why he wants to know. So I tell him I have worn these trousers for years and years. So he says that proves that I couldn't have grown an extra stomach and that it has always been there. It may well have grown a little more but not enough to buy new trousers. I feel somewhat relieved by this and thank him. As we listen to the football we concede a goal. I swear and Cass says I need a haircut and so does she. We should cut our hair tomorrow. Cosmic giggles and says he always goes to the hairdresser once every few months or so. Cass and I both giggle. Neither of us have been to a hairdresser since we were kids.
Although the lighthouse is cool compared to outside, Cosmic asks if we can turn the ceiling fan on. Cass put the fan up years ago and it is still a wonderful air conditioner in the summer. We also have a proper air conditioner we bought for downstairs. But have never used it. There are a few desk fans flung about as well. So I turn on the fan. Now the thing is, we have been moving stuff about and rearranging furniture. The room hasn't seen a duster in over ten years. So the only chance the dust has of moving is every summer when the fan is switched on. After the game finishes Cosmic is up on his feet brushing away at his clothes, looking like a survivor from a collapsed building. Cosmic is cool but dusty. We have a cup of tea and Cosmic is on his way. So I return upstairs to discuss the match on line. As I am making my way upstairs I hear a slap,slap, slap.
Hi there, Cosmic here, the clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Maybe stay awhile and pop into The Smugglers Tavern for a cooling drink. The bar is packed solid. A few men are staring at a lone girl, making her feel as uncomfortable as she would be as an extra in a horror film. I find a space at the bar and ask for a Coke. The girl starts pulling at her blonde hair nervously. She is desperate not too make eye contact with the men. Eventually though she feels too intimidated and walks out the pub. The men's eyes do not follow her out but begin to squint. Then they order from the food menu that was on the wall behind the girl’s head.
I start to stare at a few of the people around me. There are men in shorts, women in shorts, men wearing next to nothing and women wearing next to nothing. Then there is the bloke with a phone camera who is smiling at himself and taking a picture of himself. Just for a moment I think of The Picayune and his flabby, slappy stomach. Then I think that he should see these people. All of them deserve to be self conscious about something . But none of them appear to care. I decide my next job will be to persuade The Picayune to come out again. Even if it is just back into my garage or garden. I vow to make him a project of mine
THE ART OF GRIEF MAINTENANCE
Somebody, somewhere has died. The shock is still there for those close to the deceased. As well as the awful realisation that people have to be told comes the mondaying reality. How to deal with the really unhelpful. First you deal with the funeral. People who do this sort of thing for a living are usually able to help and charge you huge amounts of money. But they usually do the job. Then comes the legal side. These people charge you huge amounts of money but they too are usually helpful. Then comes the stupid people.
You phone up USTC (Unhelpful Stupid Telephone Company).
'Good Morning USTC, please press 1 for a long wait, 2 for a shorter wait but only if you want to give us money,3 for a statement of what you owe us,......................press 9 if you actually want to talk to somebody'
'You have pressed 9............Good Morning USTC, please press one of you want to talk to somebody about life, press 2 if you are lonely, press 3 for a complaint and a really long wait........................Press 9 to talk to somebody else'
MUZAK FOR HOURS
"Good Afternoon, my name is Mohamed Misunderstood on a bad line, how may I be of help on this fine day?"
"Hello, you are very faint?" says the emotional yet relieved customer.
"I have not been sleeping well but I am better now thank you" replies Mohamed
"Sorry?"
"That's alright it isn't your fault, how may I be of service?"
"The bill owner has died and so I would like to change the name on the bill. Same number just a different name."
"I see by your number that you have another provider for your calls. We have a wonderful new Phone now pay later free at weekends except not really scheme. Would you be interested?"
"No thanks I just want to change the bill owners name. Well one initial is all it is really"
"How about our short term, call later pay now except on Tuesdays payment plan?"
"No thanks. Just one initial on the bill owners name"
"I will have to put you through to another department"
MUZAK FOR HOURS
"Good Evening, my name is Julie, what do you want?"
" Well the bill owner has died and I just want to change the name on the bill. Same number just a different initial really"
"We have a dedicated line for that. Please hold. I am putting you through"
MUZAK FOR DAYS
" Merry Christmas ,my name is Mohamed Misunderstood, how may I be of service on this wonderful festive time of year"
" Look I have missed the funeral of the bill owner by being on this bloody phone. I want to change the name of the bill owner because they are no longer with us. I have sent the certificates and the finger prints and the affidavits. I just want to change the one initial on the bill owners name"
"I see that you are with another company for your calls. Would you be ......."
"NO I JUST WANT TO CHANGE ONE INITIAL"
"Very well Sir or Madam, we will do that for you"
"Thank you, at last, I thought I would never manage to........Is there anybody there? The line has gone dead. Hello"
Sadly the line had been cut off completely. It took two weeks for them to say the line would work. Another two weeks for it actually to work. A further three weeks for the original number to be returned and the late lamented will still receive phone bills for six months after that.
Then you have to phone the bank. But that is even worse. So let's not go there yet.
SWEENEY PICAYUNE
When it says on the instructions that it takes two hours to cook. It usually means four hours. Cass had bought a piece of Gammon. So we both looked at it and decided that it would be a perfect Sunday meal with salad. But we like things very well done. Which means read the instructions for the cooking time, double it for normal cooking time and add a few hours on for us. This meant there was plenty of time to cut hair. So I pretended to cough up some flem, have a cold and complained of some strange sickness. None of which convinced Cass as she handed me some scissors and a comb.
Most of the hard stuff had been done. Cass is not stupid so she had cut her hair at the sides and in the front. All she wanted was a smartening up at the back. Now hair is hair. But for some reason to help me in my endeavours, Cass had wet hers to make it easier to cut. Why should wet hair be easier to cut? It bends at the ends and sticks up. So you have to straighten it to make it even. Then a snip here and a snip there. Then you have the odd stray hair. It is not easy. But after I am finished and step back to look proudly at my work. I am aware that Cass will wait for her hair to dry before she tries to prepare the damage I have done.
My hair on the other hand is easier to do. There isn't that much of it. Yet Cass manages to cut more of my hair than I have cut of hers. After she has finished, my hair looks fine. Now to me her hair looks like the result of years at hairdresser training school. But when I look at my hair and like it, is it the same as me looking at Cass hair and liking it? When Cass has to redo her hair, has she done my hair for me to redo? See where I am going with this? Anyway may be I am over thinking the hairdresser lark.
At least I didn't draw blood. This time.
Gammon is very nice. With a few potatoes and lettuce. Tomatoes and cucumber and cheese and pickle. Bread and crisps. Followed by ice cream and shreddies. Cass for some reason just had Gammon and potatoes. I wonder if I have found the reason behind the mystery of my slapping stomach. Then we both seem to drop off to sleep for a time. Are we ill and should I be worried? Nothing on television may be the reason. Well only people digging up something to look for something and finding rock. Limit how interesting they can make that. But I am awake for the rest of the evening and watch DVDs and a whodunit on TV. I am no nearer knowing why they did what they did after two hours and plenty of ad breaks. But it all seems to make sense to the people who did it. Nice line about it being hard work growing up hating things. I may well use that line in The Lighthouse Picayune Blog. Except I seem to have already just done so.
So a good day I guess. Tomorrow there is plenty to do. Or plenty I should be doing. So I may try and catch up with some reading. I must learn to pace myself.
THE WORLD ACCORDING TO CASS
Cass is busy. Cass is always busy. Except when she is asleep. She used to be confused why the world didn't think like she did when she was awake. Then she was confused why the people of the world didn't think like she did. So one day she stopped thinking. But so did the world. When people just wanted to carry on doing what they did, Cass wanted them to stop and think. So, when she started to think again, so did the world. However it never thought like Cass thought. It never would. What changed was that Cass now stopped making enemies of the world. At least she thought she had. Cass used to think too much.
'She's always a woman to me' is a Billy Joel song Cass had never really understood. There is a long running advert showing a little girl growing into a young woman and then a married woman. Eventually a grandmother is seen with the little grandchildren and the Billy Joel song is playing throughout. Now it is a wonderful song. A great song. A classic song. While it clearly is a love song about women and their faults and playful little foibles. It had always came over to Cass as a song about a nasty, conniving, woman who will plot and lie to make sure she has her own way in all things. The point is Cass would not use it in an advert. It is an insult to a particular kind of woman and not a song any decent person would want to be identified with. A great song but not a song to show the best of women. An odd choice for a song in an advert.
Guilt is so ingrained into Cass and her brother, The Picayune, that it has become the natural fall back position. There is guilt when things are waiting to be done. Guilt when things are being done. Guilt when things have been done. Yet without guilt things would never be done. Guilt is no guilty pleasure.
Having worked until evening. Cass then sends more information on the past to a distant relative. The Picayune can now go back 10 generations or more. People who stole, who had children out of wedlock, had hopes and dreams. It is fun tracing all these people. Cass has turned to distant relatives for information and sharing names. Like a mathematical puzzle that you have the answer for, but not the formulae of how the answer was found.
In the evening Cass fell asleep in front of the TV. Tomorrow work begins again and the phone calls will start. The answers will be there and the formulae for reaching the conclusions will be worked out. It is just whether or not Cass can be bothered to put the x and y into the pie chart of the day.
COSMIC HAS A POSTBOX PLAN
The clock on the wall shows it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. For a lyric that makes you a cynic and a tune that make you swoon. Hi Cosmic here, to report on a successful first part of a multi layered plan. The plan to actually make The Picayune brave the outside world. I have managed in the past to prize him away from his comfortable, safe little island, to a dirty, cobweb invested garage. My mistake was not following up on this with more excursions outside his comfort zone. So today I hatched the first part of my plan.
Knowing he had important post to put in the post box in Caustic Cove. I told The Picayune I had pulled a muscle and was unable to row over to collect the post. But I could take it from him at the jetty on the mainland. As expected he asked why Ethel or Bernie couldn't help? This I managed to find a way around by telling him that I was trying to avoid Ethel and Bernie. as they kept wanting to gain entry into the garage to collect gardening tools. The hot bank holiday had made things grow at an amazing rate. Ethel awoke this morning in the back garden and found herself trapped by the advancing thorny weeds and plants. Her cries for assistance meant that I sprained an ankle trying to save her. But now all Ethel wants to do is hack away. The truth is I would let Ethel do her stuff if it wasn't for the fact I like some of the things she has threatened to destroy. So I told The Picayune he would have to come across.
After I had called him, I waited in the car for him to come across in the boat. Despite his earlier practice he still seemed pretty slow and unsteady. When he reached the jetty I called from the car and told him my ankle was really painful and I could not put any weight on it. The Picayune was forced to clamber out of the boat and shuffle breathlessly to the car. As he had managed this far I asked him if he could manage to make the walk to the post box. He said there was no point. But I said I was unable to climb out of the car to post the letters, By the time he had managed to fit into the car and I had had to move seats. The Picayune could have reached the postbox and returned. He looked doubtful. As I encouraged him and told him it was a five minute round trip walk at best, he seemed to weaken. But then he said there is a hill on the way back. Now what The Picayune calls a hill is a small incline. It could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be called a hill. Then suddenly, like the moving of The Empire State Building in an episode of Gerry Anderson's Thunderbirds, The Picayune began to move . Slowly at first and then, step by step he made his way through the throng (a few people and a dog). Every time his foot moved in front of its neighbour, he closed the cavernous gap between himself and the postbox. Then as quickly as he had begun he had closed that distance and stood before the red beacon of hope. A brief glance at the times on the post box, to hide the fact he was resting and then he embarked on the return journey. Now this was the worrying part. Would he make it? Could his legs have enough muscle strength to close the gap. In a journey that had taken The Picayune six minutes for the round trip, he appeared by the car, chest heaving and lungs burning.
The next part of my master plan was to ask him to consider giving me a hand tomorrow, to clear the weeds growing out of the tarmac between my house and the garage. Nobody could see him and then he could help Bernie with the front garden or at least the drive. Just to begin with. To my amazement he didn't dismiss the idea out of hand. Had I managed to break the wild bucking horse of lethargy. No wait a minute, 'lethargy' would hardly be a horse. More a sloth. Right then had I tamed the wild sloth of lethargy, who could know? All I did know was when The Picayune nearly fell into the boat and swore. I may have seen some hope flash in his eyes. Either that or pain.
ETHEL BY NIGHT
There is a definite breeze tonight. Not a cold one but chilly. Ethel is in Cosmic’s back garden and wrapped up against the night. She is looking at the sky but the clouds are thicker than they have been for some time. This time last week she could see the stars and light from the moon. Even last night, everything looked clear. But tonight there is cloud moving up there. The breeze is rustling the weeds and moving the clouds along like an impatient old bus conductor.
Ethel has made sure she doesn't turn over in her sleep like last night. She managed to impale herself on a thorn that was able to penetrate several layers of protection. Amazing how quickly things grow once the warmth starts to entice the greedy thicket of sharp thorns. Ethel often hears a fox yelp at night. It wouldn't shock her to find a few foxes trapped in the thorns one morning when she wakes up. Will Cosmic ever give her the tools to cut this evil forest down? There used to be fountains and a stream and ponds up here. The lost gardens of Cosmic. But who knows what horrors await the innocent explorer now.
Not being able to see the stars makes Ethel feel claustrophobic. She never used to care before. But now she has experience of sleeping outside she enjoys it. Not that she could do this full time. Her heart goes out to all those who have no other choice. But Ethel feels free without the confines of a ceiling and four walls. Like a kid playing at camping. This reminds her of the time she was allowed to camp in the back garden of her parents’ house, when she was young. Or was she? Her fantasy life has become confused with reality. So she never knows what is really a memory and what is made up. It has been so long since she has seen her dad that the fantasy of him dead seems so real. Then her husband taking their child away and being killed in an accident. How much of that is real now? She had everything under control at one time. Pretend and real were put in little memory files never to be confused. Yet somehow the files have been dropped on the floor and just picked up and thrown into any memory space available.
Makes sense now really. Whenever the questions on drunken nights in ugly pubs turned to absolutes, Ethel would always become disorientated. You know the sort of thing. What is the best moment of you life? Best day, worst day, happiest birthday and so on. The only question Ethel could ever answer was the one about the worst day of her life. That one was easy. So easy that she pulls the layers of clothes tighter around her as if to smother the memory. Just the loss of someone. A real someone on a real day. The rest could well be fantasy. But not that day. Ethel wonders if what she is doing at this precise moment is real or not? Actually sleeping in Cosmic’s back garden. Is it madness or does it make sense? Ethel doesn't think about it for too long. She doesn't really want an answer.
Sleeping outside makes you wake up earlier. Mainly because you want to go to the toilet. It is a problem Ethel never really thought about. But chemical toilets, the sort you take on camping holidays help. Which means this is all real. Otherwise why would Ethel think about such practicalities? Ethel is not sure if these long days are helpful for her. Maybe she would be better off in her own home. The cold would soon drive her indoors. Involuntarily Ethel moves and is stung by something. She shuffles in her straight jacket of clothes away from the sting. Just for a second Ethel sees as clear as day her present predicament. Why she is here in the back garden of Cosmic’s house. What drove her to it, beside the short infatuation with Bernie Woodstain. For a blindingly obvious moment it all makes sense. As does her next move. Then she is awoken and the clarity disappears. Ethel wasn't aware she had dropped off. But she must have done. Soon be morning and she can ask Cosmic for some shears. After all one day they won’t be able to find her at all. She will be lost like that American series where people were lost on an island. But unlike the stars in that show Ethel wouldn't have a shampoo advert to go to. She would just cease to exist. Ethel smiles to herself at the prospect. She is asleep and dreaming of cutting away at the garden within moments.
Snip Snip Snip. Clearing away the weeds. What does Ethel see under the foliage? Why it is a young Ethel singing a Kate Bush song about not forgetting her. Ethel smiles at that prospect too. Wondering if forgetting yourself was a dream worth remembering.
THE PICAYUNE SEES THROUGH IT AND SEES IT THROUGH
I can tell when I am being manipulated. Cosmic says he needs help in his garden, but, with Ethel and Bernie only too willing to help, I can tell Cosmic has an ulterior motive. Either he wants me to help in his garage again and move all the rubbish to the dump. Although it is beyond me why he hasn't done this already. Or he wants to breach the subject of him moving in to the lighthouse. He has had envious eyes gazing at the lighthouse for some time. Despite a very nice house and a very natural garden, Cosmic seems to think that the lighthouse is his next move. But why should he? We have less room and if it wasn't for the fact the lighthouse is falling down, I would dismiss his money out of hand.
Have I noticed all the little ornaments and music paraphernalia that have suddenly turned up on shelves? Could I have possibly missed all the little wall signs that have suddenly appeared. All from Cosmic’s house and all a first strike to him putting his feet under the table. A table by the way that now has a centre piece of an urn with his mothers ashes in it. It is no good I shall just have to come out and tell him this is not on. Except if I do that will he stop helping out? We don't have a car since Cass killed hers. But that doesn't mean I can be blackmailed. No what I shall do is just tell him I can't help in his garden today as I have work to do. Except that I haven't collected the post yet and have post to go. I was rather hoping his ankle would have improved enough by today. Not that I think there is anything wrong with his ankle in the first place.
I don't really need Cosmic anyway. I was alright yesterday. I managed to climb the hill to the postbox. I can do that again. Even if people are there and tourists ask me if I am the lighthouse keeper and what's it like living in a lighthouse and the normal drivel I am not very good at answering. Cass says we should be proud people talk about the lighthouse. I just want to be left alone, hence living in a lighthouse. On an island. Away from people. Not sure why they bother me but they always do.
I have to go soon if I am going to catch the post. Walk down to the boat. Try and sit in the boat without falling over. Row over and then climb out onto the jetty and go up to the post box. No problem really. I will just fetch some dark glasses and a coat. Mind you I feel a bit light headed now. I bit gripey and sick. May be I have eaten something that didn't agree with me? Although I have only had a cup of tea today. No I am really feeling a bit off. Might just delay going to the post for a second.
No, come on I can do this. Just go and not think about it. My stomach is really acting up. I can ignore it. Come on one big effort. That is all it will take.
Right I am in the boat. Wasn't too bad. Have the oars in my hand. Forgot to untie the rope. So untie the rope and off we go. One stroke, fine two strokes, breathing heavily, miss the water with the oar, or to use the proper term, gosh that's annoying. Slowly row over to the jetty.
Wait and breath. Wait a bit longer and breath.
Nobody about so I climb up onto the jetty with the grace of a gazelle. NOBODY IS HERE TO SEE.
So I begin my walk up the h...up the hill, breath short, legs tired and ...puffing away. Reach box and post letters. Still ...nobody.....puff........puff ...about. Return journey, legs at breaking point.......must make one big.....effort.
Van pulls up at a house. I can ignore it, Just carry on. Old woman walks out of house and goes to van. Van moves slightly. Am almost approaching woman. Van man on other side. I have nowhere to go except passed them both. Woman standing right in the middle of the pavement. She is talking to the van man and says she is sorry to make him move, 'but this bleedin' slope is awful when I am trying to move the car from the drive'. My goodness Caustic Cove has gone downhill. It used to be a nice area. Now people are talking about 'bleedin slopes'. Still I a have reached the jetty. The boat looks a long way down. I make several attempts to sit on the jetty with my feet over the side. Fourth time lucky. I ease my way into the boat and nearly capsize. My stomach is the first bit of my body to make a lunge for safety. But I catch it before it escapes.
Now I steady myself and am rowing back. I am safe and I am very very tired. Then I am home. Up onto the jetty with ease, nobody to see how easy I am doing this part. Tie up the boat. Walk up to the lighthouse very slowly. Must....remember...gasp....to .....cut.....weeds from .......steps....or ....somebody could........My brain cannot finish the thought. I arrive at last in the lighthouse. My pulse is only one hundred and twenty. Must be becoming fitter. However just time to have a piece of toast.
Cass is there to welcome me home. She says I should have taken the rubbish over to save time. I think I shed a tear.
COSMIC REGRETS
The clock on the wall says it's time to call. so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Spin a disc, twist an ankle, Cosmic here with a tale as old as time. I guess the morale of this story is be careful what you wish for.
I had had a call from Cass asking if I could give her a lift to the shops, just for some bread and what have you. So I said fine, no problem.. She told me The Picayune had been across to the mainland to post a letter. I can tell you I felt pleased my plan had sort of come together. Alright, he hadn't actually come and helped with the garden but at least he had come out of the lighthouse on his own, without anybody prodding him with a stick. Yeah I felt proud. Before picking up Cass I had plenty of time to pop into The Smugglers Tavern for a soft drink. A sort of slap on the back for me to me.
Don't think I hadn't suffered to make my plan work. There was a football match on last night, so I would have gone to the lighthouse and shared the experience with The Pic. Besides he has a bigger TV. I could have watched the match being broadcast and listened to the other on the computer. I still did all that mind you, but it didn't feel quite such an occasion. Anyway I enjoyed it as everything came out right in the end. Both in the match and now I know The Pic actually walked to the post, with my plan.
So I worked out how much longer my pretend sprained ankle should last. There would be little point in making it last too long. Now we have a bank holiday and another match coming up Saturday, I wanted to make a recovery. Limp a little, be brave and make the odd grimace of pain. But I hoped I could persuade The Pic that he can now do little things like the post on his own, without me having to suffer anymore invented injuries.
Fortunately Ethel was trapped in the back garden and couldn't do anything but yell at me for assistance. I pretended I couldn't hear and managed to start up the car and be off before Bernie pointed to his trapped arm in the pampas grass. No idea why we now have pampas grass growing in the front garden, but that, as they say is for another day. If Bernie and Ethel were not out of the clutches of my garden by the time I came back, I would assist them. But until then it was up to them to come to terms with being unable to roam free.
The Smugglers Tavern had made an effort to put out a bit of bunting after all. A few flags. A token gesture but a gesture none the less. When I stepped into the pub I heard a band singing. They had a few fiddles and a base guitar and were singing Tom Petty's 'American Girl'. The band were Irish. So I gave them a wide berth. Ever since Bono took my thunder at the 'Free Water to Free Africa' concert, I have never been fond of Irish bands. Well when I say he stole my thunder, it was more like I was in the audience and he pointed at me. I was about to climb up on stage to introduce myself to the crowd, but a bouncer bloke stopped me. Despite efforts on my part to tell this bloke I was Cosmic Antidust, he pushed me back and said he didn't care whose auntie I was. Oh yeah, as if I hadn't heard that before. Which to be fair to him I hadn't. People respected me back in the day.
So I have a swift orange squash in The Smugglers Tavern. The Irish band are jigging about to 'Do you want to touch me' but before they could finish, the police storm through the door and arrest them all. Turns out 'Do you want to touch me' is on the banned list drawn up by the local Caustic Cove council. In fact it is on two banned lists. So the music comes to an abrupt end. I follow the police out and am rather enjoying the complaining and the swearing. The Irish band were none too happy either. A barrier had been put across the pavement with a big arrow pointing to the right with the word PEDESTRIANS on it. So I walked onto the grass verge to go to my car, when my right ankle found a hole. Suddenly I was over on it and just saved myself from falling. Doing what we all do, I pretended it didn't hurt in case anyone was watching and carried on towards the car. But the throbbing and the swelling was making sure my earlier petard had been well and truly hoisted. I really had now obtained a twisted ankle. Not a bad one I grant you. But bad enough to make the drive home uncomfortable.
Half way home I realised I was supposed to be picking up Cass so she could go shopping. So I turned the car around and waited for her at the jetty. When she eventually arrives my ankle is complaining it needs to be cooled down. It is around three o clock, so what bread she expected to still be in the shops is a mystery. Despite everything still being open on bank holidays, people still rush to fill up their trolley for a four day survival fight. When we arrive at the shop. the school kids are just about finished in there. Like locusts leaving a barren field, the little darlings move on to the next green pasture. The crossing lollipop man is about a hundred and two and smiles at everybody in that scary old man leer. He stops grown adults crossing as if independent thought would be a bad example to set for the children. Cass takes a bag and a list. This is no quick trip for a loaf of bread.
Before Cass can reach the front door of the shop, a delivery lorry pulls up. I don't know why Cass bothers to go into the shop. She might as well wait as they off load the goods from the lorry and let them put the goods straight into her bag. But she disappears from view and I am left waiting, cautiously moving my ankle so it doesn't cease up. People balancing on those little scooters pass the car. Then go into the shop and come out with some lollies. They stop and sit on a bit of greenery to eat them. A lovely picture of freedom that age sometimes makes you forget still exists. After an age Cass struggles out under a pile of bags. At least I think its her, but she is like some plastic bag monster, it is hard to see any human features. When she arrives at the car, the bags are put into the back seat. This becomes like a scene from some old Fred Karno silent comedy. The bags just keep on coming until finally I hear a deep breath and Cass is free.
I help unload the shopping into the rowing boat. I fear the weight will be too much for the little craft. I say help, but Cass is on one side of the car and takes all but one bag. She then tells me that there is one bag left. I am standing there, I know. Reminds me of the bag of concrete fiasco I have already mentioned before. So eventually she is all set and rows across to the lighthouse. After about ten minutes she has reached the other side and is struggling up the steps to the lighthouse. I wait to see if she makes it, she does. Then The Picayune comes out of the lighthouse and walks down to the boat. If a man could look grumpy walking, even from this distance then he is indeed the one. The Picayune picks up what looks like a packet of biscuits and struggles up the stairs.
Oh well I am on my home at last. A throbbing ankle and a day to rest it. There is no sign of Bernie in the front garden which is good. But as I approach the back door I can hear voices in the back garden. Ethel is telling Bernie not to pull at it. What 'it' is I shudder to think. Once my ankle is mended I must think about hacking back the garden. Still like Scarlet O Hara, I shall think about that tomorrow. After all tomorrow IS another day.
ETHEL HEADS FOR THE WEDDING
When it began to rain during the night, Ethel made a decision. She unpicked herself from the thorns that had grown six inches in the time it had taken her to find enough room to lie down. Cosmic’s back garden was becoming less and less a refuge and more a battle ground, with Ethel losing ground to several different enemy factions. She struggled to her feet, and carefully found a path towards safety. Bernie was trapped in the front garden by the encroaching weeds, but had put himself in a position so he could collect the post from the postman and throw them towards the door. The path to the front was now impassable. Ethel walked passed the car in the drive and reminded Bernie that there would be no post today as it was a holiday. So Bernie muttered to himself. Looking like a man trapped in a cleverly constructed man trap, Bernie asked Ethel where she was going? Ethel replied that she was off to Havenedge where they had a big screen on the beach, so she could watch the Royal Wedding in style. Bernie complained about the Royals costing money and listed the negatives of the day. But Ethel would have non of it and walked off long before Bernie had finished his list. She walked passed the rubbish bins that had been put out but not collected, all looking like a military escort, to Ethel's promenading Queen. Ethel headed to the coast to catch the first a bus to take her to Havenedge.
Ethel had to wait a few hours but the bus eventually arrived. Although Ethel had to convince the bus driver she had the money to pay for the journey, even though she did look bedraggled and a bit like a bag lady without the bags. she managed to make her way to the big screen at Havenedge. To her shock the crowds were already gathering. Ethel found a space not much bigger than the one she had in Cosmic’s back garden. But at least she was now amongst happy, smiling faces, all desperate to enjoy a day without worry. All ready to enjoy the day of pomp and ceremony. All ready to have a laugh.
From the moment the coverage started on the big screen, people were cheering and whooping. Every time somebody walked into the Abbey, the crowd roared at a volume to match their fame. Somebody offered a cup of tea to Ethel which she took with pleasure. Making sure she was in reach of a toilet. But the crowd around her lifted Ethel up in the simple pleasure of their enjoyment. The biggest cheer being saved for the bride.
In the lighthouse The Picayune sat in his pyjamas half watching the TV. Cass was dressed but had a Television on, making comments about what she saw. At Cosmic’s house, Cosmic watched the TV and shed a tear as he saw the bride but would never admit to it. While Bernie moaned to himself in the front garden.
Beverley, who writes The Picayune's internal monologue, took a few moments for herself and wasn't sure how she should react. Silas Straw stood in a field scaring off the crows while reading The Financial Times. While The Evil Dug Up Body That Barks bided his time.
THE PICAYUNE IS GIVEN A GIFT
Ready for a nice relaxing evening. I had managed to spend the day in ideal idle comfort. Not once did I venture forth from my desk. Shuffling papers this way and that. A plastic cup full of dice fell from the safety of that desk. It made the sound of broken glass when it hit the floor. But it was still just dice falling and spinning to give a result where none was needed. Despite my best efforts I was unable to find all the fallen cubes, half of them had just disappeared. Such things happen on the roll of a die.
The smell of bacon wafted through from the kitchen. So I ventured into the bathroom, changed from pyjamas to day wear and wandered to the chair in front of the television. Bacon sandwiches handed to me with a bottle of tomato sauce and a cup of tea and I was in seventh heaven.
After eating I must have fallen asleep. I still think I must have some illness. Isn't that part of an illness? Falling asleep in front of the television after eating? I look it up on the computer. I realised I have looked this up before and have been suffering with the same symptoms before. I wake Cass up and tell her we both have any number of problems. She tells me we have had this conversation before and decided death by slow illness was better than death by worry of death by slow illness. I feel better. I feel better that is until the lighthouse jetty bell goes. Nobody presses the lighthouse jetty bell. So Cass wearily goes to the door and looks out. She opens it and tells me somebody is walking up the stairs to the lighthouse. For a second it is hard to tell who it is but I hear Cass say something and her voice is relaxed. I relax a little too. Until Ethel appears at the door. She is holding a small parcel in one hand. She waves it in the air and asks us if we are doing anything in the next few hours. Cass and I appear to differ in our answer. But Ethel is not to be put off. She strides in and begins talking.
Ethel has had a great day in front of a big screen showing the Royal Wedding. While Ethel repeats her experiences of what she saw, who she met, what she ate. Cass beats me to the kitchen and puts on the kettle. So I am left alone, smiling weakly at all the information I don't want, now carpet bombing my brain. Oh did she? Did he do that? Oh how charming it all sounds. Then I am smiling at Ethel's enthusiasm. Maybe she is making her whole day up. Maybe she just stayed in Cosmic's back garden. Ethel likes a lie but she seems to be so into her day, that I am leaving my cynicism of her and the wedding, in a suitcase by the door. The label on the case reads 'happy and involved'. (Beverley, the writer of my internal monologue says I have over egged the whole suitcase thing and should move on). So Cass comes in with the tea and looks at me. I think she expects me to give her a secret sign that will give her the nod to phone help. But I don't. Well Ethel is in full flow and I can't help but be pleased she has bothered to come to me to throw up all the information.
A second cup of tea and a mini chocolate roll each later. Ethel has finally come to the end of her day’s autobiography. Then she picks up her parcel with a flourish and says when she saw it she thought of me. She hands it to me and asks if we could watch it now, together, all together, as long as we weren't going to watch something else. I say no we were not going to watch anything, before I have opened the parcel. Then I see what it is. Ethel tells me she remembers seeing the books on my shelves and the DVDs of the two earlier films. I nod my head and say they may not make another because of problems with money and the complications of putting them on film. We all agree that we hope they do make the rest of the films in the series. Then my mind goes back to childhood and the first time I read the books. My mum was a great reader and used to read books to me when I was ill or just too young to read myself. She read the first one and I devoured the rest. Then, in my twenties or thirties, I had an interest of reading them again. So the books were bought for me. I read them all in a few days over Christmas one year, while I was at work. When you are young you read books that make the most impact on you. You can re-read them and feel nothing. But I re-read these and I did feel the same about them. These were the few children's books I really loved and could read again and again and again.
So we settled down to watch 'The Voyage of The Dawn Treader' the film of the book by C S Lewis and the third in his Narnia Chronicles. I have no idea why Ethel thought of me or why she insisted we watch them together. Cass enjoyed the film as well and I pretended not feel a little pull of emotion, remembering the past and the hope and the story. Yes bits were different than the book and in a different order. But, if I wanted to read the book, I would have done so. The film was a delight. Not a classic but a classic for me. Ethel said I could have the DVD as a present as long as I remembered how I felt when I first read the books. I had no idea what she meant, but before I had time to ask her, Ethel was up and heading to the door. She said she would be on her way. She was proud that she had remembered to tow the other boat with her. So we would have a boat this end when she rowed the other back, I thanked her and she was off down the steps. It was becoming dark and suddenly a twisted fork of lightening lit up the sky and it began to rain. I asked if she was sure she would be alright to row back. She could stay at the lighthouse if she liked. But she insisted she was fine. So I walked down to the jetty with her and waved her off. I asked her to make sure she told Cosmic to give me a ring when she arrived at his back garden. But she said she would ring me from her house. The wet would drive her indoors for at least one night. As it began to pour down I made sure she was safe before turning back to the lighthouse. I felt like John Fowle's French Lieutenant's Woman but fought back the thought.
Ethel was as good as her word and rang to say she had arrived safely at her house. She had already told Cosmic she would be sleeping in a bed tonight so not to worry. She also re reminded me to remember how I felt when I first read C S Lewis as a kid. She added that I shouldn't feel bitter about the past or scared of the future like she had been. After today, one of the best days she could ever remember having, she would try and re-capture the feeling she had during the day, The feeling she had now. Ethel rang off by saying 'hope' doesn't have to be a dirty word. I shouldn't feel guilty about loving a children's film.
Now I never expected philosophy from Ethel and was pleased she had had a great day. But I was happy the way I was and didn't really want to relive the past. The good bits or the bad bits. The room suddenly lit up with lightening and there was a roar of thunder. Or may be it was Aslan reminding me to remember him in the way I once did.
Oh for goodness sake, don't you just hate it when people are happy and a kiddies film reminds you you were once a kid. Brrrrr, shake it off, shake it off. Become a cynical adult again. You know it is for the best.
DELETED SCENES
Sometimes things just don't look right. I had written a whole page of deleted scenes we could pretend were written but then were cancelled because of plot flow or absurd conclusions. Silas Straw had become a Detective for the day and solved a murder mystery while standing in a field. Ethel had been dragged underground by a fox and talked to the fox king. Meanwhile Cosmic had entered the Eurovision Song Contest and was busy finalising his entry when he heard it was too late to enter. But none of it seemed to work as deleted scenes. None of it flowed and it all seemed absurd.
So what happens when the deleted scenes themselves are deleted? What happens when the extras are only suitable for the Blu Ray because they look good? What happens when the part you had been praying would give you the big break, hits the cutting room floor? How much of life can we delete? How much do we delete?
Who remembers their third birthday? Or their eleventh birthday? Who remembers their first kiss? A few more than those who remember the birthdays. Why have some things been deleted and some not? I remember the bad stuff. I remember when I should have defended that kid on the underground train who was being bullied. But I didn't. I have always felt ashamed of that. What about the time I heard the old woman calling for help from outside the office I was in. I pretended not to hear. Or did I? Was that cut from the script. What about the person who actually thanked me for doing something wonderful or for being supportive. No those were cut because my character would not have believed them. What was my motivation? Too much has been cut. The time I asked that girl out when I was a lad was cut. The plot line involving the embarrassing incident with the girl who turned out to be charming but gay. Oh yes that was kept in. Even to the point where I thought she was making an excuse because she found me so repulsive. Hilarity and a few funny one liners were worth the empty chasm that opened up in my soul. Tell you what would be funny said my director. If you have your trouser flies open while your talking to the girl in the library who is sitting down at the desk. That would be funny. It wasn't for me, but they kept it in.
All the football games I went to. I remember bits of some of them. When I was a kid I went to the hospital to be injected with things that made me asthmatic. One of things that came up was dog fur. But there was no way I would ever want to stop having our dog. I remember everything about the day our dog died. Why didn't they delete that and let me remember some more of the football matches.
Why has everything speeded up in the last twenty years? Why were things so slow in the times of my youth. (Beverley, the writer of the internal monologue explains that as one experiences things for the first time, it makes more of an impact then experiencing them for the umpteenth time. Thus time seems to go quicker when you are older and reliving experiences you have seen before.)
I wonder what will be deleted from the last five minutes? I wonder if I will ever see the extras?
SILAS STRAW IN A FIELD
Bank Holidays mean little for a scarecrow. I stand or sometimes sit in the field whatever the day, come rain or shine, during the growing season. When I see a bird come near the crops I make a sudden movement and they tend to fly away. Sometimes I need to make a noise if they are on the edges of the field. Like every job, one soon learns the right way and wrong way of going about things. One must not be drawn out too much to one side of the field, otherwise the birds will just lure you there, while their mates have a good nosh. One learns not to fall into the traps the birds will set. The job also gives me time to think and plan my next investment. Most of the profit goes out to people and charity that need help. I don't have many overheads. So things seem to work out well enough.
I recently was part of a consortium that invested in The Smugglers Tavern. A difficult field for the entrepreneur. The selling of alcohol is a business that some say does harm. But then if we didn't make nicer places for people to drink in, would they just go and buy cheap drink and take it home? Well yes they would because that is what people are doing now. Drinking has become an expensive past time. If the drinking of alcohol is abused should we make everybody suffer by not having it? Well the banning of alcohol has been tried before without success. So I have come to terms with the idea that investment in a bar is a fair thing.
It is now too dark to see so the farmer allows me to bed down in his barn. I am very comfortable and sleep early and wake at day break. During the day I sometimes like to read a paper, mainly for the business news. I stroll or ride a bike down to a local newsagent and they always have my Financial Times ready. Since my photograph was shown in the local paper, people have asked me for advice. I tend to give them general tips. I am no expert after all. I just have little expense so any profit goes onto good causes or for re-investment. But I can see people look on me now in a different way than they used to. I have become less the wise man with a simple life and more the simply wise man who cannot be trusted anymore. As if by not telling everybody about my business acumen, I have somehow cheated people. Doesn't stop the odd chancer asking me for money though. I was even held up at knifepoint the other day by a young man who demanded I give him all my money. So I had to point out, I was a scarecrow, made mainly from straw and therefore had little room to hide money about my person. All my money was on paper. I then had to explain that that didn't mean I had lots of paper money, but that my money existed only inside a computer. That seemed to be the simplest way of explaining things to him. Although even then I had to spend several minutes telling him that pinching a computer off someone wasn't going to be much good for him.
Money is a funny thing really. We all need it but it is just an invented bit of stupid bartering. It is not even a bit of rare metal. It is just a bit of paper and a few coins. Then we invest the paper and coins into the rare metal. The price of which goes up and down depending on the whims of a bunch of spotty people who seem to know little about what cog there are supposed to be in the machine. Yet some of them seem to be very proud because they are selfish AND stupid. The system is just silly and yet we are all part of the machine. I stand in a field so crops will grow, These crops then are sold to a man in a van who sells them to a man in a bigger van. He then goes to a shop and sells the crops, so that the shop can sell the same crops to the consumer, usually having first flown the crops to somewhere else before bringing them back here again. Silly system, but we are all part of it.
A man is bringing some bees tomorrow to the upper field. There may not be enough natural free bees to actually help pollinate the fruit trees there. So the farmer brings in a man with some more bees to help the wild bees. If it's a warm winter the bees are really tired come the spring, because they have been out looking for things to pollinate. They catch diseases and die. So we are all part of a system that relies on money and the weather.
It is a silly system.
COSMIC HEARS A HORN
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here with sounds as old as time. Ready to name that tune and find that music in me. Although let's ban the horn section of the orchestra and I will tell you for why. I have been woken up by the sound of a horn. Could have been a car horn. Could have been a toy horn. Might have been Gabriel's horn for all I know. But it woke me up. A toot toot and then a sort of last breath tooting that died away. Now it was and is really windy in Caustic Cove today. Every time the wind blew I heard the noise. I even looked out to see that my car was still in the drive. But car horns don't really make the sound of someone blowing through them. So what was it? Don't think that by the end any of us will learn the answer. All I know is that I was disturbed by a horn I cannot find. This just added to the strangeness of the weekend.
I went over to the lighthouse to listen to the football. The Picayune was decidedly distant, even for him. My ankle, that I pretended was twisted then really became hurt, still throbbed a bit. So my acting ability on the day came from the Stanislavski system of acting. Except I didn't need to draw on the memory of real pain. Real pain drew on me. But The Picayune couldn't or didn't look me in the eye once. I felt I had been found out in the possession of a lie that had turned out to be a truth masquerading in a lie’s clothing. However that didn't make the fact any more comfortable to be around. Fortunately the football went well and so I had to spend very little time talking about anything else.
It was a relief to have a nice quiet Sunday at home. Ethel wasn't in the back garden as she had phoned me late Friday to say she was spending the weekend at her own place. I didn't open the door so have no idea what Bernie was doing. Which brings me to today and hearing a horn that I cannot find. So there is only one thing to do. Go out, make a start in the garden and find the source of the noise. Mind you I could leave all that for tomorrow. I mean it is windy and when I cut the weeds they will just go flying around the garden. Besides there is snooker on the television. I have never liked snooker but I can see why it is so popular. At least I can today. So when Ethel comes back tomorrow we can make a start. Whatever the weather, Yes that sounds like a plan. Maybe I can convince The Picayune to come around and help.
Wait a minute, isn't this all sounding painfully familiar.
The Picayune was right. Never keep a diary because you end up saying and doing the same things over and over again. Wait another minute. Did anybody here a horn tooting?
COSMIC FACES A DILEMMA
The clock on the wall says it's time call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Sit back and enjoy the songs of yesteryear and maybe we'll start with a goody but oldie.......listen there it is again. Toot, toot, toot. That's it, I am going to have to do something. I didn't hear it last night. But now the wind’s come up again. Quite a gale going on out there. I can hear that faint tooting. Once you start hearing it, you believe you can hear it all the time. Like a clock ticking. That clock that is always there and is always ticking but, once you allow that ticking to break into your awareness, you cannot rid yourself of it. Just like that damn tooting.
There is a bang on the back door and the bell is ringing. So I go downstairs and see the unmistakable shape of Ethel through the window. I unlock the door and welcome her back. However she doesn't respond to my heart felt gesture but asks if I can hear tooting. I say I can. Is it the radio in the garage I ask? It has just occurred to me that the tooting may well be music from the radio I can't find in the garage. The music can be heard only on the wind. Ethel looks at me and shakes her head in a weary, I wish I never came back, way. So Ethel asks me if I have been out at all this bank holiday. I tell her I went out to listen to the football with The Picayune in the lighthouse. Good game as well. Well actually a poor game but a good result. I am in the middle of telling her all about it when she interrupts me. Did I notice anything odd when I came back from the lighthouse? I didn't, so I tell her that I didn't. Then Ethel asks if I mind going into the front garden with her. I do mind as I don't want to be tricked into any weeding. The wind is blowing and would only blow the weeds about. That's the reason I didn't go out there yesterday, I tell Ethel. But she insists. So Ethel points to the far side of the garden. I see thorns overgrowing a spiky plant with berry type things on it. Ethel tells me I know nothing about what is in the garden do I? No, I agree with her, I don't. So we both cross over to the thorny bush overgrowing the spiky plant. Just past the berberus which is also rather spiky. I feel my garden has a theme to it.
Then we both hear a faint tooting. I look at Ethel and tell her I have been wondering where that was coming from. I turn to go back indoors as I am feeling cold and exposed so close to complaining neighbours. But Ethel stops me. She tells me to look closely at the bush. I bend down and peer in. A child's horn, the sort people use to celebrate birthdays and royal weddings is poking out from the thorns. I take it carefully. Further into the bush I see two eyes looking back at me. They appear to belong to a journalist. What is Bernie doing there?
Ethel seems angry at having to explain to me what has happened. As she warned and predicted, the garden has captured Bernie. He cannot move and appears to be held captive. The tooting thing had been blown to him by pure chance. Although why nobody reacted to him using its toot has angered Ethel. As I turn to go indoors because, as I said, I am cold and just a little wary of angry villagers coming at me with pitchforks for letting the garden become so overgrown, Ethel stops me and tells me to go into the garage and fetch some tools to free Bernie. Here we go, I think to myself, just a rouse, as I suspected, to make me start the weeding.
So I ask Ethel ‘has Bernie asked to be released?’ Again she looks at me with a pained expression on her face. She points to the obvious about Bernie being trapped. So I have to point out to Ethel that it may be Bernie's choice. It was his choice in the first place to stay in the front garden. It may well be his choice to allow nature to take its course. Literally as it happens. Why is it women are so good at giving those looks that can turn a man to stone. I turn to go indoors, as I have mentioned on a few occasions, I am now cold and want to escape any passing hysteria. Again my path inside is blocked. This time its the berberus which seems to have entered into an agreement with the thorns and weeds to keep me here. However I have not made the choice to stay and so force my way through the weeds. Despite the weeds retaliating by cutting and pricking me with their sharp anger. Ethel meanwhile tells me I can't leave. Clearly, as I make my point by leaving, she is mistaken.
Ethel then shouts after me that at least I could throw some tools at them so they can free themselves. But I didn't put them in that position and I see no reason why I should provide my tools to set them free. They are like those irritating peaceful people who go into the jungle and are captured and then expect others to come into the jungle and save them.
I go indoors and look out of the front door. The problem is the postman can only make his way to the house if he comes up the drive. The path is now almost blocked. So I will eventually have to go out and cut a path for the path anyway. But I really wasn't intending to do it today. So I sit down and have a cup of tea. I telephone The Picayune who is in the middle if filing, so he tells me. He asks what it is I want. I tell him not to ask and he hangs up. I ring back and explain my dilemma. He agrees that it is windy and that Cass has put some gammon onto cook. Besides he has some post to go and if I am not coming to do it he may wait until tomorrow when the mood takes him to do the post himself. Unless I am going to do it. I ask what any of this has to do with my dilemma. Well he says I have two choices. Either go out now or later to free Bernie and now Ethel. Will he help, I ask him? He tells me he doesn't like to plan things. We will see what tomorrow will hold, or bring.
Looking out on the windswept vista before me, I can just see Ethel waving at me. If she can wave, she must be alright for a day or two. I wave back and thank my stars they haven't that tooting thing still with them.
BERNIE AND ETHEL BACK TOGETHER AGAIN
It came as some surprise to Ethel to find herself in the dark, in the front garden, with Bernie somewhere by her side. She could hear him breath, but could no longer see any sign of him. Bernie had become, to all intents and purposes, a bush. Bernie no longer said anything or could say anything. The journalist had been silenced by the metaphor. Still Ethel hoped that Bernie felt some comfort with her by his side. She was sure he was aware of her. In years to come, they would laugh about the time they were trapped in a cruel, thorny bush. Bernie would thank her for helping him survive. Ethel imagined he would say that without her, he wouldn't have been able to make it. They would comfort each other and remember with a smile how close they had become. All because of the thorns.
When the daylight appeared from behind the darkness, Ethel moved and for the first time felt ill. Not just the pain when her skin was being pricked by something living and cruel. But a sickness that had somehow made it's way into her. She felt tired and on the verge of being defiled. A cruel poison had somehow dripped into her and was sucking the life from her. She wanted to scream but had no strength. Besides who would here her? Not to worry, Cosmic would be here soon. He wouldn't leave her or Bernie trapped here. They were all mates. Eventually Cosmic would come and start carefully hacking away at these damn weeds. Once he started it wouldn't take long. Ethel turned to Bernie. But if Bernie was there she couldn't see him at all. She was too weak to say anything. Movement was out of the question. Ethel did manage to shiver. She felt like a fly trapped in a web. A web of thorns. If this was a metaphor, it was a needlessly cruel one. One that made her feel sick and ill. One that made her feel scared and light headed. One that she would learn only anxiety from. Like Bernie before her, Ethel was becoming lost.
The Dustman couldn't see her and the postman made no effort to look over. Ethel tried to say something but her body just tensed in remembered pain. She became cross and thought how utterly ridiculous this was. She had had a fine long weekend and had visited the lighthouse before going home. She had managed to collect her thoughts and pull herself together. Now, after just a few seconds back at Cosmic’s, she had been trapped. Ethel had only been trying to help and now she was in this stupid position. Still Cosmic must come soon. When he did she would give him such a telling off. Ethel would insist that he hire a gardener or do something to cut back these weeds. Goodness knows what could happen to an animal or child if they were just passing by and were caught on the thorns. Well she did know. They would be trapped like her and Bernie. Still Cosmic must come soon.
When Ethel felt cold she realised the sun was dropping behind the houses at the back. She and Bernie had been out here all night and nearly all the next day. Her anger was building up again when she noticed a hand with a cup in it come towards her. Cosmic was saying something to her about the cup. It had tea in it and somewhere in the bushes and thorns was a cornish pasty. Cosmic had hoped the sustenance would help. But he couldn't find Bernie and had only just found Ethel. Cosmic had tried to come out earlier but something kept stopping him. But now he was here, he couldn't turn around. He appeared to be stuck. Ethel wanted to scream at him. How on earth could he be stuck in his own thorny problems. But then Cosmic was laughing. It reminded him, he said, of the Tony Hancock sketch in the plane. Where Hancock hears a knocking on the plane while he is the pilot flying it and it turns out to be Kenneth Williams. Did she remember it, he was asking? Ethel did remember it. She began to think of a lot of things. Things half remembered, half said, not said but should have been, moments that had happened and moments that had been made up. Perhaps this was a made up moment. Maybe Ethel had invented the whole scenario. That would make sense. She was telling somebody about the time she and Cosmic and Bernie were trapped in brambles. Somebody would say she was making it up as usual and that would be that. She stared at Cosmic. He was looking thoughtful. That last thing she remembered before passing out was Cosmic saying ," Do you know I think we and well and truly buggered".
THE PICAYUNE, POLLING DAY AND PARKING
There is still nobody answering at Cosmic’s. I suppose he must be on a rare shop opening. But Cass says she tried to phone last night and there was no answer. I suppose Cosmic could have the hump because I managed so well without him with the post and everything. Did I act too distant on Saturday when we listened to the football? I don't know and frankly don't really care. He tried to manipulate me into going over and working in the garden with him last week. As if I was a scared child who was unable to leave the lighthouse. I knew what he was up to. Well it didn't work and that is why he has the hump with me. But it’s a little unfair to take it out on Cass. After all it is the day she has to go out to work and needs a lift. Plus it's polling day for the local elections. Not that I care because I have already voted with my postal vote. But Cass, for some reason, still believes she should go to the polling station. On top of that we have to vote for the voting system. Despite attempts to over complicate it, most people must understand it by now. Although, the rubbish both sides talk, you do wonder if they understand it. Cass as usual is voting the complete opposite to me. I don't know why we bother really. Seeing as we cancel out each other’s vote.
We have had loads of election stuff through the door. One was from Labour telling us the cuts would destroy any chance of the paddling pool in Caustic Cove being filled with water. While the Conservative’s pamphlet informed us the paddling pool had remained empty under Labour. Both comments were true I guess. But hardly helpful. The Liberal Democrats just said 'We have a paddling pool?' All of which was no good to a once two car family when we are marooned in the lighthouse. Cass said there was nothing for it but for her to order a taxi. I saw no point in her going to work and passing on most of the money she received to the taxi company. There must be somebody who could help. Then it hit me. I picked up the large bit of plaster that had fallen from the lighthouse wall and doubled my efforts at finding a solution. Of course, why didn't I think of it before. Beverley, who writes my internal monologue, goes to work in the morning. Remember she used to work at a solicitors? You don't remember? Then may I suggest you pay more attention. Not that close obviously, what with the spelling and continuity problems. So I suggested to Cass she contact Beverley. At the very moment the phone rang. It was Beverley, who by chance had been recording my internal monologue. She asked Cass, who had answered the phone, when it had been established that she, Beverley, had, in actual fact, a car she could use to drive. She had been clearly established as an internal monologue recorder, everybody had one, who just happened to go to work in the mornings, and who used to go to work for a solicitors. I said I had made that very point, but that none of it could negate the fact that she could own a car. A car she did indeed own as I had just proven. Beverley asked what sort of car she owned. I said she owned an old mini monologue. As it was so small we never would consider asking Beverley for a lift. But on this occasion we had to.
Cass, armed with shopping bags, post, recycling bins and a polling card, set out in the rowing boat to be picked up by Beverley, once Beverley had left work. There was much effort and hilarity as Cass tried to make herself comfortable in the mini monologue. But at least Cass could manage it. Something that sadly The Picayune could not.
I spent my day looking in the fridge and trying to contact Cosmic. But the fridge proved the more fruitful in delivering up a satisfactory outcome. When Cass came home after work, she had her usual bags of shopping draped around her. Apparently Beverley's car suffered going up hill with all the extra weight. But at least they did come home via Cosmic's house. There was plenty of building work going on in other houses. Trucks and tractors and cranes were all busy. So there wasn't much chance of parking or stopping outside Cosmic’s. Cass couldn't even see his front door anyway for all the foliage and the weeds in the garden. So there was no way of knowing if Cosmic was at home. Although his car was in the drive. So I told her she should have at least tried the back door. She could have reached it via the drive. But Cass said there was only one chance of exiting the car in one piece and she saved that for this end of the journey.
So I will try to contact Cosmic again tomorrow. What is slightly annoying is that if the weeds have covered his path, how will the postman deliver the post? I have my magazines and maybe a DVD due. This really isn't good enough. If he doesn't pull his finger out I will have to arrange for our post to be delivered some other way. Maybe a lock up on the jetty. But it would still mean Cass having to row over to collect it. It is no good, one way or another, I will have to weed out Cosmic and find out what he is up to. More problems I could have done without.
THE LIE IN, THE DITCH AND THE DRAW ROPE
The first one to open his eyes was Bernie. He yawned and stretched and then became aware that he had stretched and so quickly drew his arms back to his sides. But he had stretched and had done so without being stung, cut, bitten or bruised. So he carefully did it again. He looked at his outstretched arms and realised there was space around him. Bernie settled himself to one side and looked around. He didn't yet feel like climbing to his feet. That would demand too much effort. So he just lay there, balanced on one elbow and had a look around. He seemed to be in some sort of large hole. He could see it stretching off either side of him. But Bernie could clearly see the sides of the hole. He seemed to be lying in some sort of ditch. He wasn't sure how he had managed to arrive here. But here he was. Bernie shifted slightly and looked at the sides of the ditch. They were climbable but looked slippery. It would take a few attempts to climb but was most likely achievable. This made Bernie feel less trapped. Although he didn't want to expel the energy it would take to start the climb just at this moment. No doubt he would slip back a few times and then have to start again. All that effort and he wasn't even sure what was at the top, once he climbed out of the ditch. He was fine where he was, at least for the moment.
When Ethel awoke, she did so with fear. She didn't even open her eyes in the beginning but kept them tightly shut. Slowly she explored the inches around her body with her hands, expecting to have to retreat them to safety at any moment. But as her hands became more and more adventurous, Ethel took a peak. She saw room to move. So she did so. Ethel began to take in her surroundings. She could see she was in some sort of ditch. She couldn't see either end of it as it appeared to bend around a corner. Each side looked earthy and looked as if one could dig ones feet and fingers into the soil to gain a hold. But Ethel couldn't see the top of the ditch. She didn't fancy covering herself in dirt and soil only to find the top of the ditch led her back to the weeds and thorns. There must be an easier way to find a way out. So Ethel started walking, Carefully and very slowly at first, Ethel began to make her way along the bottom of the ditch. As she approached a blind corner, she began to think of the first World War. The ditch was like a giant trench. She wondered why anybody would want such a large ditch? Or could dig such a large ditch? Ethel glanced around the corner of where the ditch took a slight turn and saw a figure lying on the floor.
Cosmic would have been quite happy to spend a few more minutes asleep, but this mad woman was shaking him and shouting at him. Ethel appeared to be very cross with him for leaving her in the weeds for so long. He was about to explain to her why he had done so, although ' I just felt something stopping me' wouldn't have helped very much’ when suddenly Ethel screamed and ran to the far side of the ditch. She pointed and was shaking. Her outstretched finger was pointing to the ground not that far behind where Cosmic was lying. He didn't really fancy looking behind him. Although, if he was in imminent danger, it perhaps would have been the wisest course to take. But instead Cosmic stared at Ethel to judge just how awful the problem was. But the fear in her eyes changed slightly to one of bewilderment. Ethel then cautiously took a step forward. This gave Cosmic all the encouragement he needed. He rose to his feet and looked in the direction Ethel was pointing. A large rope was slipping through the dirt. Ethel said she thought it looked like a snake at first. But she now could see that it wasn't. So what was it?
As if in answer to the questions, Bernie came running around the corner of the ditch. "Quick grab onto it" he yelled as he ran past them. Ethel was about to ask what was she grabbing and why, when she saw a large tube, as big as the ditch itself, moving towards them. Like a giant pipe it was blocking out any escape route they may have encountered. Besides the fear of this pipe, came the other fear of what was going to be put through the pipe. So Cosmic and Ethel followed Bernie, who was now flat on his stomach, holding onto the rope that was pulling the giant pipe. So Ethel and Cosmic did the same.
The rope began to speed up slightly and every so often Bernie could feel his knuckles scratch against a small stone or pebble as he was being pulled along. He was rather hoping he wouldn't break the skin on his hands, as with all this dirt around, any cut was bound to be infected. He was thinking this very thing when the rope suddenly stopped. Bernie was the first to see a fat yellow slug like man with filthy hands, eating a cornish pasty and drinking a cup of tea. This man looked at Bernie and then to Ethel and then to Cosmic. The slug like man opened his mouth slightly in bewilderment and a bit of pasty soaked in tea fell out onto the ground.
" You shouldn't be here" said the yellow slug like man. " I am Safety, who are you?"
THE PICAYUNE PUTS IT OFF
Still no contact with Cosmic. This is a real problem now because I am due a few DVDs and some magazines. As time goes by, the amount of post is building up somewhere. So I decide to wait until Cass needs something to arrive so she can sort it out. She can ring the post office up and we can arrange a different delivery. I must calm down as I am becoming very worried about this and keep having heart flutters. If Cosmic doesn't turn up on Monday for the next football match I shall ........ what can I do? I could go round to his house and ask Bernie if he knows anything. But if Cosmic has left to go somewhere, would Bernie still be there in the front garden? If the weeds are now blocking the path to the front door, what would the postman do? So what would be the point of me going round there? I feel a little relieved I have come to a decision to do nothing. Yet at the same time I feel worried that the situation needs clarification. Then Cass says we need a loaf of bread by Monday. So I am left to worry again. What to do when you have nobody to turn to? I switch on the TV and hear about somebody very well known who has sadly died. I bet he couldn't help himself worrying about silly things even when he knew he was so ill. I turn off the TV and read a bit and then feel tired. It has been an emotional morning.
The Summer is no friend to the lighthouse. The walls are beginning to flake and the weeds come through the steps. You start pulling on the weeds and the steps begin to move. I suppose there has to come a time when the well built wall becomes the shoddy wall. It is dull and windy today so there is no point in me going out at all. Cass is busy as usual. So I feel I ought to be busy with something. There is plenty to be busy with. I am just finding it hard to summon any enthusiasm. I am looking at a shelf that needs dusting and filling with the pile of books that are by it. That newsreader on TV is talking again. So I listen to her and yet don't hear a word. Then I notice a spider on the wall. I don't like Summer.
Cass has made me a cup of tea and so I break off from doing nothing. I still don't know what to do about Cosmic. I finish the tea and start to feel dizzy and begin to perspire. Things begin to spin and I feel sick. I have to retire to my mattress. I suddenly feel very ill. Cass asks how I am and I tell her. She washes up the tea cup. The day drifts by in a daze of nausea.
THE WEED WIZARD
Safety, the yellow slug, led Cosmic, Ethel and Bernie to the cafeteria. The only thing that they could eat, was the Cornish pasty and the tea that went with it. The rest of the menu didn't bare close inspection. Safety told them to wait while he went and sorted 'this' out. Despite Cosmic trying to explain why they were in the ditch and what they were doing there, the slug seemed unwilling to listen. Instead it just kept whistling and making la la noises. Ethel was the first to feel the heat. She began to feel faint before the first bite of the Cornish pasty was swallowed. She was glad she was sitting down. Despite everything, the cafeteria looked normal and the chairs seemed to fit the strangers nicely. Bernie said it was just the humidity and that Ethel should just hang in there. Cosmic then said had anyone else noticed that a slug had just escorted them to a cafeteria underground and shouldn't they be a trifle inquisitive? But Bernie seemed less concerned. He said that it was probably just poison from the thorns making them all 'trip out'. Then Cosmic remembered back in the day when such little chemical induced escapes were all the rage. So Cosmic excepted the whole thing as an hallucination and slumped back in his chair.
Ethel realised she had slid under the table in a dead faint, her two companions were giggling and slapping each other and calling each other 'man'. Ethel climbed back onto the chair and asked them what they were doing? Bernie was about to tell her when the Weed Wizard was introduced. Safety the Slug told the strangers to bow to the great Weed Wizard and so they did. Although the Weed Wizard looked pretty unimpressive as weeds go. A tall thorny body with pink buds about to flower, waved a leaf majestically and told the strangers to be seated. Then the Weed Wizard said in a rather effeminate weedy voice, what they all thought they were doing here? Cosmic began to talk, but both the Weed Wizard and Safety the Slug began to whistle and make la la noises. So Cosmic stopped and the whistling and la la ing ceased. But every time Cosmic or Bernie tried to speak, the Weed and the Slug whistled and la la la la lared all the way through. So Ethel tried to say something. This time her voice was greeted with silence. The Weed and Slug appeared to be listening intently. When Ethel stopped explaining about being trapped in the weeds and finding themselves transported to a ditch, the Weed Wizard shouted 'HA HA' and promptly bowed to Ethel. Safety the Slug asked Ethel to accompany them while Bernie and Cosmic could stay in the cafeteria. Cosmic and Bernie looked at each other, giggled and called each other man again.
Passing rooms that seemed full of activity, Ethel asked where she was being taken. Safety explained that she was being led to the Weed War Room. There was a cheer from one room they passed. The Slug said that they had trapped a fox and it was squealing in its pain. The Weed Wizard seemed to smile while Ethel shivered. Eventually Ethel reached a place she could sit down. Which was handy as she was feeling faint again. The Weed Wizard pointed to all the charts on the wall. He explained how there had been a truce between slugs and all the weeds in the garden. Now they were aiming for garden domination. Killing the stupid flowers who had been trained by man. Destroying bricks and mortar built by man. Strangling the life out of everything and anything that came within range. So Ethel said it was a bit like 'Day Of The Triffids' by John Wyndham, to which the Weed Wizard blustered about it being nothing like Day Of The Triffids. For instance the weeds in the real World don't move in the same way. Then Ethel said the book was better than the film although the original film was far better than anything that came after it. Safety said he had always liked Howard Keel's voice and the Weed Wizard had to interrupt them. The Weed Wizard went on to say that they had experimented with various poisons and now they had fallen upon one that could make humans trapped in there weedy traps small enough to....... It was at this point he broke off. Then he thought for a bit. Then he thought some more. Then he said 'HA HA' again. They were making humans small enough to be their slaves and help the weeds become cultivated. The humans that refused after being made really small would be fed to the slugs. Both Safety and Ethel said 'yuck' at this. The Weed Wizard admitted he hadn't really thought that bit through.
But Cosmic and Ethel and Bernie were the start of the War. The Weed Wizard said 'that nobody would believe that man was scrutinised like......’ but before he could finish Ethel said that that bit sounded like the beginning of War of The Worlds by H G Wells. Then while Safety the Slug talked about wanting to go and see the stage show of the Jeff Wayne musical concept album of War Of The Worlds, The Weed Wizard made a loud 'tutting’ noise and left.
PICAYUNE AND THE LOST WEEKEND
It wasn't a good weekend. What with worrying about where my post was, who was going to put in and then collect my medical prescriptions, who was going to take Cass to work this week and who was going to help with the shopping and dustbin day? Plus I hadn't eaten anything for forty eight hours because I felt ill. It had been pretty much a lost weekend. In fact I felt very much like Ray Milland's character from the film 'Lost Weekend'. I had gone to bed at about two in the morning. As you know. my bed is simply a mattress on the floor at the moment. But nevertheless I have found it fine for over a year now. But last night I began to feel uncomfortable and so moved the mattress up to the top of the lighthouse in the hope I could have a restful nights sleep. Now the logic of this doesn't really hold up to close analysis. After all, the early morning day light streams in on a clear day at about half past four. Being as the lighthouse is a lighthouse, that pretty much means there is no where to hide once you are in a room surrounded by windows. Now we do have blinds on these windows so I can close these and they sort of help keep out the worst part of the daylight, Little did I know, that, long before the daylight could do its worst and disturb me, I would twice have to climb off of the mattress to fight another foe.
I must have just began to drop off to sleep when I heard it. First there was the odd noise like the pitter patter of rain on the window. Then they was a 'ping' sound. Then sometime later another one. Then 'ping, pong, cling, clunk, as if somebody was attempting to use the sun blinds as a makeshift xylophone. I did my best to ignore it, but eventually I was driven to my feet and had to turn on the light to see what was happening. A moth the size of a bat was trying to practice the works of Beethoven on the blinds. But when he saw the light, literally on this occasion, so he changed his act altogether and decided to loop the loop and play silly devils. I swore and cursed and went to collect a thin tube that had a vacuum sucker at one end. I use this implement as a spider catcher and on the whole it is very efficient. Needless to say, by the time I puffed my way back up the lighthouse, the moth had completely disappeared and gone to bed. So swearing and sweating I retired back to my mattress. Half an hour later the moth resumed its party piece. Now I am a patient man (Beverley, the internal Monologue writer, begs to differ), but this time I had had enough. Without turning on the light this time I went towards the noise armed with my spider catcher. The moth must have seen me lollop towards him, because he pressed himself against the one door that could be opened easily. A sort of french door, if you like. So I unlocked the door and opened it, only for the moth to retreat back to the blinds. But with a little coaxing I at last vanquished the intruder.
When I eventually settled down, it was dawning on me. Yes I do mean it literally. Dawn was fast approaching. My feet began to burn as the sun hit my ailing body. Then the chorus of the builders and the machinery at Caustic Cove began to start up. So my weekend finished as it had almost begun. In a daze of tiredness and sickness. I eventually made my way downstairs and was hit by the wall of cigarette smoke from Cass. She had made me a cup of tea but I decided it was best to leave it, She also left several, do it yourself, wills to fill in. Just for the practice? Anyway, I went into my room, tried to contact Cosmic, who was still unavailable and set about planning my day. I can't remember when I fell asleep.
LOT OF THINGS HAPPEN
As Safety the slug escorted Ethel back to the cafeteria, they both sang snippets from Jeff Wayne's musical adaptation of War Of The Worlds. They also talked about the cover art of the album and Ethel asked how a slug knew so much about the music. Safety said that slugs absorb a lot of popular culture along their way. As they made their way back, Ethel was looking out for any escape routes or places to hide. By the time she reached the cafeteria and waved goodbye to Safety, she had a pretty good idea what she was going to do. Needless to say the humid conditions had begun to effect both Bernie and Cosmic. So as carefully as she could, Ethel explained what had happened while she was with the Weed Wizard and what they should do next. Although they couldn't escape the obvious conclusion that their survival needed out side help. But Ethel said they had to at least escape from here otherwise unpleasant things would befall them.
The Picayune meanwhile was busy worrying about how work and the post and his TV Times would be delivered if Cosmic had gone. He also worried why the pains in his back and side hurt every time he stood up, which fortunately wasn't often. Then there was the dream about the trail of cutlery that led away from the lighthouse only to then lead back into the lighthouse after an imagined break in, where nothing was taken. The cutlery path led over house roofs and fields and then returned bobbing on the sea as the path meandered home. Most odd and, if all that wasn't enough, a caller from 'Save The Paddling Pool At Caustic Cove' called and urged The Picayune to help with funds by going on the computer and applying to various companies and people. This The Picayune had done and was yet to hear from anybody. All this and no Cosmic to share the dreadful Football results of last night. So The Picayune worried and pondered what he should do. If he was not going to become a prisoner in the lighthouse he must find other forms of escape route. Cass handed him a cup of water and said she needed cigarettes.
When The Weed Wizard had finished explaining to Cosmic, Bernie and Ethel that they were to become the first in a line of subjects that the weeds were to experiment on, Cosmic said he thought that was against the European Convention of Human Rights or something. The Weed Wizard asked Cosmic what he thought he was talking about and Cosmic told him not to ask, which confused everybody. Then with a flourish of Panto villainy, The Weed Wizard told them to except their fate, as there was no escape. So they escaped.
Ethel led the band of explorers along the path they had come down originally and up into the tunnel of the cable. They then ran along the cable into the darkness until they couldn't see their hands in front of their faces. Then Ethel stopped and suggested they keep together by holding hands or tying something to each other so they didn't wander off. When she didn't receive a reply she realised it was too late. The boys had gone running on ahead and were lost. Still they were in a giant pipe. How lost could they be?
'We are completely lost' said Bernie and Cosmic agreed. Although he couldn't see anything, he was in no doubt that seeing nothing was preferable than seeing something nasty. He thought this because he heard a shuffling, slithering sound coming towards them. He wasn't sure which direction it was coming from or if it was even above them. So Cosmic froze and decided that this reminded him of that bit in Alien. When they tell the Captain to move because they see the Alien come towards him and he can't see it. Then somebody shouted. Both Bernie and Cosmic froze. Then somebody shouted again. It was Ethel from somewhere behind them. Safety, who was by the side of Bernie and Cosmic, shouted back to Ethel and told her to keep walking in the direction of his voice. Bernie and Cosmic decided they had two choices. Warn Ethel that it could be a trap. Or run away as quietly as they could. But when Safety told them to calm down, so they did.
After Ethel had rejoined the group, Safety led them out into some daylight. They were about to thank him when he gave them a dire warning. " I will not be able to help you next time. Unless the Weed Wizard is cut back from this part of the garden at least. All your World will be lost. Or at least this bit of it." With that chilling warning ringing in their ears, Safety returned to the cable and left them alone.
The Picayune didn't want to suggest it to Cass. But she was desperate. The lack of nicotine would soon turn her into a raving lunatic. The Picayune had seen it once before and it wasn't an experience he would want to repeat. He could call Beverley again, but her car simply wasn't big enough for what they needed. Last time Cass came back with the shopping having used Beverley's car, she had brought no treats or goodies. Besides tomorrow was a day Cass had to be taken to work again, while The Picayune had to have his prescription filled. No there was nothing for it but to call on an old adversary. It was time to call Dull But Honest.
DULL BUT HONEST BY THE PICAYUNE
It is not something I look forward to doing. But I cannot see any way around it. I have managed to delay it by at least a day. Cass has gone to work thanks to Beverley giving her a lift, travelling via the Doctors surgery to put in my repeat prescription. So that at least is today out of the way. She will pick up some work I have to do and the post on her way home. Cass called the post office, who have been holding our mail since all entry to Cosmic’s home became impossible. But I am now a little worried about Cosmic. It is not like him to keep silent for so long or not to tell everybody if he has received some good fortune. He wouldn't just vanish. So I am torn between going round there in a taxi that would cost the Earth. Or phoning Dull But Honest and reacquainting myself with the man that time forgot. He has a car, or at least did have one. The only car I can squeeze into happily, other than Cosmic's. I used to be great friends with DBH, as his friends used to call him. But we drifted apart. He went his way and I went mine. Oh who is kidding who? I fell out with him because he was just so damn dull. Dull but always honest. Honest as the day is long. Every day seemed very long in his company.
We go back some years, old DBH and me. Oh yes we used to hang out a fair bit. We used to go to the local football grounds to watch some football and have a drink and a laugh. Well a drink anyway. One didn't really laugh with DBH. One could have a joke but if he didn't find it funny, he would just not try to put on an act. I remember there was this really pretty girl he was going out with. Carol, I think her name was. A lovely long legged blonde. Full of fun and emotion. Then one day in a pub, she had had a bit to drink and was sitting on DBH's knee. We were all there. Carol says to DBH, "How much Dully, do oos love me?" We all thought it was cute and stupid and the sort of things young people probably said to each other. But old Dull But Honest answered her as only he could. "Well Carol" he said, "Love is simply an emotion that can be manipulated by everything from the chemicals in the body to the music in the pub. I can understand loyalty and even lust. But love is such a cover all word. I love my car, I love my scampi, I love my dog. But when it comes to loving another human being, I tend to put loyalty above anything else. So am I loyal to you? Would I lay down my life for you? Probably not but then who knows how far this relationship will go?" By the time the android had stopped speaking, Carol had already left the pub to catch her bus.
DBH had never married and to my knowledge never really understood the World. Which is why we became friends. We both saw in each other a kindred spirit. But as both of us disliked ourselves intently, the friendship was never going to last. The real falling out came when he took his usual dull but honest approach to the football club I love. He spoke the truth about the waste of emotional investment I gave to them. The time and money and relationships I wasted on them. But sometimes honesty is not the best policy. So we drifted apart. Except for the odd Christmas Card I never had any contact with him. So I knew I had to be careful when I phoned him. I couldn't just ask for a favour because he would be honest and say no. Somehow I had to flatter him into thinking he was needed because he was the only one who could help. He was unique. I had to convince him I wasn't just using him.
After Cass had returned home from work and made my dinner for me, I felt like Cornish Pasties for some reason, I decided it was now or never and phoned Dull But Honest. When he answered, I felt a tad disappointed. I asked him how he was and he told me. Twenty minutes later he asked me how I was and I said I was fine. He asked after Cass. I said she was fine. Then I began my clever subterfuge. I told him I hadn't heard from Cosmic for some time and was worried. Would he give me a lift over to Cosmic's house. He said I could take a taxi. I said I would like him to come with me because he was the only one I felt could help if the situation became 'out of the ordinary'. DBH asked me what I meant by that. So I said if Cosmic was ill or worse, DBH would know what to do in any situation. DBH would keep calm and wouldn't allow panic to set in as it would do if I went alone. So he said he could pick me up in a taxi on our way to Cosmic's. I knew this to be a double bluff and agreed. So he said on second thoughts, he would drive down himself and pick me up. I said thanks for helping out. So I asked when would it be convenient to pick me up and he said he would let me know. I said we didn't want to leave it too long. But DBH replied that if Cosmic was decomposing somewhere, the odd extra day wouldn't matter. Besides that's what comes of using him as a convenient plot device. Then he bid me a goodnight.
IT’S JUST NOT THE SAME BY SAFETY THE SLUG
Well it isn’t is it? One spends one’s entire life cycle doing what one is supposed to do. Then by some quirk of nature, everything changes, We suddenly find that we are given human attributes. We never had them before. If a human pats a dog on the head and the dog wags its tail, the dog isn’t saying, " thanks a lot for patting my head". No, the dog is saying "food, food, food, food, gimme food." So why should I, all of a sudden have the human trick of speech? I am a slug, we don’t talk much. Oh I know humans would like to humanise as all. But frankly people, what makes you think we even feel the things you feel? Our nervous systems are different. Besides we just don’t experience things emotionally like you do. For one thing we couldn’t stand the pain. If one of us dies, even if it’s a close friend, or a family member, I have to tell you guys, we simply don’t care. But if a complete stranger to your clan dies, half of you go all mushy and sad. As a slug I know what it is like to go mushy. Believe me the two types of mush are not the same. Still I have to admit it is nice to be a sort of hero in a story. Slugs tend to be portrayed as slimy and offensive creatures. That is usually because we are. Fortunately we have had our PR department on it and are beginning to see the fruition of a heavy positive slug campaign. Apparently it was based on human adverts for banks. Well if human banks can manage to put adverts out there that are not vilified by the human masses. We should have no trouble at all.
Anyway we seem to have come to the point of the story where Safety the Slug had led the travelling humans to safety. Now the script called for Safety, played by my good self, to return to The Weed Wizard and be tortured for committing this noble act. But we had to cut that bit out, The Weeds objected, saying it put them in a poor light. Although casting the British as the evil bad men in all the big American movies didn’t do the British any harm. But the Weeds just will not be sold on the idea. So you have to imagine that good old Safety the Slug went back and somehow managed to convince the weeds and other slugs that the humans just escaped. The story is then rejoined with the three humans moaning and complaining and being scared. They are strangers in a strange world. Where each and every step could bring them nearer danger and destruction. They see things that they have never seen before. Little knowing of the world beneath their feet, hidden in the undergrowth. What can they eat without being poisoned? There has been no rain for days. Will they die of thirst? Oh yes indeed. A whole boxset of extras could have been had on this bit alone. Then one could have added a section on the real world of the slugs and flowers. However being as the humans were in charge of marketing, we are just going to have to wait for the Extra Special Golden Edition 3D Blu Ray. As a slug I have no idea what any of that means and care even less.
Anyway this story is soon to come to a really big exciting ending. I think there was still hope that we would be picked up by the networks. As a slug I have to say ‘being picked up by the networks’ sounds like a euphemism if there ever was one. However I have a feeling, due to financial constraints and the lack of a big star, we are going to be cancelled. Still I am expecting a backlash aimed at the networks. I think that is another euphemism. So who knows what will happen. We may have a chance to make a film in a few years, based on the story. Just so we can fill in the back-story and flesh out the smaller parts. That has to be a euphemism doesn’t it? Not so sure how the musical episode will go down though. Although I have written a moving little ditty called ‘Slug Song’. For now, if you could just imagine a long, well thought out, episodic piece, featuring the three humans as they battle the wild life and treat it as an analogy for human life as you know it, that will be just great. Solves a few problems too.
AND SO TO COSMIC’S
The metaphorical corner I was being backed into looked dusty and full of cobwebs. Cass had just announced that she had emptied a room in the lighthouse of all the furniture she was going to move. Except for the chest of drawers by the picture. The drawers she thought would go on the landing. The drawers were already full of light bulbs and batteries and things for the lighthouse. Or as Cass put it ' the communal drawers' should be in the centre of the lighthouse. So it was time for me to start thinking and sorting out stuff in my room. To be fair I am more your planner type of person. I like to plan what I am going to do and then plan some more. I am less of a 'do' person and more a 'plan' person. Besides it was Cup Final day and I had to watch the final. Cass reminded me that I had spent most of the week moaning that the Final had been cheapened this year. It is usual for the final to be the celebration at the end of the season. But this year we are still playing games in the league and having to move our big game for some stupid European Final between our richest club and Spain's richest club. However I pointed out that it was also Eurovison song contest day. Her counter argument was that that wasn't until tonight. My last effort at an excuse was a desperate one. In a few minutes the 'Glee' episode featuring songs from Lady Ga Ga was about to start. Yes it was hopeless but I had to try. Cass just pointed out that I had no idea what Lady Ga Ga sang. Plus a man living with his sister in a lighthouse, using Glee and the Eurovision Song Contest as an excuse not to do something was, let us just say, open to interpretation. For Cass it was invitingly blackmailable. So I resigned my-self to a day of hell and sulked for a few minutes. Then the phone rang.
It has been established that as a rule, I don't answer phones but this call was an opportunity. It could be Cosmic ringing and telling me about his adventures wherever he had been. Or it might be a friendly person trying to sell me cheap gas and or electricity. I dived to the phone to answer it. But my heart sank as I heard Dull But Honest's dull tones. 'Hello, it is DBH here' he said. Fully aware of my metaphorical yawning corner, I answered with a laugh in my voice, as if I was so pleased to hear from him. Then he announced he had been doing some research and would pick me up in an hours time by the jetty at Caustic Cove. But it is Saturday and it is Cup Final Day and I realised the horse I was flogging was long dead. DBH said it wouldn't take long, but bring some garden implement that had a good cutting edge. So, rather reluctantly, I agreed. It would at least release me from one frying pan.
The sun was out and the sea was calm. I struggled out of the boat at Caustic Cove and fell onto the jetty from the boat. I pretended that I was examining the wooden structure for faults, in case anybody was watching. A few people were about, all going about their business as if it was at all important. Ten minutes later DBH arrived. His first words were that he had put the car seat back as far as it would go, he had adjusted the back support so it was tilted to allow me room to climb in with moderate ease. Although a partial struggle, the car was entered with surprising efficiency. Dull But Honest then set the car in motion and told me about all the terrible drivers he had encountered on the way to pick me up. All the bad drivers, every last one of them. In minute detail, down to the colour of the driver's eyes. Everything I ever wanted to know about bad drivers I learned on that trip to Cosmic's. It was a relief when we arrived.
DBH parked the car in the drive behind Cosmic's car. Although sticking out over the pavement, DBH assured me we wouldn't be long. I looked at the thick foliage and questioned his assumption. But he reiterated that he had been doing some research and we would be no longer than half an hour. Bring my cutting tool. First Dull But Honest went to the garage. I could still hear the faint sound of music coming from inside. I explained the amusing story of how the radio was lost in all the clearing up and....before I could finish DBH was around by the back door of the house. He tried the door and it opened. I was shocked that it was open and feared a brake in. I whispered to DBH about my concerns. He answered in a normal voice that I had every right to be concerned but there wasn't an actual break in as such. The door had been left unlocked when Cosmic left, assuming he wouldn't be long. But nevertheless I should be on the look out for intruders. He then asked me if I had a key for the side door of the garage, I didn't but I knew where Cosmic kept it. Having retrieved it and given it to DBH, he entered the garage and looked around. I must admit that I was a little disappointed. Despite all our hard work, the place still looked a mess. But DBH seemed less bothered. Then he bent down by the wall and the music stopped. How had he managed to find it so easily? He hadn't, he informed me. The state of the garage and the cobwebs and the spiders crawling around, proved that Cosmic and myself had done our 'clearing up' some weeks ago. The radio still being on meant tit was clearly powered by mains electricity. So the garage must have a socket to plug the radio in and Dull But Honest expected it to be not far from the garage door. DBH smiled as a person would smile at a child. '"Now shall we go into the house?" he asked.
We entered each room and DBH carefully looked around. Occasionally he would say things like "interesting" and "as I expected" before moving on to the next room. We went upstairs and DBH entered what looked to be Cosmic's room. On the wall was a plaque of a silver disc commemorating his big hit. There were a few signed photos from big stars when stars were really big. But they were all but forgotten now. Suddenly, in a very loud voice Dull But Honest said " Mr Milverton I presume". At first I thought he was going mad. It didn't surprise me. I had been expecting it for years. Nobody could be that honest and dull for so long without finally flipping out. To my slight embarrassment DBH spoke again. "Now now Mr Milverton, let's not be silly"
The wardrobe door began to slowly open. I made an involuntary noise. Out from the wardrobe stepped a middle aged, very sun-tanned man. He looked as if he could handle himself in a fight. I stood behind DBH. However DBH seemed unimpressed. DBH announced that a community constable was just outside and between the three of us, Milverton would be unable to resist the punishment coming to him. Milverton sneered and looked ready to pounce. But, at that moment, a young fourteen year old community constable appeared at the door. In a broken voice he told Milverton the game was up. With that the constable held Milverton and escorted him from the premises.
" I shall hang on while you cut Cosmic and his pals free, then give you a lift home" announced DBH looking smug.
"Yes alright smuggypants, what was all that about?" I asked as calmly as I could.
"Oh I see. You still don't understand what has happened? Well sit down and let me explain. You see Mr Milverton is a gardener. Not a very good one by all accounts. He was easily found after a few minutes research on the computer. He used to work for Cosmic many years ago. As you know Cosmic sacked him for fraud and for being a very poor gardener. Spreading weeds and thorns around after shredding them. However Mr Milverton was also a close friend of the local butcher. You still don't understand it? Very well I shall go on. The butcher was losing money as nobody was going to the butcher anymore. Instead they were going to the local supermarket. Realising he would have to come up with a way of increasing his sales, the butcher decided to aim his efforts at the children. So like the banks giving away pigs to young investors, the butcher decided to give away a plastic bit of a model animal. Every time a parent came in for a joint of meat, the butcher would give them a plastic bit of an animal, that would eventually go to make a whole animal. The big prize after making the cow and the sheep and the chicken was going to be a golden bull. This is where Mr Milverton comes in. He suggests that, instead of giving away the bull, they should hang on to it and then sell it, years later, as a collectors item. Milverton would bury the bull in an unsuspecting customers garden and would later retrieve it and they would make a killing. To cover up the spot where he had buried the bull, Milverton spread the weeds and the thorns. He fully expected to be called back within a year to clear the weeds, But Milverton didn't bargain on Cosmic's vindictive personality. So Milverton never received that call from Cosmic and the weeds were allowed to spread. Milverton thought he had a backup plan and marked the location of the bull on the back of an advertising leaflet that he had given to Cosmic. That's why he was still in the house. He was looking for that leaflet."
"But where are Cosmic and the others now?" I asked, waiting for the chance to use a pun.
"Unable to enter the garden to search for the bull because a journalist was living in the front and Ethel in the back garden. Milverton had to resort to drugs, He knew that the weed with the pink flower had an hallucinogenic quality to humans when injected directly into the blood stream. Milverton placed the drug on the ends of the thorns in the front garden. His plan was just to knock out Bernie. But the bonus came when all three of your friends were knocked out. You will find them in the front garden. A nice cup of tea and a bun should see them alright."
So the mystery is at last solved. Cosmic, Bernie and Ethel did indeed recover with surprisingly few mental scares or waking up in the middle of the night screaming. Bernie was able to write a piece for the local paper which was misposted in the lost dogs section. Milverton himself was punished by the full weight of the law and let out of prison that same night with a warning. As for me, I was able to wave goodbye to DBH with a pun. I told him it all sounded like a load of old bull to me. He didn't react at all.
DESPITE APPEARANCES
After Dull But Honest and The Picayune had left Cosmic's house, the three victims of Milverton the gardener spent the night talking over their shared experience. They could remember some of the same incidents in their hallucinogenic trip. But other moments were lost in the yawning chasm of their collective memory. While Ethel and Bernie clung to each other like survivors on a sinking raft, Cosmic felt adrift and alone in his own loneliness. The first to recover was Bernie, who given the opportunity, wouldn't have minded sleeping in the front garden so soon after the incident. But Ethel had no intention of retiring to the back garden and was too tired to go home. So she persuaded Bernie to stay with her, while she talked herself out. Cosmic went to bed, feeling annoyed that his space was being intruded upon, yet scared to be left alone. He felt so lonely, yet aggravated at his companions. Even in bed he could hear them wittering on about the last few days. Yet all Cosmic could feel was aggrieved. Why did Milverton pick his garden to bury the bull? How long had Milverton been in his home, in his things? Why did Dull But Honest and The Picayune turn up, like some sort of latter day Holmes and Watson to save the day? Cosmic began to resent everybody connected with the last few days. When at last Bernie and Ethel fell silent downstairs, Cosmic made an effort to sleep. But it wouldn't come easily. Every time he closed his eyes, shadows shaped themselves like actors on stage, hidden behind the curtain, while the waiting audience remained oblivious to the stage craft. . A face there, a slug here and everywhere weeds and bovine silhouettes. All this reminded Cosmic of other moments in his life when the night had been no friend to him. The times he spent all night talking with the band, in a haze of drugs and drink, realising that the band was breaking up, but talking nonstop in the hope the day wouldn't bring the conclusion to their story. The time members of family or friends died, always seemed to coincide with a long nights discussion. Fear for the day was why Cosmic hated the night.
Downstairs Bernie slept and snored. Ethel slept fitfully and kept waking up, frantically waving insects, both real and imagined, away from her. All the victims had planned how they were to face their lives in the morning. Cosmic promised himself that he would attack the garden as soon as he could. Ethel promised that she would concentrate on living a normal life. While Bernie promised himself a book deal and was wondering which TV gardener's show he should appear on. But promises made to oneself in the dead of night are usually broken in the life and light of day.
The following day was spent nursing the wounds. Bernie and Ethel occupied downstairs like some invading force, while Cosmic hid upstairs, only venturing down to be fed and watered. A phone call from Cass, asking how they all were, allowed Cosmic some respite. Especially when she finished her conversation with him and asked if he could give her a lift to work the following morning. Cosmic felt relieved that normality would be arriving by the next train of thought. So he agreed. Ethel used the opportunity to beg a lift to her house while Bernie went along for the ride. When Cosmic dropped them off, he knew they would stay in the safety of Ethel's house for the time being and Cosmic would be left alone. So he planned to engineer the chance to spend the night at the lighthouse. A simple matter once he had picked up Cass and taken her back to the lighthouse.
That night, Ethel and Bernie did indeed stay in Ethel's house. The Picayune slept on a mattress upstairs in the lighthouse and Cass slept in her room in a bed. Cosmic spent his night downstairs in the lighthouse in a sleeping bag. Waving away bugs and insects, both real and imagined.
ODD DAY WITH A STEP INTO THE PAST
Odd day at the lighthouse today. I was sleeping upstairs on my mattress when the phone rung. As it was still early, well alright the time was passed nine, I ignored it. Then the phone rung again and I was forced to go to it. I knew it couldn't be Cosmic as he was downstairs in a sleeping bag. Our phone only seems to bother us when somebody has died or somebody wants to con us into buying something we don't want. But this time a message on the answer phone proved that our normal callers were absent. A neighbour from when we were kids was in the Country and in the area. They had phoned a few weeks ago, I think I mentioned it, just to say they may be around. So Cass said she would like to meet up with them and arranged a time and place. I actually was busy and really Cass had arranged to go out to work, But she changed her arrangements and Cosmic said he didn't mind giving her a lift. After all a lift to work or to a reunion, it was all the same to him.
When Cosmic had delivered Cass, I was somewhat surprised to see him return to the lighthouse. He had a piece of toast and I told him about the old days when we lived in another part of Caustic Cove. Before we moved out of the area and then when we returned. Cosmic pretended to listen and nodded in all the right places, but I could tell he wasn't totally engrossed in the conversation. So I continued to work and worry about money, while Cosmic spent his day messing about watching the DVD.
After Cass phoned and Cosmic had gone to collect her I was left alone at last. Although I began to worry as the time ticked by. But when they did come home, yes Cosmic arrived as well, they talked about driving around to the old house and taking photos of where everybody used to live. Then they drove into Havenedge and spent time there. Cosmic said it was interesting to see the place through the eyes of somebody who hadn't been back for a while. Some things and places didn't seem to have changed at all, while others were completely alien. Which gave us all a chance to reminisce. Cosmic said they had walked down to the beach at one point. The promenade at Havenedge looked sad and decaying. Nobody seemed to want to give the ailing patient a pick me up. Although Cosmic did shiver when he said that there were bits of greenery and tufts of grass actually growing on the beach. As if nowhere was safe from the creeping weed. But live in any place long enough and one forgets the beauty and only sees what the ugly stains.
The next morning Cosmic still was in no hurry to go home. He had a dream set in medieval times. About a moving pestilence devouring the World in the shape of giant plants. Whenever something or somebody was pricked by the weed they became that weed. Like a moving army invading the local fiefdoms. Well it didn't take a trained analyst to work out where all this was coming from. So Cosmic stayed in the lighthouse, only too happy to help with the recycling and the chores that Cass would normally do. I wonder if Cosmic will ever go home?
PLAY MISTY FOR ME
An unusual sight of late has been the crystal clear nights. The moon has been bright and the lighthouse has stood out like a shy debutante at a coming of age ball. Except that they probably don't have them anymore and the lighthouse is looking her age. But this morning we are shrouded in mist. It is clearing slightly now and we can see Caustic Cove reappearing from the gloom. More's the pity. Cosmic, who again has graced us with his presence overnight, seems happier this morning. It appears that the less he can see of the world, the more comfortable he feels. Since the postman cannot reach his front door, all his and our post are being left at the jetty, in a lockup box. The postman seems not to be thrown into any confusion by this. In fact I think we are well served by the postman. Considering the rubbish they have to carry. With all this talk of less post, people still use it. With all the advertising and free leaflets that are delivered, well the postmen have their work cut out. Although I have less sympathy for the way the Post Office is run. I have also just ordered something by post which will be too big to go into the lockup. So expect problems with that come the day of its arrival.
There are moments when I forget that the lighthouse has a visitor. Every so often Cosmic appears like a stalker, whistling to himself. This morning, in deference to the weather, he was whistling 'Misty'. Now I am no Clint Eastwood and he is no Jessica Walter, but for the moment I did have a little scare. Great film and I have it on video somewhere. I wonder if I can buy it on DVD? Now here is the problem. There is very little on TV so I have ended up buying loads of DVDs. Cosmic has spent his time watching them. Since he sold most of his record collection, he appears to want to delve into all the latest televisual apparatus. He keeps telling me how cheap all these gadgets I don't want are. Seeing as we cannot pick up a decent TV signal anyway, and I am not dishing out good money for a satellite dish or cable. All the new equipment in the world wouldn't help us. I still use my video and have lots of DVDs. I will wait until I have to upgrade. I really don't care how a Director directed a bit of action. Or how the actors all loved each other on a 'tough shoot'. I want to watch the film. Which is why I have ordered some great old black and white American Film Noir movies. I made the mistake of mentioning this and while Cass couldn't care less, Cosmic seemed to be excited about watching them. I felt like asking him how long he thought he was staying?
Still I look on DVDs as a great source of entertainment. I put on something nobody has watched. Cass drops off to sleep within minutes. Cosmic is glued to the TV and keeps pointing to actors and saying that they were in such and such TV series or that film with the buffalo. So after the DVD has finished I tend to watch it later, alone, without the incessant interruptions. While Cass puts the DVD on her computer to catch up while she is doing something else. Then forgets she is supposed to be watching the DVD and is none the wiser when the credits come up. So she has to watch it again. Usually with the same outcome. I remember when DVDs brought us together as a family. Now we have no family and those that there are all have there own way of enjoying watching the DVDs. So one DVD has at least 4 plays per viewing.
Not a good month for finances for various reasons. But the dreaded shopping order will soon have to be put in. The problem of where to deliver it also raises its ugly head. Cosmic seems not to be bothered by the problem and is making a list of things he wants. Occupation of the lighthouse by stealth.
Oh well it seems to be becoming mistier and Cosmic is whistling again. Cass is washing bits and baubles in her room and looking at me to start sorting out my stuff. While I have work to do. I look out of the window and Caustic Cove has gone. Mist in Channel, Caustic Cove cut off. Play Misty for me.
THE PLANNING STAGE
When Cosmic returned to the lighthouse this evening he seemed in better spirits. He had gone to see Ethel and Bernie during the day and even passed his own house on the way. We had even talked about going around there next week, to start the attack on the weeds. But it was not so much the cutting down of the weeds that was the problem, but more what to do with them once they are down. I suggested a bonfire which is fine as long as it is done within the rules of the community bylaws or something. Then we would have to have two piles of garden waste. Then there was the problem of finding the tools after we had cleaned up the garage. So before we became too bogged down in the detail, I was the one who said let's just start in the front and work our way to the back. We would use whatever tools we could find and try and not make a big chore out of it. Cosmic calmed himself again and hopefully any talk of gardening can be forgotten for the time being. Mind you Cosmic said that his roses in the front garden look huge. One of the advantages of not pruning them?
By all accounts Ethel and Bernie were in good spirits. I didn't like to enquire too closely about their relationship. It had been on and then off and then it looks like being on again. Were they over their ordeal of last week I asked? It seems so, although one never really knows what is going on below the surface. Bernie had just sent a piece off to the paper that had received some good feedback. Ethel was planning things to do in her house. Moving furniture and putting things back the way they were originally, calling it progress, that sort of thing.
I had been busy too, I told Cosmic. Planning things and what to do with certain bits of furniture. It had been that sort of day. Would any of us see our plans reach fruition? I doubt it, but then that is half, if not all, the fun. We have our shopping order tomorrow, which means Cosmic collecting it in from the jetty and rowing it over. So he is saved the job of driving from his house with the car full of groceries. Bad time money wise at this time of year so I bought some more DVDs to cheer myself up.
So a day of planning and doing little else. This evening I watched Television and Cosmic watched a Thunderbirds DVD. While Cass made dinner and then dropped off for the rest of the night. Back to proper work tomorrow. At least proper work means I can stop planning.
VIOLIN TAYLOR
The Picayune family can be traced back ten generations. So maybe it is a good thing that this branch of the family tree will come to an end with our demise. We seem to have seen and done it all and become bored with the good life. Or scared of it, never sure which. Anyway we were talking last night about family trees because Cass is into all that sort of thing. When she went to bed, Cosmic began to talk about his family and the people he knew. We talked about the colourful characters he had met back in the day. When pop stars were real stars. Some of them were rather drug addled and died early, but most of them left behind something to remember them by. More than I will do. Then the conversation turned to women we have known in the past. Now most of us have fallen in and out of love in our lives. So I talked about my early days of losing hearts and in my case mind as well. Putting women on pedestals and seeing them topple off. The conversation was one of those that you look back on the next morning and squirm at what one has revealed about oneself. Especially as I thought I had heard all of Cosmic's stories of his conquests and debauchery. But Cosmic suddenly talked about a girl he met back in the Seventies, he had never mentioned before. At least I don't recall him doing so. I hope he wont mind but I will try and recall what he said now.
Her name was Violin Taylor. She dressed in long flowing taffeta with a bright head scarf wrapped around her head and face. Almost like a veil. Her parents came from some exotic country that Cosmic can't remember. She wore her style because she wanted to. Not for any religion. Which is just as well because nowadays she would no doubt have insulted both sides of the religious divide. But in those days there wasn't such surface rumbles of discontent about what people wore. Or was there, and we were all too stupid to notice?
Cosmic had met her at some theatre review. He was a guest at some college and the theatre was an intimate dark, rather depressing place. As far as Cosmic can remember, the entertainment was the standard college fair. Lots of kids trying to be funny and musical and sometimes hitting the heights but mostly not. At the end of the performance, Cosmic, who was at the back of the theatre, was talking to the people who had invited him. He must have dropped something because he had bent down to pick it up and clashed heads with somebody who was doing the same thing. He looked up and rubbing his head apologised to this person. Who was of course this rather pretty vision in flowing dress. They both turned and the heads came together again. For some reason Cosmic flung his arms around this girl and hugged her. He doesn't know why he did it but he wasn't in the habit of hugging girls who he had just met. Some of them didn't like it and it was all women's lib then. One had to be careful which stranger was into hugging and who wasn't. Anyway this girl said it was fine and her scarf slipped away from her face. Her smile was bright enough to light the darkest of moods. Then after they had broken off the clinch, the girl returned the hug and said she was happy to bash heads with anybody if it meant finishing with such an apology. Her gaze met Cosmic's and her eyes warmed his very soul. Then she was gone, up some stairs and away. Cosmic turned to his companions who were all smiling. They said he seemed to have made an impression on Miss Violin. Although Cosmic at first mistook the name to be Violet. But they repeated it. Her name was Violin Taylor.
Cosmic found out the address of Violin and was going to just bump into her, by accident. Except the address turned out to be a confusing, bewildering block of flats. He remembers walking up and down stairs and suddenly coming across doors that seemed to be hiding in the building. The layout had quite defeated him and he gave up his quest to find the lovely Violin Taylor. So he went down to the river and sat on a bench. All he knew was that the girl was an artist of some kind. The sort of artist that people look at the work and say, what does it mean? Paintings with holes in the canvas representing the critics attack on beauty. Or something like that. Or piles of concrete, representing the collapse of society. You know the sort of thing? Apparently Violin was a budding artist, tipped to do great things. So Cosmic sat and sulked on a bench by the river and thought about going to the pub and becoming another sort of artist. Until somebody sat next to him. He wasn't sure if she had floated down as there was hardly any change in the air around him. But there Violin sat.
Violin Taylor asked Cosmic if that was all the effort he was going to make to find her? He replied that he was visiting great aunt Matilda and had no idea Violin lived nearby. Besides Matilda, the poor dear, was not long for this world, so he would often bring her her favourite cheese and honey. Well you had to be there I guess, but Violin and Cosmic laughed and then walked in slow motion by the river. No doubt the theme from a shampoo advert accompanying them as they went. They spent many hours in each others company after that. Cosmic went to Violin's first exhibition in Soho. A grand success by all accounts. She went with him to some of his concerts and was his biggest fan. The band rejected her, but then it was what bands did in those days. So everything seemed to be going wonderfully well.
At this point Cosmic's mind seemed to go on a little meander somewhere. So I had to pull it back. He couldn't leave the story like that. What happened to the lovely artist Violin? Did she die of some awful illness or did she have to look after her ailing parents. Cosmic looked at me bewildered. "No nothing like that," he said. One day Cosmic and Violin were laughing and almost crying with joy in each others company. Then almost simultaneously they looked at each other and realised they would never be as happy as they were at that moment. No matter how they tried, they would always be coming down the mountain, looking back. So life took over and they just drifted apart. Work began to take over and that was it. Violin married her agent and had three kids. Cosmic didn't know about what happened to her after that.
Well I thought it was an anti climax. I was quite miffed at the casual way he lost the love of his life. But Cosmic said he was contented about the whole thing. People who are happy together spend too much time trying to remain happy. Best to leave when one is at the top. At the peak of happiness.
I went to bed wondering what it must be like to know you have reached the day when things can only become worse. Maybe I have been there and just didn't know it. I hoped Violin Taylor found another peak. I am not sure Cosmic ever did.
ETHEL AND BERNIE HAVE A NIGHT OF ENTERTAINMENT
Good evening , I am Bernie Woodstain reporting live from Ethel's front room. I can reveal, live and exclusive, that this evening we have been watching a few films and eating lots of sweets. After our ordeal last week we have managed to find normality in the shape of things that are normal. We tread a fine line between danger and deceit and safety and honesty. Which is why our choice of films was most apt tonight.
Our first film was the classic Marx Brother's film, 'Night at the opera.' Now it is fair to say that Ethel wasn't as amused as I was. Being the more worldly and travelled of us, I understood the underlying hypocrisy of mans desire to pretend to be something they are not. Each of the Marx Brothers is talented yet hides behind the veneer, nay facade, of humour and slapstick. Always misdirecting the viewer from their true talent. A clown crying yet wanting only to laugh at himself and the world around him. The greasepaint stained with the tears of sorrow pretending to be tears of joy. A classic reminder of our own frailty.
The second film we saw was 'Catfish'. I film that puts up to the mirror of our reflections, reflecting back to us in a way we want to believe in the reflection being real. Or to put another way, a film that we see a shadow of a distorted reflection once modified into a true representation of what we want to believe is true. I cannot think of anything clearer than that as a homily to modern life.
The final piece of entertainment was the last two episodes of 'Terminator. The Sarah Connor Chronicles'. A shame this piece of entertainment was terminated. It left us wanting more and wanting explanations. Not the first and it won’t be the last time the powers that be, terminated a series before the terminal. I have left Ethel downstairs watching some romantic rubbish. Still these women do need their rom coms.
Hello, Ethel here, enjoying a Thunderbirds episode from way back when. The one where the bad guys stick the detonator on the wrists of innocent people who have to travel to some place to find the key and escape before the detonators blow the place up. It was a story line they used in Stingray I think. I love Gerry Anderson's stuff. My Dad brought me up on all his stuff and The Picayune has DVDs of most of them. Did you know that the beginning of 'Four Feather Falls' is similar to the much later Captain Scarlett. The Picayune pointed that out to me. Anyway, I only put this episode on once Bernie went to bed. He does talk so much rubbish when a film is on.
I also had to sit through a Marx Brother's comedy. Too much singing and not enough comedy for my liking. Then we saw the excellent 'Catfish'. Oh it was good. So sad as well when you think about it. I won’t spoil it except to say it is well worth seeing. I could identify to so much of it.
Then we saw the TV series of The Terminator, the last two episodes. Very exciting and very sad they haven't made another one. Still it gives me the chance to make up my own ending. But don't tell Bernie. We women are not supposed to like science fiction or whatever the 'in' word for it is now. I am supposed to only like romantic comedy or love stories. Actually those sort of films make me want to throw up. Still each to ones own I guess.
Bernie told me the world was supposed to end today according to somebody. Well the world probably did end for some people. But today it wasn't us. I have had a good day myself.
COSMIC HAS A DAY OUT
Early this morning Cosmic left the lighthouse. He left a note that just said he had to do something. By the time I read it, he had been gone for four hours.
My day was full of struggle and woe. So a normal working day really. The papers I needed were incomplete and so I couldn't finish what I started. Therefore I didn't start what I could have started to finish ready to start the other stuff I couldn't finish. Now as a direct result of this and as we had had a shopping delivery last week, I finished the chocolate I promised myself I would ration. Well once it is gone it is gone. But I expect to have problems tonight. I am very weak. Actually I ate some crisps as well. Oh I am even weaker than I thought. Cass found some very old audio cassette tapes and spent the day playing them. Some of them are classics apparently. But after hearing Marti Webb singing 'Take that look off your face' in a shaky distorted, stretched audio tape way. The term 'classic' takes on a whole new meaning. I still find listening to music something I cannot do over a long period now. I have mentioned it before but wish I could pay for somebody to tell me why. Although I do actually know the reason why. So I really need to pay someone to explain to me why I need to have something explained to me that I already know the answer to. A conundrum wrapped up in a strained song lyric.
By the time Cosmic had come back to the lighthouse, I’d already had my fish fingers and baked beans. It was dark outside and I was settling down to watch some TV. Cass was pretending not to be asleep and kept waking herself up and talking nonsense before dropping off again. I had half expected Cosmic to return to his own place, but he turned up looking slightly flushed. He said nothing and sat down to watch the TV as if he had just come back from the kitchen. I asked him how his day had been? He told me I didn't want to know. I should have realised. For some reason he seemed fascinated by what was showing on the television. His gaze never faltered. Now, don't mistake my lack if interest in Alan Titchmarsh walking around a garden as more than complete disinterest. After all that is what it is. Mr Titchmarsh was showing the Queen around some gardens and then we saw several famous TV actors and sports stars saying how much they loved The Chelsea Flower Show. Good for them I thought. Then another man, who was also a gardener, showed us water dripping down a mirror. Just like last year and the year before. Somebody else had built a garden and hung it on a crane. This man hoped to win a prize at Chelsea this year. Nobody thought he was mad and thought he had a good chance of achieving his aim.
It was at this point that Cosmic muttered something about a Police State and how the news had been censored. I asked him what he meant? Cosmic replied that I didn't want to know. Sadly he told me anyway. He pointed out that he had gone up to The Chelsea Flower Show and could be seen just behind Alex Kingston, the actress. Although it may not have been Cosmic, but a funny reflection in the mirror with the water dripping down it. Cosmic apparently had caused a disturbance by shouting a warning about the evil of plants. They were going to take over the world and were in league with the weeds. The weeds were just flowers growing in the wrong place, he shouted. Although he stole this from Cass who had said the same thing many, many times before. Cosmic was telling the world about this invasion, when a member of the police force arrested him for breach of the peace or causing a disturbance. Cosmic was bundled into a van and hauled away. Now I have to say I doubt his rather colourful explanation of what happened next. The severe beating that he claims took place is somewhat unlikely as he claims the reason there are no marks is that he is a quick healer. Besides they wrapped him up in a carpet and kicked him. It was only when the custody sergeant recognised him as the famous ex pop star, that the beatings stopped and he was released on his own reconnaissance.
Cosmic expected it to be front page news and all over the TV and radio by now. Instead, the news was full of somebody who had spent money on a privacy order being outed for doing something rather dull. Something we all knew about last week. But couldn't be reported until now because of the privacy order. So I told Cosmic the only way he would be in the news for disrupting The Chelsea Flower Show was if he took out a Privacy Order. But he told me he didn't have that sort of money. Damn this Police State.
What a world we live in when the only way for somebody to know what you did is for you to take out a privacy order, denying them the right of releasing your name. Cosmic went to bed a frustrated but free man. Meanwhile the weeds still grew and laughed at man's foolishness.
THE BIT ABOVE THE FIREPLACE
When Cosmic took Cass to work, he must have gone home for a while. When he returned to the lighthouse a few hours later, he had in his possession, two African figures. They were a matching pair, each about a foot tall. One of a beautiful African woman and the other her daughter. He handed them to me, one at a time. They were very heavy and I spent time admiring the superb workmanship that had gone onto carving them. Cosmic pointed to the bit in the lighthouse above the fireplace and announced he thought they would look good each side of the shelf. To my knowledge, the ornaments that were already in situ, had been there for many, many years. I don't like change as I think has become apparent, yet I didn't dismiss his suggestion out of hand. But I did change the subject.
I asked how Cosmic was feeling after his brush with the law the day before? I even asked how he felt leaving his car by the jetty in Caustic Cove? Wasn't he worried it could be damaged or stolen? Each of my enquiries received the same, now familiar response. "You don't want to know" he said and nothing more. However he did say that while he was at his house he felt less threatened then he had been. I took this to be a good sign and was half expecting Cosmic to announce he would be moving back home, now he was over the shock of his ordeal. But he offered up no further hope. Instead he poured himself a cup of water and then made himself a sandwich. He ate and drank in silence.
Suddenly, with the flourish of a mad interior designer, Cosmic leaped to his feet and took one African figure from my arms. He asked if I minded and before I had time to reply, he had placed the figure on one side of the shelf above the fireplace and then placed the other figure on the other side. The Chinese fisherman and the China man playing a board game were evicted from their usual place on the mantelpiece. What must they have thought? Along with a large ornate shiny horse. Cosmic then went towards a book shelf and took off an African head bookend. I have to admit to forgetting we had it. It dated from when my family went to Africa during the early fifties. No doubt a story for another time. This bookend, not unsurprisingly, had a mate. Cosmic found it and placed them, along with a couple of smaller horses on the mantelpiece. He then took an ornament of an Oriental fire god type thing, from the front of the Television and placed it as the centre piece on the bit above the fireplace. All the time Cosmic had been placing and moving stuff and then standing back and moving stuff again. I just watched is mute fascination. When he finally sat down and asked me what I thought of his arrangement to the bit above the fireplace, I took time to answer. First of all, how dare he move some of my late parents’ ornaments. Secondly, my Mum had put that stuff there and, I may have mentioned, I don't like change. Thirdly, we don't want anymore stuff brought into the lighthouse, it is cluttered enough.
So after I had collected my thoughts and pondered on the correct response. I announced that it would take time for me to assess the changes. But my first thoughts were that I rather liked it. What did I just say out loud? The contrast between the light of the fire god thing and the dark wood of the African figures and ornate bookends, set against the shiny horses that brought in the rest of the fireplace, were enchanting. Shut up for goodness sake, could I hear myself? Cosmic smiled and said he was pleased. I wanted to say so much more. I needed to tell him that this didn't mean he was going to stay in the lighthouse, or that bringing more of his personal stuff over helped in any way to keep the lighthouse tidy. But I didn't say any of it. A change had been made. A simple moving of a few ornaments. The world hadn't come to an end.
When Cass came home, Cosmic asked what she thought of the new arrangement on the bit above the fireplace. She liked it and asked his opinion on some other interior design problems. She waited a few hours before changing a few minor things above the fireplace. Then Cass said to me that Cosmic was right about buying some new furniture, that would just fit in place of the bookshelf either side of the fireplace. The new darker wood furniture would bring in the dark wood of the African figures. Now you could have the tall cabinet with the adjustable shelves, or and as well as, one could have glass doors cut to fit the dark wood furniture we haven't bought yet. I began to panic a bit. I have only just accepted two new African women into my life. I was not ready for more change just yet. I retired to my room and said I would sleep on it.
THE OUTSIDER
I have escaped to my room early this evening. I could sense it was all going to come to a head. The bit above the fireplace has become a battle ground. First of all Cass took two items away from the shelf and added two. classier crystal shapes. Every time Cosmic passed the bit above the fireplace, he stopped and looked and shook his head. He then would rub his chin, stand back and move things about. Go away and come back and move them back to where they were before When Cass passed she would arrange them in exactly the way they were when she changed things. Even if it meant moving her classier crystal shapes, half a dust mite. This evening they found themselves together, next to the bit above the fireplace.
I was eating a ready meal of stew and mash potato, minding my own business, when the gunfight started. I felt like an innocent Mexican rancher, caught up in some gringo land grab. First of all, Cass said the Cosmic didn't like her classier crystal shapes did he? Cosmic said he liked them well enough, but they didn't stand out. Cass said they stood out to her. Cosmic said fine, if they stood out to her, that was just fine. So peace broke out and everybody sat down. But the simmering resentment was bubbling up. Cosmic suddenly said, the bit above the fireplace. needed more colour. So Cass gave a deep sigh and said she wondered if some mushrooms would help. Now I am not sure if Cosmic thought he was about to relive the Sixties experience, but he seemed disappointed when Cass reappeared with some pottery mushrooms which didn't really go with anything. Cosmic muttered something and they both sat down again. Cass was the one who decided to suddenly take her classy crystal shapes, her pottery mushrooms and her toys off the bit above the fire place. Cosmic said that looked better. Which was the moment I decided to run for the hills.
By the time I had reached my room, I could hear the distant sound of battle. The platoon of 'you don't even live here' was outflanking the corp of it looked great last night'. For my part, I had been asked in passing what I thought, but loyalty and confusion clashed, so I ran. As mentioned before, I used to be able to listen to music to drown out the outside world. As a young man, I would retire to the safety of my room and stick on some ear phones and turn up the volume. I could sit there and identify with every lyric and every note. But now the music just makes me feel deeply upset. Like suffering from a hangover. Remembering the joy of last night and having to suffer the consequences. So I turn to reading as a form of escape. Again, as already mentioned, I read old news magazines and DVD and film periodicals. They all tend to be about two years old. I also like to reread the odd book. So I reached up to my bookshelf above the computer, and pulled out a book of short stories by H P Lovecraft. I started to read 'The Outsider' but found it a bit depressing after a few pages. I then reached up to pull out another book. I was shocked to find that I now began reading 'The Outsider' by Albert Camus. As it starts off with the death of his Mother. this too strangely depressed me. When I looked up, The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks was spinning and dancing and having a whale of a time. So I closed that book and settled down to reading an Alien comic graphic novel. This I found more appealing.
Stomping up the stairs I heard Cass go to her room. Then a few seconds later Cosmic shouted something from downstairs. Cass returned downstairs. Fearing blood would be spilt I wearily left the safety of my room and ventured into the battlefield. Only to find Cosmic pointing at the bit above the fire place, which now had the addition of two crystal shape trees. Cass was saying that that works fine and how clever it was. I have never been able to be convinced when Cass turns nice. Was she really liking what she saw? Cass then asked Cosmic to give her advice about a shelf and a few posters and paintings in her room. So they went upstairs and Cosmic could be heard sagely giving out his interior design expertise. Poor sap, I thought, he is being played like a fish on a hook. But when he came back down again, he just looked at the bit above the fireplace and said that it looked good didn't it. I smiled and bid him a goodnight.
Popping my head into the now industrious room of Cass. I could see her holding a painting against the wall. It was a painting of herself as a young woman. With the other hand, she was trying to manoeuvre a poster of Rudyard Kipling's 'If'', under the painting. Cass said Cosmic said he thought they looked better this way round. For some reason I was reminded of Edgar Allan Poe's 'Fall of the House of Usher'. I said I agreed with them both and returned to my room.
That night there came a tapping on my bedroom door. 'Who is it?' I asked. Quoth Cosmic, 'Tea or Coffee?' Oh nevermore I replied and went back to sleep.
COSMIC AND THE PICAYUNE DO SOMETHING
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Be bop, be bop, until you drop. Cosmic here with sounds of the City. That's right, drills and horns and swearing. Welcome back to insanity.
Yeah I know, I can see the irony from here. Who was it who had a plan to persuade The Picayune to leave the lighthouse more often? Who ended up running to the lighthouse for sanctuary? Well the best laid plans of mice and weed. Should have listened to the man. Never plan anything for tomorrow, since tomorrow doesn't even exist yet. So this morning I shook off the shackles that were binding me to the lighthouse and said to The Picayune, you and me man, how about a trip? Well not that sort of trip because frankly I have been on them all. I mean a little adventure back to my house. May be a bit of clearing the path between the garage and the house? Plenty of wall to lean on, plenty of time to relax. You know what The Picayune said? You don't want to know what he said. Oh alright you do. He said fine, take me there. So I did.
I guess I was expecting more of a reaction from my nerves, but I felt fine when we arrived at the house. The Picayune went to fetch the key to the garage and look around. I could have done it without any trouble, but he offered so hey ho. Then we opened up the garage, not as bad as I thought inside. Then we found some tools and set about clearing the path. The Picayune leaned on the wall and I scraped and pulled at the little weeds that were coming out of the tarmac. I felt fine, I have said that right? After we swept up, we relaxed inside the house, with a nice cup of tea. Not that The Picayune drank his. Too busy psychoanalysing me and asking me how it felt to be back. I said it was all just fine. Although I am not sure how ready I am to stay here alone yet. It will come soon. After all I have been back since the trouble and messed about here on my own. But staying the night. Well let's just see how it goes. Besides, the more The Picayune can come back and help clear the smallest of weeds, the more I will feel like returning. I guess, helping him to help me, helps him and helps me. I knew my plan would eventually work.
When we returned to the lighthouse I felt a bit awkward. I forgot we had another bank holiday coming up. I must have ate and drunk too much because I dropped off to sleep. When I awoke, Cass was asleep in her chair and The Picayune was watching a DVD. I didn't recognise it, so I asked him what it was? Turns out it is the first in a series called 'Flash Forward'. About the world all blacking out at the same time and flashing forward to the same time in the future, before all waking up again. The Picayune said Cass and me were always asleep and wouldn't know if we had flashed anywhere. I seem to remember The Picayune sleeping too, during the day. So not sure how smug he should be.
Oh well, another day over. I will be back to normal after the weekend. Feel more together than I have done for some time. We did after all do something today. That has to be good, right?
A GIFT IN THE KNOWING
It was about five in the afternoon. I had eaten some toast and had done little else. Cosmic appeared at the door of my room and looked at the top of some drawers. They were covered by the debris of ten years of life. I had said I would start to clear it up about 2 years ago. I had to start sometime, but I never thought it would be today. So he asked me what I was doing? Looking at some TV on the computer I replied. Would it be alright if he started to clear the top of the drawers? Cosmic asked. I said I wasn't sure. So Cosmic started to pick up stuff and sort through it. Any private envelopes or letters with my name on he handed to me. Piles of music cassettes and old computer games were placed on a shelf. In no time the top of the drawers were clear, save or a computer connection box. Cosmic placed any office trays he found in another room to be sorted later and smiled. He said that hadn't taken so long and wasn't so bad and I bet I was pleased it had been done, Then he went back downstairs.
Unfortunately, the computer screen I had been happily watching, was no longer visible. Cosmic's idea of cleaning up,was to hand me the piles of envelopes and papers and let me sort them out. The pile now covered the screen. My deep felt annoyance at his trespass into my untidy life soon gave way to panic. I began to go through the envelopes and papers. Some were dated six years ago. Some had book catalogues I hadn't belonged to for many years. All were rubbish. So I piled them high into another tray, separating my address and name to be shredded at a later date. Over an hour later, I had to fetch a vacuum as disintegrating bags and paper covered the floor. Having tidied that up I was left with another tray piled high with paper and rubbish that I would have to take downstairs and separate into the correct recyclable bins. That was a job for tomorrow.
By the time I had had a shower, it was gone eight in the evening. But at least I had a clean drawer top. Then Cass handed me a small bronze figure she had found in her room. I recognised it as something that had hung around for years. It was a tiny door knocker in the shape of a hung devil, with the words 'hang evil' or 'hang the devil 'on it. She asked if I would like it? Then when I muttered something, she drilled a hole on my door and hung the hung devil , It fitted well but was another unexpected happening to the day. As was the fact that whenever the door was passed, the knocker was tapped.
When I eventually went downstairs, Cosmic said we would have to go and buy some bread tomorrow. He then asked if I would like some of those bite size Cornish Pasty things for tea. So he popped them in the oven. Cass came down and put on her meal and we settled down to watch some television. Cass and I must have dropped off because Cosmic woke us up around midnight. He said we might want to watch the first part of the documentary on the band Queen. There would be a concluding part tomorrow. Oh and by the way, he had also watched the second episode of the DVD we had been watching yesterday. So we may want to catch up on that. Off we went to bed and left Cosmic downstairs.
Was there a time when I knew that my life would be controlled by an ageing old pop star? How did my saving him from the killer weed mean he could save me from myself? Just as I was pondering the answer to these and other questions, Cosmic called up. He had an idea about that shelf in Cass's room, There were some nice old white pots he had at his house. We would remember them because we had given them to him. They would look good on that shelf. With that, everybody seemed contented. A very odd day.
THE UNSEEN CASUALTY
Sitting with Cosmic in the front room of his house was pleasant enough. A nice cup of tea and some Simon and Garfunkel on the stereo. Cosmic had invited me to come along with him to pick up the pot and dish that he thought Cass might like on her shelf. We had all piled into the boat from the lighthouse. Cass was on her way to work and so Cosmic was going to kill two birds with one stone. Drop off Cass and collect the ornaments. The boat from the lighthouse had never been so low in the water. Fortunately it was a calm day, but even so there was plenty of sea in the bottom of the boat when we climbed out. Cass was the only one to foresee this possibility and had worn over trousers to protect her clothes. Cosmic just put up with a wet patch on his trousers, as did I. Still we made it safely enough and I was now content and warm, sitting in Cosmic's lounge.
There was a ring at his front door. The fact that somebody had hacked their way through to reach it, meant they had gone to a real effort. Cosmic, I thought was upstairs, but he suddenly appeared from the kitchen. He put his finger to his lips and indicated that I should keep as still and quiet as I could. The bell rung again. Still Cosmic froze and continued with his instructions for me to keep silent. After about five minutes, Cosmic crept to the window. He then instantly appeared to relax and said he would fetch 'that stuff for Cass'.
I was about to say something but he just told me not to ask. So I didn't.
Cosmic reappeared with a couple of pots in his hand and asked me if a recognised them? I didn't, but the label on the bottom showed that they were biscuit containers. One had once had short bread in. But they were nice looking, proper pot and dish. None of the tin rubbish. I agreed that they might look really nice as ornaments. I had drunk my tea and was ready to move, but Cosmic said we had better wait until the police had moved on a bit.
"The Police?" I replied, somewhat taken aback. I reminded Cosmic that it would have taken some Herculean effort to even reach the front door. Let alone battle back the way they came. It must have been important. They must need to contact him. Or even contact me. Something could have happened to the lighthouse or even Cass? She was no spring chicken and frankly, we were all in our prime years to be struck down. Cosmic told me to calm down. There was no police car visible, there was another policewoman across the road and besides nobody knew we would be here. The police were going door to door. I was still not satisfied. Suppose the police were looking for a missing child or were warning us that a gunman was in the area? Deliberately picking out ageing, fat people. I would be a prime target. I crouched down behind a chair. But Cosmic was unmoved. He just said we didn't see anything, so couldn't help with their enquiries. Missing children would mean searching the garden, good luck with that. A gunman in the area would mean road blocks. We would soon find out.
On our way home we saw no road blocks. Just the same policeman and woman going from door to door. I still didn't understand why Cosmic had refused to become involved. After all the police had always treated him well enough when he had need of their assistance. But Cosmic continued not to care. He had no interest in what they wanted. It wouldn't be to his advantage and would most likely cause him to be inconvenienced. I don't mind telling you I was shocked. On our way over to the lighthouse, Cosmic said he was pleased with the ornaments he brought over from his house, The incident with the police had gone from his mind, while still uppermost in mine. So I broached the subject once more. Why had he not answered the door to the police? Cosmic took a deep breath and said that I really didn't want to know. He would only say that the whoever had been at the door would have been ignored. Then he said that I of all people should understand. Sometimes, one just didn't want to become involved in the workings of life outside the self. Good job we didn't all think like that, I thought.
The biscuit containers looked very good when placed on the shelf. They used to make really, nice ornate biscuit containers. Shame they seemed to have stopped making those. Mind you, who could afford that sort of luxury container now? Like Cosmic, the biscuit container had just become a casualty of life.
TENNIS, FOOTBALL RUMOURS AND FELLING ILL
Last night was full of tension and anxiety. The Internet went down. Well it may not have disappeared for everybody, but it did for me. Right in the middle of doing something or looking something up. Oh I remember now what it was. Cass has to go to work in a new place. So she worked out the best way to approach it. This required hours of complicated route descriptions and distant swear words. Discovering a place where you have lived all your life has become pedestrian friendly, is very upsetting. Havenedge has made it almost impossible to travel into, without first completing an assault course, an IQ exam and a wall of death circus stunt. But having found the area where Cass now needs to travel is no longer the docks but a film studio, I feel certain that she can manage to be ready for her close up, once the time comes. Cosmic, who after all will be doing the driving, seems to dislike turning right. So he has found an alternative route that takes him out of Havenedge altogether. This would mean Cass would have to set off about now to reach her destination. I was in the middle of explaining this when the Internet packed up.
Cass is the expert in all things computer. I say expert insofar as she towers over me in her expertise. Cosmic has one rule concerning most computers. If they go wrong, leave the room and come back later. If they still seem to be doing something wrong, repeat this process over and over again. I, needless to say, think that this requires far too much effort and just go for the tried and tested, turn off, turn on procedure. By the time Cosmic had exhausted his method and I had nearly fused my options, Cass was left to discover the problem. First of all she realised one of our telephone lines was buzzing. So she proceeded to correct the fault. However she became confused over which phone was attached to which line and kept ringing herself and finding herself engaged. Cass soon realised her mistake and set about to correct it. Having lost the phones she had been testing, this took longer than one may think. I on the other hand, was very helpful. I kept on shouting questions that needed answers, but helped little in solving the problem. Eventually Cass unplugged the cables in the modem and replaced them again. She did this twice. The Internet now came back on line. So turning off and turning on again then.
Having gone to bed tired I woke up this morning tired. Then I moved and discovered I felt sick. The Sun was beating down on my mattress and I was sweating. It was light when I went to bed around four o clock. Now it was just hot. Plus I could see a building crane through my window that had not been there before. Caustic Cove remains in the blight of the builders. However, I was able to climb out of my mattress and head for the computer in my room. This made me feel even more sick and tired. I turned on the Internet to discover that my football club was losing their manager to a club no better than themselves. I phoned Dull But Honest and asked him what the rumours where? He replied in his best condescending voice and said he had no idea but saw no advantage bar money for our manager to leave. So same as the last one then. I then watched the tennis and the pretty Russian lost. So I felt a touch more sick and tired.
By the time I had returned to the rumours of the football, it was all possible rubbish. But then again sources said it wasn't, while experts said it was. By now I had forgotten what the rumours were at the start. So I just felt sick and tired. I must have dropped off because the day had gone. Rumours were, statements would be made at a later date. But other rumours said that it was all done and dusted. While even some said the dust had never been blown from the first rumour and it was all a lie from the beginning.
Sometimes the Internet is just is too big. It holds all possible outcomes. Just enough to make you feel sick and tired.
DISJOINTED THOUGHTS
Well it all seems clear now. There is thick cloud and it is warm. So it is clear why nothing is clear. I still feel a little sick and light headed. Cass, who is supposed to go out today to work is feeling a little off too. While Cosmic, who cleared stuff and was busy yesterday in the lighthouse, is equally reluctant to start anything. Although, considering the amount of work we have all managed to do this week, none of us should feel we have let anybody down. There seems to be lots of coughs and sneezes about and so we are all run down.
The news yesterday was not good concerning football. All the effort and time one puts in to supporting a football club seems wasted, when the club keeps on doing what it should do only to be let down. Another manager walked for no apparent reason. No doubt, accusations and recriminations will dribble out in the fullness of time. Meanwhile the fans are left feeling betrayed and used. No change there then. Still when one is feeling down, bad news is not what one needs to encourage an upturn. Even Dullbuthonest phoned me up and we spent time moaning and arguing.
But everybody seems to feel put upon just now. Cass was on the phone to somebody at the Tax Office. They were spluttering and stuttering and sounded harassed. Then the person on the other end of the phone asked her if they could call her Cass. So she told them that as that was indeed her name they should go for it. No doubt somebody had given them a hard time about calling them by their Christian name, then insisted on the correct title. We make life needlessly awkward sometimes.
Later in the day we did go out. I felt better and Cosmic wanted to play in the wind. The sea was nice and choppy so we all were nicely soaked and caked in salt. Cass did some shopping and I stayed in the car and Cosmic stood outside the car. The wind was like a hot fan. When Cass returned from her quick shopping trip, seven bags full of food to cheer us up, we had to drop off some work and then we returned to the lighthouse. I finished our accounts and played with a new program and then we ate pizza and watched television.
Cass noticed that she could see her blood vessels in her arms. So we all looked and realised we could all see our blood vessels in our arms. Then we pondered on the colour of them being blue instead of red. Skin refracts light apparently, thus making blood vessels appear blue. With that Cass dropped off to sleep, I put on an old DVD and Cosmic went about with one eye closed. This was because I had mentioned how if you shut one eye, and look at one's nose with the open other. It makes you feel how the body is just carrying the real us. Cosmic said he wished he knew me back in the day, he wouldn't have needed drugs. Funnily enough he isn't the first to say that. I once made a drug addict very nervous when I talk about looking into the wall of the room we were sitting in. He had no idea what I was talking about.
Imagination is a wonderful thing. Having disjointed thoughts help as well.
BEYOND THE FOURTH WALL
Daylight floods into the lamp room at the top of the lighthouse before four in the morning. When I sleep up there, I close the sun blinds to keep out the day. But sometimes, on a clear night, I like to keep the blinds open and stare at the nights sky. Last night was not clear but I still had the blinds open before closing them for the day. One can see the lights of Caustic Cove reflected in the blinds. Sometimes the lights move as traffic passes through the town. Last night I saw a blue flashing light that came closer to the coast and then stopped. I didn't bother to climb from my mattress to see. Blue lights at night always remind me of sadness. They blue flashers come anytime, but I only fear them at night.
It was only as I was about to start the day that my heart started to jump. I mention this to Cosmic in case I need the blue lights to help. But Cosmic asks if he can have my DVD collection. He is only half joking. But it is only at moments like this I realise that I must write a will. Cass reminds that I felt odd a few days ago. So it may be just a cold or flu. Cosmic says it could be far worse than that. He is only half joking. An hour later I am thinking of thinking about toast. I realise my heart has calmed down. Cass asks if I want a glass of water. I say I do while Cosmic reminds me that the DVD collection can still be his. He also reminds me I ate a whole tub of ice cream yesterday. The world is a circle.
Alienation can be a ........................
"Alright, everybody can we stop it there". Guy Bolton stands up and is smiling. He announces that he and his fellow script writer Tori Gibson are to be married next Fall. They met while they were in a drug rehabilitation centre in Bridlington. "Sorry just couldn't keep it quiet any longer. Come on Tori, get out here, don't keep me hanging". Guy holds out his hand and a slender, if not emaciated woman, with hollow eyes, glides to his side. There is whooping and hollering and complete strangers appear from nowhere and clap the couple on their backs in congratulations.
Beverley, who writes The Picayune's internal monologue, says it is no good looking at her. She has no idea where this is going.
Meanwhile, everybody is looking to The Producer to say a few words. A grey man with a colourful past he can only remember in black and white, steps out. He mentions that the show has lost viewers and the studio seems to be looking for cuts. Still well done to Guy and Tori. Everybody cheers, and sausage rolls appear from nowhere.
Alienation can be a welcome place to be. I have never felt so alienated than when I was in a crowd of people I was supposed to know. People thrown together because of circumstance. It is like being in a war or on a package holiday. We must keep in touch. In those days we could leave our doors open because we trusted each other. Did we really? A story put about by the Eloi. A story propagated by the Morlocks. It is raining and I do nothing all day. I remind Cass that some drawers in my room are full of alien stuff. She clears it out and washes the drawers. Then she arrives at the drawers that have papers and books and goodness knows what in them. These are my burden and haven't been seen for years. Strange having something so close and yet closing it off from sight. Yet another metaphor in case anyone is counting.
Tori makes her way to the toilet and sits in a cubicle. She has no idea how she became part of a couple? She has no idea why people should congratulate her? Everything is an illusion.
"Right everybody can we stop there". The Picayune stands up smiling. He has no idea who is real but he doesn't care. All he knows is that his audience is sitting there for free. They wanted tickets for 'A Question Of Sport' but that has been all sold out for years. So they were stuck with this. The Picayune does a closing monologue to the camera and the card says applause. Nobody bothers and the audience collect their coats and leave. The announcer announces, "you have been watching The P..P..Picayune". But they haven't really.
After the worry over cancellation the actors are asking for their bit parts to be bigger. Cosmic sniggers at this.
Beverley, who writes The Picayune's internal monologue, says it is no good looking at her. She has no idea where this went.
WHEN THE PAST IS NO LONGER WORTH HOLDING ON TO
After an early shower I felt relaxed. Didn't feel tired either. So I started to attack some more of the mess in my room. I didn't even mind Cosmic hanging around. First drawer that I opened had more of my late Mums stuff in it. I felt sure we had sorted all of her clothes out. Well except for the stuff in the wardrobe and then there is that other stuff at the top of the lighthouse. Still I felt sure we were coming to the end of it. Then I opened another drawer and another. Anyway it is all done now and Cass cleaned and mended the drawers that had just given up hope.
So I came to the drawers I knew only had contents that I had put in them. There were folders of papers all to do with me buying a house. This was years ago but here the papers still were. Communications back and forward to solicitors and estate agents and banks. Cosmic asked if the solicitors I dealt with were any good. I must admit the person that dealt with all my problems, believe me there were plenty of them, was very good. So Cosmic looked up her name. Cass found a photo of her on the Internet. Was that her? Cass expected me to say yes or no. How would I remember. This was fifteen years or so ago. We all change in that time. Nevertheless, Cosmic made a note of her name and said it would come in handy when he moved. When he moved? I was under the impression he already had.
Back to my drawers. I found papers and diaries going back to the Eighties. Now I remembered why I kept putting off going through all this flotsam. There were memories of things I simply couldn't remember having a memory of. There were entries in the diaries that suddenly burst out into an emotional echo. I came across drawers of spare paper with the odd comment or idea written on them. Half a novel badly written, two novels well written but badly plotted and several other moments of genius and madness. Cosmic looked and some of the more puerile, self loathing pieces and said that they would have made good lyrics for his songs. Little did he know that I remembered what some of the lyrics to his music were like, so his comments were not necessarily complimentary.
Having put all the waste paper in one pile, well several really as one pile would just fall over. All the legal documents I had kept for some reason plus kept for idle curiosity in another pile for burning. I was left with the important pile. The pile I wasn't sure of. Should I keep or throw? But like music and books before it. I had lost heart in the memories. I remembered why I kept them but couldn't rekindle the thought process that made me arrive at the same conclusion. So that pile was thrown away too. Oh I kept a few things. But the drawers are all empty now and I am down to just two sides of the room to clear.
So my past is mostly empty drawers. The present is full of sorting out the past. While the future is something that I tend to look at through gaps in my fingers, as my hands cover my eyes. I am not sure I will ever arrive there. If I do, it will be far from any place I am likely to want to be. But on the off chance it is livable. I might as well clean up the present.
WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?
I used to be up with popular culture. When a band came on the radio, or an actor appeared on television, if they were any good, I would predict that they would go far. They nearly always did. Now, with the advent of the Internet, I have no idea what is going on. Pure opinion turns out fact and fiction in equal measure. Suddenly some strange idea will take shape, and instead of discussion, all we see are nodding heads. We have spawned a Nation, no, a World of 'yes men'. When the doctor tells you to do something, we are supposed to believe they are advising us for our own good. Well they know what they are doing so lets not argue. When did we become so easy to manipulate? When did we stop asking questions? Go to war and bleed our kids dry? Sure, no problem. Why are we going to war? We don't know but we are told it is a fair and just war, so off we go. When did we gang up on the differing opinion? When did we become so bovine? Put a hook in our nose and lead us where you like. If it is to the slaughter house, then we are becoming too stupid to notice. Prisoners of our own self neglect. There is a line uttered by William Foster, played by Michael Douglas, in the film 'Falling Down'. A good film I never tire of seeing when it is on Television for the umpteenth time. William Foster says near the end of the film, "I am the bad guy? When did that happen?" The older I become the more I understand.
I deliberately waited until it was late to start on my further attempts at clearing up. Parts of my room haven't been touched since, goodness knows how long. I have bought a house and sold it and still this room remains full of bags and mounds of rubbish. Cosmic is doing his best not to face his own home. Doesn't he have things to do at his home? Since his post is delivered here now, or at least at the quayside, he seems to have forgotten his own abode. I don't want to push him. Or at least didn't until today. The irony is I thought he may be suffering with the strain of what happened with Milverton and the poison weeds. Suffering mentally, as if he needed a councillor or something. But today he was helping move boxes and bags. We came across a bag on the floor, full of open envelopes. They all had my name on them and they were with a bunch of old cardboard files full of copies of old invoices. So Cosmic turns to me and asks if I think I had been suffering from some nervous disorder when I hoarded this stuff away. I don't know what I was suffering with but I do know something. Two recycle skips are now full of the last two days of clearing. Still it keeps on coming. I came across a load of old photographs taken on my favourite holiday. Well one of my favourite holidays. Why did I hoard the photos away in a bag and lose them under a whole lot of used envelopes? May never know the answer. May never again go on holiday.
I never used to dream of my Dad. When he died, it was a sudden death, like my Mum. I used to have the normal dreams soon after his death. Of him turning up and me trying to explain to him that he was dead. After the first six months or so after his death, those went. Now since my Mum died I have had very few dreams of her at all. Good old brain trying to protect the old subconscious. But over a year after she went, my Dad keeps turning up as a character in my dreams. I no longer think that he thinks he is alive. He is just there. Last night, I was in a passenger plane and there were few passengers about. The plane was stuck on the runway. The passengers were told to relax, so I spread out on a row of seats. Suddenly the plane started to lift off and struggle to gain height. I wasn't scared but aware we kept hitting pylons and trees. Then we were on a road and I had no idea where we were going. Yeah the road dream again. Very odd. Still I knew that cleaning up and disturbing my memory would cause some upheaval. That is why I put off doing all this for so long.
So the answer to Cosmic's question about whether or not I had a nervous melt down when I was hoarding all my envelopes. The answer is probably no. But I seem to be having a breakdown now I am cleaning them all up.
NOT ALONE FOR LONG AT THE LIGHTHOUSE
It had been sometime since I was alone in the lighthouse. Cass was out at work. Cosmic was out giving her a lift and then said he would go for a drive. I declined the offer of joining him. Cass asked what I was going to do today? I declined to give her an answer, because I was unsure myself. Perhaps I would continue to tidy my room. Or more likely catch up on a few television programmes I had missed. Better still, I would while away the time as only I can. I would end up doing nothing and no doubt regret it. Still regret is a small price to pay for idleness.
Sadly none of my none plans came to fruition. Cosmic arrived back at the lighthouse within the hour, explaining that the Police were stopping people going into his road. He was going to pop home and just see what the old place looked like. But he was stopped. Turns out the policewoman who barred his entry said she wasn't at liberty to explain why the road was closed off. Cosmic tried to explain he lived there. But all she would say was that he wouldn't be able to see the wood for the trees. So Cosmic was turned back. Still he did manage to pick up the post from our post box at the quayside. He was glad he did. Apparently, his electrical company have upgraded his account. They will no longer estimate his bills. Instead he will have to provide the figures because they will no longer sent anybody around either. Cosmic wasn't quite sure in what way this meant his account had been upgraded. He was now doing all the work for them. What was even more interesting was how Cosmic was going to manage to fight his way to his home, let alone read the metre.
Cass was picked up at work. This time I did go along for the ride. Looking tired after a hard day, she asked Cosmic and myself what we had been up to. So Cosmic told her about the problems with his house. Good job I had gone along for the ride, because I was able to remind her that we had run out of bread. Wearily she asked why nobody had bought any then? After the day we'd had, what time had we left? Anyway as she was going to the shops we decided she might as well fetch some fish and chips as well. Typical woman, took an age and then brought back far more than we needed. Good time to shop, this time of day, because they were chucking out some fresh food and some other food nearing its sell by date. So she had bought for pennies some Apple Pie and bread rolls.
After the meal, Cass dropped off. She began to wheeze again. I was reminded of the Edgar Allen Poe story, 'The Tell Tale Heart'. Except this was the tell tale wheeze. On top of that she missed the big news. Cosmic's road had made the local bulletin on television. The local area around Cosmic's house has been closed. Several people had not been seen since travelling into the area. Now cars cannot make it down the road as huge thorns and weeds were blanketing the place. Cosmic looked at me and I returned the gesture. Then we both said the name at the same time.
"Milverton, the gardener!"
THE CALL COMES
When the man from the ministry called, I was still in my night attire. He stood there at the door, in full business suit and white pumps. He handed me a card and said nothing. On the card was printed his name and where he came from. On the back, were printed the words 'say nothing'. So I didn't and invited him in.
" I cannot tell you my name for security reasons," he said as he touched his nose with his finger. I pointed to the name on the card he had given me. "Mix up at the printers, say nothing". The man from the ministry then asked if the 'others' could join us. So both Cass and Cosmic were called and came downstairs. Cass sat, I sat and Cosmic leaned on a door. The man from the ministry eyed the only other chair available. It was covered and had been covered with clothes for nearly two years. As he wouldn't be staying long, I decided not to disturb them.
" As you know, Caustic Cove is slowly being ripped off by a plot device, taken from at least two well known novels." The man from the ministry said.
" I think you'll find that's just coincidental," I quickly interrupted.
"That be as it may. Your arch enemy, Milverton the gardener, has injected the whole of the area around Mr Cosmic's house with the same poison he injected into the weeds in Cosmic's garden. This was done, as you know, to find the buried golden bull. Although why I am explaining this to you is beyond me." The man from the ministry looked at the chair again. Cass had to explain why the man from the ministry had to explain everything. The figures for this blog had dropped and so in a pathetic attempt to gain a bigger A and B audience share, we had to make sure everybody was included in the past plot lines. The man from the ministry told us we would have to meet at some secret location to receive instructions as to how to combat this creeping menace. Turned out the secret location was very near to where Cass had to go to collect work the next day. So we could kill two birds with one stone.
Driving through Havenedge is no fun at the best of times. But having to go to the secret location via the 'wall of death' is just being foolhardy. Cosmic had to cross two lanes of traffic to turn right and then two lanes to turn left and then reverse the process on the way back. All while cars and builders vans decided to park on double yellow lines, causing us to overtake into oncoming traffic and take our life by the scruff of the neck and shake. All this while shouting at life, "How much do you want to live!?"
The secret location was an old abandoned church. Cosmic parked and we decided to let Cass go in and collect the instructions. No point in putting us all at risk. Cass came out, half an hour later saying the man who was supposed to give us instructions wasn't there, but a note marked 'secret' was. The note just said 'Stop the weeds and stop Milverton'. So we went back home, via the wall of death and via McDonalds. Cass bought us the meals while Cosmic and I discussed weed strategy. We hadn't thought of any by the time Cass returned behind a mound of fast food bags. The fate of the world was in our hands, yet we ate burgers and watched the tame sparrows try to steal food from us.
After Cass had put the food bags in a handily placed bin, we drove off. As I looked back, could I see the birds converse with the hedge we had been parked by? Or was it just a trick of the light? Only time would tell?
Actually now I think about it, it was just a bird in a hedge. Nothing to see really.
IS IT THE SAME AS IT WAS?
No it isn't the same as it was. What sort of stupid pointless question was that? Nothing stays the same. Well some things stay the same. There are always people who do things that upset other people. Like inject poison into weeds and make them spread and take over the world. Well that may not be a comparison many can identify with. Not until the thorns started knocking on your window in the dead of night, as the wind encourages the menace to tap out their fateful warning. But it’s neglect that really changes things. We neglect each other, we neglect ourselves and we neglect things when we think they will never change. I was watching the film 'Gnomeo and Juliet' tonight. Some would say I may have read more into it than there was. Some may say I didn't read enough into it. Others just wish there was less of Elton John's music in it. But it was about gardens and neglect and Gnomes and regret. It filled the space between the final and the results show of 'So you think you can dance.' This is yet another take on the 'New Faces' format that everybody rips off. Except this show has young talented people dancing. So nobody watches it. Instead they prefer to watch and talk and spew out opinions concerning the 'Pop Idol' and 'Britain’s got talent' type of show. Which shows mostly talentless people on both sides of the judges panel. I did watch one or two in the beginning, I must admit. But I really don't 'get it'. Pointless and a waste of air time. But people love it. I feel so alone.
Somebody else who feels alone is Ethel. She called around to the lighthouse today. Alone and looking far from happy. I had imagined she was in a blissful state of companionship with Bernie, ever since they moved out of Cosmic's. Nothing could be further from the truth. Her days of living alone and feeling lonely, longing to be half of a couple have taken their toll. Now Ethel is part of a couple, she feels alone and lonely. However, she can no longer wallow in her inner turmoil. Some idiot keeps taking the duvet, or being in the kitchen when she wants to cook something, or watching the television on the other side of what Ethel wants to watch. Being alone is wonderful, she's speaking I believe. It's not easy trying to tell him, that she'll shortly have to leave. A line the Monkees should have used instead of the one they did. A vague reference that few will understand. But being obscure shows depth when you are as shallow as I am.
On the other hand Cosmic is ready for battle. Armed with his shield and sword. Astride his loyal steed. He is ready to fight the sharp thorns of deceit and decay. Cosmic is ready to join the battle. Except I have managed to convince him to wait a bit. I will help him once I have sorted out my room and things. Well, we must have learned something about war. Going off to do battle, half equipped and ill prepared. On the word of a liar and a conman. All seems oddly familiar. So let us wait a while. At least until it stops raining. Yes I know the blood is up and the kids are just dying to go to war. But let them take a deep breath and enjoy life for a little while longer. Actually it didn't take much to persuade Cosmic to cool his hot blooded spurt of revenge. A nice piece of toasted tea cake did the trick.
Meanwhile, in some dark recess of the mind. Tori Gibson, one half of the now married script writing team, rocked herself to sleep. Her knees drawn tightly to her lack of womanly chest. She mourned the loss of her ambition. It had all changed. It wasn't the same as it was. To the outside world, Tori was a young married, successful writer. But scratch away at the facade and she saw the blemish and dry skin of reality. Her husband was in the other room. Over smoking and drinking, keyboard on hand, hammering out another failed idea in two thousand words or less. Guy Bolton just knew this would be the one to make it out of the pointless show he found himself writing for. If he could just have a chance and pitch it to the big studio. Problem was there wasn't any big studio any more. The big studio had been taken over by a smaller studio. But the smaller studio had the money now. They had a show that was just unmissable. A bunch of failed celebrities sat and judged a bunch of failed human beings. Until they found an old or young human being that the audience went for in a good way. The funny old woman could sing. The young little boy could juggle. What a show, what an audience taker.
Tori rocked herself some more. Did she really want to be here? Did she really want to be in a business that boasted a pantomime as its biggest success? The hammering outside stopped. Guy shouted to her that he had "got it". Tori knew he hadn't.
A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING ?
Well at least most of the messy bit is done. Don't look at what still has to be done. Just be happy at what has been achieved. Right, I will take my own advice and try and be happy. Except there is an endless list of things that come skipping into my head, wherever I glance. More desks to be dismantled, whole units to be transferred to other rooms. Don't even ask how we are supposed to move THAT out of the room ands down the stairs. How did we manage to bring all this stuff in. I guess in those days, boats were hired and men were there to help. Good lord, after thirty five years everybody seems to have gone. I have moved out and moved back in again. Cosmic seems to have been a visitor who now wants to change his status to permanent resident. I would like to say he has been handy with helping to move things. But he was downstairs most of the weekend keeping well out of it. Pondering his up and coming battle with Milverton, the gardener and his weedy and thorny henchmen.
I was left to my own devices. Which meant I had no intention of doing anything. Until I absent mindedly moved something. which created space for something else. Then before I knew what was happening, I was knee deep in dust and spiders and papers and filth. Then there comes a time when there is no turning back. So I didn't, and with sneezing and swearing in equal measure, I cleared a three shelf cupboard. While I was chucking out the rubbish, Cass dismantled it. This morning I have filled the last recycle bin. If they are all taken oven in the rowing boat at once I bet it sinks. No, well may be not. But three recycling skips full, plenty of broken wood to put into Cosmic's car to dump. Still so much to do. But let us enjoy what has been done.
Whenever any big moving and clearing job is done. There are always bits and bobs that have been left behind. Are they worth keeping for use or memory? I have statements and insurance forms going back eleven years. Came across my hospital discharge form. Why had I kept that so long? The memory of that near death experience hardly fills me full of joyful reminiscences. That's another problem with clearing up. It reminds you of the past too much. Have I mentioned I hate clearing up? What am I doing it for? We will all be dead before we can complete this. Settle down, settle down, enjoy what you have achieved. Think how long it has taken you to come to this point. Think how quickly it was achieved once you set your shoulder to the wheel. Think, why you are now talking to yourself in the third person?
Must have a shower today and a change of clothes. Was too tired yesterday. Then think about paying bills. Oh no here we go again. Must learn to relax, enjoy the moment. A place for everything and everything in its place.
DEBRIS
After the grand clear out of my room, Cass decided to take down the curtains. She then took down the pelmet. I am now curtain less. As the windows still have blinds, it bothers me not at all. Even though I never actually touched the curtains since the day they were put up. I still feel decidedly naked without them. Meanwhile the floor is covered in bits of paper. Too large to vacuum up. It is if the paper has been hiding under desks and furniture, only now joining the spiders and the insects in seeing daylight. I keep slipping on the paper and then having to pick them up. Unscrewing the folded secrets, only to find another victim of the three piles. 'Rubbish,' 'file 'or 'burn', with the file pile in denial. Anyway, I have work to do so I just need to uncover my computer. Or rather, find my computer, uncover it and start work.
Today is recycling day. We have three skips full of papers and other materials to be recycled. Cosmic wants me to help him. We also need bread and Cass has to go to Havenedge to deliver work. So despite my hectic schedule, I am forced to drop everything and assist. So I carry a skip down to the boat. Then walk back to collect the other, while Cosmic carries the third. Cass follows with bags and boxes of work. After we load the boat with the skips we look at each other. This problem requires some thought. Cass suggests Cosmic rows over to the quay, collects the other boat and rows it back to the lighthouse. Cass and my good self will climb in the spare boat, row over to the quay, followed by Cosmic and the recycle skips. We will climb out first, collect the skips from Cosmic's boat and then we can be on our way. With that simple logic delivered, we all hear a noise. A slight rumble and then creek. We look at each other. I say the noise came from beyond the lighthouse, somewhere out at sea. Cosmic thinks it came from the opposite direction. Cass walks back to the lighthouse and opens the door. She doesn't go in but turns back after relocking the door. She tells us part of the ceiling board has come down. There is not much we can do without panicking and moaning about the worry and expense. So we all climb into our respective rowing boats and go on our way. On the row over I panic and moan about the worry and expense.
Despite my best efforts, I manage to nearly drown everybody, twice over. The first time I try and struggle onto the quay and hit Cass in the face with my foot. She is about to be toppled into the sea, but Cosmic is close enough to steady the boat. Then, after helping Cass out of the boat, I then manage to clatter Cosmic as he is passing a skip up to me. Suffice to say, we are all relieved when we make it, safe and sound to the car. Cosmic comments that there is a tree growing a few yards from the car. Although fairly thin, it is the height of a man. It wasn't there before. We all agree to think of a way to fight this weed war.
We stop off at the shops for bread and Cosmic has letters to post. I am asked to put some clothes that are in the boot of the car, into the Salvation Army recycle bin. This means I have to climb out of the car, go around to the boot of the car, collect six bags of clothes, then walk a few metres to the bin. Yeah me too. Still I do it in the best mood I can. I am still worrying about the collapsed ceiling in the lighthouse. Needless to say I am faced with yet more immediate problems. First of all the Salvation Army bin is the type you put clothes in a tip up drawer. You then close the drawer and the clothes are supposed to slide effortlessly into the bin. When I open the drawer there is a black bag of clothes already in there. I close the drawer and open it again. The black bag of clothes is still there. So I reach in and try to open the back bit of the bin. This is stiff but does open. Then snaps again on my hand. I curse and try and pull my hand out. So a fat man has one arm thrust into a Salvation Recycle bin swearing and cursing. While carrying loads of bags in the other. People passed by and shook their heads and tutted. But nobody came to my aid. Or tried to arrest me. Eventually I prized my hand out, pushed the black bag through and closed the drawer. I then opened it and put my bags into the tipping drawer and closed it. When I opened it again the clothes were still there. So I was again forced to thrust my hand into the bin and force the bags down. By the time I returned to the car, my hands were bloodied and scraped. But did I receive any sympathy when the others returned? Did I recycle bin.
The drive over to Havenedge was also fraught with danger. The Havenedge races were on so we had to face delays and drive over the course to reach the wall of death which would lead us to our destination. The temporary surface they put down on the road is like a carpet. Fine for horses, but like an ice ring for cars. Still all in all we managed to deliver, fight through the traffic and return all in one piece.
Once back at the lighthouse, Cass made us some bacon sandwiches and we sat under the falling roof and pondered our next move. Cosmic talked about the looming weed war. Cass talked about never asking to be born. I was calm and laid back and considered in my opinion. No not really, I continued to moan about the worry and expense. At times like these, it is nice to go outside and look at the clear night sky. It is good to see things greater than all our pointless worry. But we didn't go out. Instead we watched a television program about assisted suicide. It made us all realise that there are things more important than our pointless worry.
THE OLD KEY
It has been a busy day, what with one thing and another. Cass went to work and Cosmic drove her. Cosmic went onto to his house but still found the road blocked. Apparently, the council keep sending men in with chain saws to control the ever growing growth. The men however do not return. Only the chain saws are found. Which means that somebody would have had to have gone in to the weeds and returned. Otherwise how would we know about the chain saws being found? Yet another urban myth slaughtered at birth. Although Cosmic still believes there is something more to it. Men skiving off work is all that is at the bottom of this.
Having had his way barred, Cosmic went onto see Bernie and Ethel. Bernie was working on the next great English novel, but was happy to stop and have a cup of tea. Ethel, according to Cosmic, looked weary. Well I for one never thought it would last. Which meant that I was left to work, rest and play without the need of any planetary confectionery. One for the kids there. Paperwork just kept on coming and I kept on trying to process it. Needless to say, after a few hours of hard slog, I retired downstairs to the kitchen and some toast. I have been working upstairs because I don't want to stare at the ceiling board coming down. The lighthouse is pretty solid and made of sterner stuff. But outside is a balcony, that was glassed in to make another room. This would have been about thirty five years ago. In that time, the balcony has consistently leaked water in the rain. Despite the best efforts of a number of builders and handy men in the early days, nobody could ever fix the problem. They still charged for making the effort though.
Up until eighteen months ago, the balcony was fine. Then things began to go wrong. The ceiling in then balcony began to crack, washing machines broke down and the front door lock jammed. Meaning we needed a new lock. With so many things going wrong, we sort of lost track of time. Now the ceiling board crack is growing longer and larger and it is a case of, how much would a simple job be, if it turns out to be a complicated, jaw scratching job? No doubt we will soon find out the damage, one way or another.
When Cosmic returned, he informed me that our solicitors had moved. So instead of a nice simple trip out, it will be a long half an hour journey. No good for us at all. May have to move solicitors. Reminds me that I still haven't written a Will. Then comes the rather odd thing. I had been up and down stairs at least twice. Cosmic the same and Cass as many times again. So when Cosmic is coming up the stairs, he suddenly tells me a key is lying on the stairs. In full view, in the middle and in plain site. He brings it up and I recognise it as the key belonging to the old front door. The one the broke just after my Mother died. Now there is a simple enough explanation. It is just I cant think of one at the moment. Where did it come from? I have been taking stuff down after clearing out my room, but that was days ago. Somebody would have spotted it before now.
So the key and its sudden appearance must remain a mystery. I could think of some supernatural possibility. But the only ghosts in the lighthouse are our family. Who frankly would have better things to do than drop keys. Are they telling us to keep better care of the lighthouse? Are they telling us they prefer the old lock? Or are they telling us to unlock the prison our lives have become? No they are not. It must have been put into my pocket when the new lock was put in and become stuck in my trousers. For about eighteen months. No that seems just as unlikely. Oh well we may never know. Meanwhile I have some paperwork I should be trying to carry on with. Weird though, isn't it?
DOWN CAME THE RAIN
The ceiling board split a bit more. But then it would do with all the rain coming in. Wind and rain smashing into the lighthouse like it's mid winter. Cosmic found a torch and shone into the split of the ceiling board. He said he couldn't see much. Which was good. It meant there was no debris falling. Cosmic did see a wooden joist. It didn't seem to be sagging. He then saw another wooden joist. That wasn't sagging either. The large window that was put in thirty years ago wasn't showing any signs of cracking. So far it seemed all good news. But like an open festering wound, Cosmic didn't want to touch the ceiling board. He felt that would be tempting fate. So what happens now I thought? Cosmic also thought for a moment. "We have to find somebody who can repair it". 'We' do, do we? Actually that is good isn't it? May be he will sort it out. I relaxed and went back to work.
The last black bag was looked into. My room has uncovered it's last secret. No, I doubt it too. But guess what was in the black bag? Cardboard and paper and envelopes. I will rid myself of the bag today and so will be left with only the demons I know about that still hide away. It is ridiculous, when one considers the size of the room, just how much rubbish we are shifting out. Cass said the lighthouse has visibly grown a few inches after having all the extra weight removed.
The rain continues to fall in heavy showery bursts. We are closing in on the longest day of the year. So despite the cloud, I could see Caustic Cove very clearly at ten to three this morning. I didn't feel like sleep so just looked at the clouds rush by. I prefer the dark myself. Or at least a fairer share between night and day. Daylight is a bit too cocky for my liking.. "Look at me, look at me in my new dress", you can imagine it swishing the dress about. Day is definitely a woman who wears clothes too young for her to wear. Has the odd piercing in the side of the nose that one mistakes for a pimple. Plus jewellery better suited for the younger person. On the other hand, Night is clearly a man. Tired and straining to keep up with his younger bride. Night is often mistaken for Day's dad. But in fact they are married. Very ugly relationship, because Night can only be pushed so far before retaliating and putting Day in her place. They have nothing in common but need each other. Without Night, Day would be just another over the hill, stage struck performer. She would still think she has a chance of making the big time. But Night tries his best to protect his naive bride. They both shed the odd tear when they think the other isn't looking.
While Cass was working upstairs and Cosmic was watching a 'Supercar' DVD. I asked Cosmic what was his biggest regret was from his days in the limelight. After telling me I didn't want to ask, he decided it was his lack of musical capability in the instrument department. Especially the steel guitar. He liked the twang and the fact one could play Country and The Blues on it. Somehow I expected a little more depth to come out from his answer. But that was it. So we both ended up watching 'Supercar'. Then Cass came down, very pleased with the work she had done. She asked us what it was we were watching? So at around midnight, we all were watching Mike Mercury in 'Supercar'.
The rain began to fall again.
HABIT
Harry Warren and Al Dubin wrote a song called 'You're getting to be a habit with me'. It was written in the early thirties and I first heard it in the film '42nd street'. I liked the film and even have or had the DVD. While the song is a playful and warm and fuzzy. The word 'habit' has taken on a negative meaning. Everything from a 'drug habit' to 'I can't break the habit', has conjured up the vision of people hopelessly devoted to things they shouldn't be devoted to. Habits are easy to fall into. Especially the bad ones.
I used to have the habit for music and collecting music. I now have fallen into the habit of disliking music. As someone who used to listen to music all day, I now can't listen to music for more than say ten minutes. If I do, I soon have a visit from The evil wicked dug up body that barks. I liked listening, it is a habit I miss. Laziness and over eating and feeling sorry for yourself is a habit worth avoiding. But then some of us can't break the habit of a lifetime. It is habitual after all.
Habits start as a way to cheer us up. One starts off feeling fed up or under appreciated. We turn to things that will cheer us up and make us feel better. Food, drink, sex, people and even exercise. Everything can turn into a habit. I have the habit of turning the computer on first thing in the morning. I look at the various message boards I frequent, play for a bit and then decide what to do. Except that in reality I turn on the computer, look at the message boards, and end up writing reasons why I didn't write the things they said I wrote. But it has become a habit. But like most habits there is a tipping point. When one suddenly decides not to have that extra slice of cake, that extra hour on the computer. That habit of having too much time on one's hands. When there is just too much to do.
There are habits that one sees in others that one is glad one doesn't have oneself. I can over hear Cass talking on the phone. She is eating and talking . Then she will light up a cigarette and continue to talk on the phone. I am glad I am in the habit of talking and not eating. I am glad I don't smoke. Cosmic has a habit of coming out with the same set phrases. I used to when I talked to people. But as I don't actually talk to that many people anymore, I have a bigger vocabulary.
Still I must try and break a few habits. Always looking on the things that need to be done and not on the things that have been done. Thinking that watching television is a community experience. The times I ask other people what they want to watch out of the many things I want to watch. If they are not asleep, they are disinterested and always reply that I can put on what I want. But what do I want? I must stop listening to others and taking what they say as a personal attack. I am sure the continual rising of the pension age isn't just a pointless attack just on me. I must start looking forward to things and not expecting things I am looking forward to not to happen.
I must stop listening to Cass talking on the phone pretending she wants to micro manage our financial outgoings. Seeing as I am the one who stops her spending on pointless things. She has just spent money on something for the fridge to stop things falling out when one opens the door. I NEVER have things falling out when I open the door. May I suggest she stops flinging the door open and break neck speed.
I must fall into the habit of relaxing when I relax.
THE LONGEST DAY
There are an awful lot of people in the World. The Earth we live on is comparatively small, when you think about it. But there are still undiscovered places and peoples in it, that modern man has never encountered. New species of insects and animals are being discovered every day. Even if we are killing off just as many old species. So it is no wonder that most of us actually don't care because we are far too busy living life. So with this in mind. I would like to introduce you to The Picayune World of Wonder.
First let us travel (via the pages of the January edition of National Geographic), to Vietnam. What could we find in this once war torn part of the World that is undiscovered? Well I will tell you. There are caves so huge and deep, that one could put buildings 40 floors high in them. A 747 could use one as its hanger. As some of the roof of the caves have fallen in, jungles and vines have grown, like something out of Land of The Giants. People are still finding new caves and new parts they have not yet managed to go to.
Or let us travel to The Mississippi river in The United States. Huge mounds of ancient worlds were discovered. A hundred or so, where a city of one hundred and fifty thousand people once lived. Now this being the United States, the soil from the mounds were used as building material for various projects. A bit like the Egyptians using The Pyramids for a bit of building sand. But now people are trying to find out about the ancient civilisation around The Mississippi. We may find out about another people we knew nothing about.
So it is with this in mind that I decided to use the longest bit of daylight of the year to discover my own new Worlds. I first went to the post box. My first discovery is that I need to fool myself before I can take any exercise. I decided to cook up an elaborate plan to take Cosmic's car keys. and drive his car to the post box. The thought of walking up the hill was just too much. So I managed to take the keys and row over to his car. But when I arrived there, with keys in hand, I walked on by. Walked to the post box and posted my DVDs and returned to the boat. At this point I was losing enough oxygen to cause hallucinations. The fledgling tree, that Cosmic had mentioned was near his car last time we went shopping, had grown into a thick trunked tree, sprouting leaves and thorns. There was no doubt about it, something would have to be done. When I managed to row back to the lighthouse, I began to wonder if the size of the tree had not become exaggerated in my mind due to the lack of air. But somehow I doubted it.
When I returned to my room I noticed that both the carpet rugs had been taken up. Apparently several vacuums were needed and the washing machine required vacuuming as well after the washes. Whole new life forms had been lost in the washing of the ancient, dusty rugs. On each day I lose a bit of my dusty past and grow nearer to moving old things out and bringing new things in.
While I was out, there had been a phone call from Dull But Honest. He had commented on the jungle that was closing in around Caustic Cove. He had a plan. So Cosmic said we would get back to him.
PAPER, PAPER EVERYWHERE
Paper, paper everywhere, nor any page to print. Paper to the left of me, paper to the right. Paper to process, paper to throw, paper under foot and under bottom. Paper under desk and chair and nerves. Trying to balance banks and balance on a high wire. Life has gone on without me, while I have been digging myself out from under an avalanche of paper. Although. other than the loss of a carpet or two, I have not missed much or been missed. The tennis has kept me interested. Without Wimbledon, I may well have fallen off the wire or drowned under the waves of figures.
Beverley (she who writes the internal monologue of The Picayune) decides at this point to stop recording. She believes that The Picayune is ever so slightly being over dramatic and melodramatic. He is after all talking about paper. Paper as rubbish and paper as accounts. So with this in mind, Beverley turns her attention to the last few days in the life of Cosmic and co. As you know, she doesn't record the internal thoughts of anybody but The Picayune, but she is on good terms of the internal recorders of others. So it is with good authority we leave the ramblings about paper and move instead to the World of Weeds at the battle for Caustic Cove.
It all started on a Thursday. Well no, it actually started long before that. It really started when the fool of a gardener decided to hide some prize winning painted bulls under the ground at Cosmic's. If you missed the story or want to be reminded of it then please refer to 'The Story So Far'. Anyway this part of the weed story started on a Thursday. Cosmic was on his way to give Cass a lift to work when he noticed a bit of paper stuck under the windscreen wiper of his car. The note simply said he must go to the church where he would receive further instructions. Cosmic would normally ignore notes like this. He has after all been involved in the pop music world and frankly there were all sort of notes passed then that were best avoided. But when Cass saw the note, she too knew it meant something important. So much so, that Cass was willing to forgo the day at work and join Cosmic in his adventure.
Cosmic had to drive into Havensedge, over the racecourse and around the wall of death. Then turn right at the 'Nothing to see here' sign. Down the slope over the speed bumps. Turn third right at the 'Go away, there really is nothing to see' sign. Although badly vandalised, it actually reads 'G way. there really is see'. But one understands the point the original sign was supposed to convey. Then Cosmic drove over more speed bumps and then left into a hidden drive that leads to a slope and a tight turn and a car park full of cars. The car park sits alongside a run down church. Cosmic somehow manages to find a place to park and waits. Cass asks him why he doesn't actually go into the church. Cosmic explains that the note said nothing about going into the church. Cass tuts and as she climbs out of the car and walks towards the church, the rain begins to fall. Cosmic puts on his windscreen wipers and it is then he discovers the squeaky windscreen wipers have been made squeakier by sticking a note under them.
Cass heads towards the stairs that are in front of the church. She is wearing bifocals and the steps are wet. Cass walks up the slippery steps, like a mountaineer climbing the north face of the Eiger. When she reaches the door, she pushes it and goes in. There is a lady sitting at the desk. She greets Cass.
" We have been expecting you Mr. Antidust". The woman at reception says.
" No I am not he of whom you speak. I am a friend and wish do gather the instructions a note said he should collect", Cass replies. (Beverley would like to point out that she doesn't take any responsibility for the accuracy of some of the dialogue. Not all internal thought recorders are as vigilant as she is).
So Cass is shown into a corridor and follows some more steps and has to climb them. Her back is playing her up and she is puffing away. Cass reaches a door marked ' You have been misinformed'. The door is locked. Cass makes her way down the stairs. The lady at the reception makes a phone call on receiving the news that the door is locked.
" Oh is he? Right then, so he will not be back at all. Shall I just give Mr Antidust the key then? Right oh" The lady gives Cass a key. Cass finds the return journey much easier up the stairs this time. Good to know. So Cass tries the key in the door. It doesn't fit. So Cass returns to the reception. The lady at reception makes another phone call. " Oh is he? Right then, so it is all right to tell Mr Antidust the combination.". Cass is given some numbers and returns to the office via the stairs. Her back is feeling nice and loose at this point. So Cass reaches the door to the office. She puts her key in the lock and under the mat she is standing on, a number pad is revealed. Cass presses the numbers of the combination. A bell is heard from inside the office. A girl comes to the door and opens it. Cass explains why she is here. " Right then", says the girl. " You must be Mr Antidust". Cass says she isn't. The girl hands her a note. The note says ' Sorry you have called while I am out. Join Mr Straw and Mr Dull But Honest at the lighthouse tomorrow. All will be revealed'.
Cass returns to the reception and then heads down the steps. The steps are now very wet and she hangs on to the railings as she descends. She is as cautious as a mine sweeper without a mine sweeping machine. Cass climbs back into the car. Cosmic has the radio on. " Raining at Wimbledon" he informs her.
Once back at the lighthouse, The Picayune continues to talk about paper.
So we return to The Picayune's closing statement.
Where was I? Oh yes I know. Did anybody leave at any point in the last few seconds? I felt I was talking to myself. Anyway all this paper, hear me roar, too loud to ignore, for I am ......actually now you come to mention it, something else strange did happen. Cosmic and Cass arrived home talking about Dull But Honest and Silas Straw turning up. I said I know. Then they ask me how did I know? Well because they rang and told me. It is all to do with the War of the Weeds. It is going to be very hot next week. Perfect fighting weed weather.
Now back to the real story of the paper.
THE GATHERING
A thick sea fret hung over the lighthouse for most of the day. Whether by design or just luck, the mist did enough to hide the gathering that was taking place. The plan was not to take the normal route to the lighthouse. The Caustic Cove quay side was already being watched over by the ever growing, ever increasing weeds. The weeds and thorns were everywhere now. Children had been told to keep indoors. Pets had been lost. Now the emergency services were keeping a low profile. They wouldn't admit but too many men and women had been lost in the forest of disdain. So when the first boat arrived at the lighthouse, it had come from along the coast. In the hope that secrecy could be kept for just a little bit longer. The crow faced scarecrow Silas Straw was the first to arrive. He knew the surrounding countryside like no other. He had worked long hours in the fields and was only too aware of the impending disaster. The raised voices of Bernie Woodstain and Ethel arrived long before their owners stepped in through the front door. Nobody had been expecting them. They had nevertheless been informed or more honestly instructed to attend. The last to arrive was Dull But Honest. A man nobody considered a friend, but to whom Cosmic, Ethel and Bernie owed their lives. So the gathering seemed complete. But, just as Cass was about to relax after making tea and coffee for everyone, another knock on the door silenced the assembled group. Cass went to the door. A man and a young girl stood there. The man introduced himself.
There were not enough seats to satisfy everybody, even if the piles of clothes had been removed from some of chairs. Cass apologised for the hanging down ceiling and asked everybody to make themselves as comfortable as possible. Suddenly there was a crashing noise from upstairs. Cosmic was the first to reach the reason for the disturbance. When he returned to the group, he informed them that The Picayune had dropped off while sitting at the computer and was dreaming. He had kicked his desk across the room and some speakers and papers had been scattered. The Picayune arrived seconds later and complained that he couldn't find anything important since he had tidied up.
The stranger with the daughter was the first to speak sense. " My name is Legion, Henry Legion and this is my daughter Lexxy. Say hello to everybody Lexxy" The man pulled at the girls hand and she just made a noise, not unlike a female tennis player serving an ace. Various members of the gathering dived for cover in fear. This allowed The Picayune to sit down in his usual chair. Legion smiled, and continued.
" You see lady and gentleman, I know why we are here. Lexxy's mother has been a victim of the weed. She is missing and the authorities do not believe any of us. They cannot see the threat the weeds pose. I want you to know that we are only too aware of the danger we are all in. All of you have skills that will become useful as the war goes on. Well not all of you have skills obviously, but we had to meet somewhere. So without further ado I would like to introduce the leader of our justice league of Caustic Cove. Mr Dull But Honest". With that, the man named Legion stepped back into a trinket laden shelf and spent the next half an hour apologising and picking things up off the floor. While he did this, Dull But Honest informed the gathering that the war against the weeds would not be a quick nor easy one. It would have to be conducted by stealth, hit and run and grab and cut tactics. The gathering couldn't use chain saws. That is what attracted the weeds to attack and capture the people who had gone in to cut the weeds in the first place. No, the gathering must use silent cutting. Attack different areas at different times. Never go alone and always be careful of cuts and scrapes.
So it was on this day that it began. Well the planning bit anyway. The war of the weeds was declared. The gathering silently dispersed from the lighthouse. There was silence before the dawn. Especially for The Picayune who had dropped off again and was dreaming of kicking something.
BREAKING THE ROUTINE
When you have done something for years, it comes as a shock when you find the thing you need to do it is not there. It should be there, because I put it there. I have a failsafe system that I check every so often. But the failsafe also failed. So a routine thing now has to be more complicated. It means communication with people. That means I shall have to put if off until the very last minute. I hate routine, but I hate it even more when that routine I hate is broken through no fault of my own.
The lighthouse has instruments for the tide and the temperature and the wind direction. In the early days we used to check on them every few hours. As it no longer had any connection to work, watching the changes was fun. But after a while the routine becomes pointless, until that is, we have a slight change in the weather. Mention our two day heatwave to people who live in the hotter parts of the World, and all you receive is a guffaw or a snobbish comment. But if someone living on the North Pole spoke of 12 degree changes, everybody would panic and want to know more. But we are just laughed at. Problem with the lighthouse is it has different temperatures for different places within the lighthouse. The battery operated LED thermometer, that measures the heat out and in , on the north east part of the lighthouse. Is announcing thirty one and a half degrees in and over thirty out. Clearly this is wrong. I am standing there looking at it, knowing that, even in a dry heat, it isn't that warm. The display on the first floor says it is about twenty two degrees inside. While the big brass, old fashioned tide clock and gauge, situated at the front and in the full glare of the early morning sun, announces to those that care that it is twenty six degrees. Now this gauge is situated in a glassed in spot that is like a greenhouse. If we wanted the hottest place in the lighthouse to warm ourselves that would be it. So while it is no doubt becoming warmer. The fact is that, right now, we are mid to high twenties,
As I worked really hard last week, I feel doubly cheated that things still go wrong. I am also making sure that I will join the weed war when it is cooler. Frankly I care little for cutting down thorns and weeds. But as Cosmic tells me his house was mentioned as the start of the infestation. People being people have shown their sympathy by muttering obscenities behind his back, while throwing fruit and dairy products at him. This is a good thing in a way and has saved on shopping for said items. So to show support, I will join in the cutting and the weeding. But when it is cooler and at a time that best suits us all. Or suits me really.
Cass wants to deliver some work in Havenedge today. I shall have to decide if it will be cooler in a car or on the lighthouse. Otherwise I am stuck with the filing and yet more rubbish. No break in the routine there then.
WATCHING
Watching the early weather report on television. I see that on the satellite picture, we have thunderstorms in and around Havenedge. As a child, I would have thought it impossible that we would be able to see satellite pictures and see what weather we are having at the moment. In those days we would have just looked out of the window. I look out of the window. It is still hot and sunny. Everybody in the lighthouse is up early because of the heat. We await the storms.
Watching the early news report on television. I see that the public service workers in Havenedge are striking. They will march through the city with posters and placards, denouncing the Government. Apparently they will now have to pay more and work longer for the same pension. So they have now caught up with most of the rest of us. I wonder where these people have been for the last few years? Or am I the only one who has suffered from diminishing pension forecasts for the last five years? I wasn't the only one? So where have the public service workers been?
Watching the early report from Wimbledon Tennis, I am aware I only know one name in the Women's quarter finals. But it doesn't matter. Every other big sport event has suffered from lack of interest over the years. The FA Cup final is no longer the big event it used to be. Cricket test matches can come and go without a ripple on the consciousness. Boxing World Champions are not the events they used to be. So while tennis lacks the characters of ten, twenty, thirty years ago. Wimbledon remains an event.
Watching the rain and thunder in the afternoon I am aware that there is activity in Caustic Cove. I can hear people talking. The atmosphere must be making the acoustics clearer than usual. Cosmic waits until it has settled down before putting the recycling out. The more Cosmic stays at the lighthouse the more he takes on my dislike of the outside world. He is aware people know his house is the epicentre of the weed problem. People are not quiet in blaming him nor backward in expressing their opinion. As somebody who was once a popular figure, he doesn't understand how quickly the public can turn. Or how easily lies can take on the veneer of fact.
Watching The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, standing in the rain, grinning. I am reminded that for no apparent reason he can turn up. Still I have cleared another desk today. In my room it is just the shelves to tidy and the top of the television and stereo cabinet to sort out. We are slowly but shortly managing to sort things out.
SELF HELP
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks was sitting at the table. I say sitting, but he was perched somewhat uncomfortably, on a few carpets that had been put in a bag and put on the chair, that he was a attempting to sit on. He beckoned me over with a bony finger. On the table, amongst the growing debris of existence, lay a few books. They were self help books. They had titles like 'What to do when The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body Comes A Calling'. 'Just say no to the bark' and ' A thousand and one ways to clean the guttering'. The last book I think was a mistake but appeared the most useful.
Gesturing towards the books, The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks encouraged me to pick one up. So I reached for the nearest one. Self help books tend to be like books about astrology. We know it isn't true and no explanation quite fits perfectly anyway. 'You are on the cusp of Aries and it is all your Mothers fault for leaving you to cry as a baby'. That sort of thing. With books about The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, one finds that they all say how strong those that see The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks are. Then the books try and tell you why you see The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks. They give you several alternatives. None however completely fit. So you end up with a sort of mix and match affair. None however come up with the simplest explanation. People who see The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, simply don't like themselves or other people very much. They look at The World and see the weakness and decay in everything. It is all a chemical reaction. Nothing one can do about it except take drugs and think happy thoughts. I walk away from the table and when I glance back, The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks has gone.
Bernie Woodstain has been covering the marching strikers in Havensedge. But he wasn't impressed. Try as he might he couldn't coax out a decent quote. What was worse apparently, was that he ended up arguing with the protesters. They were talking about increased contributions for their pensions and falling pensions and no wage increase in two years. Bernie said he hadn't had a wage increase in five years and his pension was falling. So a young teacher of English poked him in the chest with a banner and told him that they actually had to pay for their pension. So Bernie said he did as well. "But", said the teacher," We actually have to pay for our pensions". So Bernie repeated " so does the private sector". So there was a row and nobody really understood what the other side were saying. Then somebody shouted " down with the posh oiks in Government", then someone else mentioned Socialism. Bernie said Socialism never worked because under the Socialist Governments the divide between rich and poor widen. Then somebody else cried out 'down with Socialism and the posh oiks in opposition'. Then there was a chant 'you'll never take the station', which was aimed at the Police and referred to the railway station. Then things became confusing. Bernie tried to write a piece for the local paper but he gave up. Which is the reason he ended up sitting in the lighthouse nursing a Stella Lager. Don't they have somewhere else to go? Like the pub for instance? Bernie said the pub was full of drinking teachers.
Cosmic found a good stream for watching football via the Internet. Yes football starts before the tennis ends. Great picture and much debate. But my heart isn't in it. One side can't name a the full compliment of substitutes, while the other wants to still be on holiday. Still the fans like it. Good crowd and Cosmic shouts at the screen in frustration from time to time. It is as if it football has never been away. Oh it hasn't has it?
Cass is keeping quiet about her birthday. We never really celebrate birthdays. Cass always has a Wimbledon birthday and in the past that would mean watching tennis. Mine usually falls on a bank holiday. So we revert to just cake and bread as a celebration. Cosmic decides to talk about all the wild parties he had in the good old rock and roll days. I ask what they were like. He tells me I don't want to know. At least that little ruse on my part worked. Cake and bread it is.
NO MORE EXCUSES
Well that is it then. Only two more reasons not to go to war with the weed wizard. Then I will run out of excuses. Yes Wimbledon is over soon. Watched the men's semi finals with great enthusiasm. Until that is, in the second semi final, the British player stopped playing. It was weird, but as the British player was a set up and a point from nearly being two breaks up. He made a mistake and missed an easy winner. At that moment I turned to Cosmic and said that it was over and Murray would now just go to pieces. Which is what happened. Like most things in life. It is not about the losing, but the way of the loss. Being beaten by the better player is not shameful. But stopping playing is. Anyway we all have our views and nobody really cares what people think. That's why football clubs can change their colours so they can flog more strips to the fans who happily spend out the money. Nobody cares that they’re being conned. Or that a hundred years of tradition has just been ignored. Who cares after all? It is just a pair of shorts.
Talking of football, I left Cosmic to watch the tennis when Andy Murray had confirmed my fears he was going on a walkabout. Ah that reminds me of Evonne Goolagong. Who became Evonne Cawley. Proper players in those days. Stan Smith, Arthur Ashe, Jimmy Connors. Anyway where was I? Oh yes, leaving Cosmic downstairs, I went up to the computer to watch the Women England team play in the World Cup. Losing to New Zealand, they rallied to win. Still playing poorly but a win nonetheless.
So with Murray losing and Cosmic watching and swearing in one room. I was watching England Women's team struggle and was venting forth in another. Cass decided to leave the sport and do things. There was a crash in a third room and the noise of vacuum cleaners and swearing in another. I have no idea what she was doing and hoped I wouldn't care. But she appeared, suddenly framed in my doorway, wearing a strange gold lame top, with an old anorak over it. She then demanded my lower shelf as she had need of it. My shelf had books on it and I was in no hurry to clear it. So I said I would clear it tomorrow. Cass then went away and made noises and uttered rude words.
I decided to microwave a shepherd's pie as there was nobody else who seemed to heading into the kitchen to feed me. I am no stranger to the microwave. I know my way around one. So I defrosted the pie and then cooked it as per instructions. I sat down just as Cosmic was leaving the room. The lighthouse isn't that big but it is odd how often people leave a room when I enter it. So I began to eat my feast. Problem is it had turned into a gloop of charcoal. I don't know why? But I persevered and chipped away and crunched my way through it. Then ate the last bag of Malteser chocolate as a prize for myself for eating such a vile meal.
Come Monday, there will be no more excuses. I will have to return my mind to helping fight the weed war. Sorting out a missing prescription. Trying to clear my room. Helping Cosmic return to his own home. Oh well, never mind.
Wait a moment though. I wonder what Cass will buy me for her birthday treat? Those Maltesers went down very well.
THE ANTIQUE SOUL SHOW
A very thin woman, but attractive, in a would look good in high heels and leather sort of way. Is talking to The Picayune. She is asking him how long he has had it. The Picayune thinks for a moment. The reply is that he has had it for as long as he can remember. " Well why do you want get rid of it now?" she asks. The Picayune says that it has been put away in a drawer for so long, he never uses it anymore, so it would be good if it could go to a good home. The woman tells him it is about to go to auction and wishes him good luck.
" Lot 75, fat soul with no outstanding achievements. Selling to free space up. I will start at twenty pounds. Twenty pounds anybody? Twenty pounds anywhere? How about we start at Fifteen pounds? Anybody at fifteen pounds? Ten anybody? Twenty one grams anywhere? No, nobody wants it? Right then it goes unsold" Man slams hammer on desk.
The very thin woman tells The Picayune he will have to take it home with him. Does he mind? No not really The Picayune lies. So he leaves, taking his soul with him. A drunk man is crying on the steps leading to the auction house. He pleads to The Picayune to go back in and bid for a Trans receiver 30ps. The Picayune says he has no money. So the drunk reaches into his pocket and gives The Picayune a handful of change. So returning to the auction house, The Picayune starts bidding. He fails to buy the 30ps trans receiver. He has nowhere near enough money. But the drunk is mortified when told of the failure.
" I only have that much. It is always the same. I can never afford it. You will have to help me." the drunk says "We need to gather more money. We must buy the Trans receiver 30ps. I can set it up once we have it. Then we can stop it. We can show people"
A blond woman is looking at an old room with plain curtains and carpets. Nice enough room but it doesn't look lived in. She has a gang of people knock down walls and create a gaudy, technicolour, vile and over done mess. The woman announces that it looks "really really nice". But it doesn't. The blond woman says that any tired, old soul can be made over for the price of thirty or even twenty pieces of silver. Nobody looks convinced.
Outside the house where the soul is being 'made over'. A bloke is putting stuff away in a van. Packing up after the shoot, as they say. The bloke is talking to his mate.
" So I says to them. You can't keep building new souls. It says in the handbook. Original sin is not on. So what do they do? They arrest you and make you guilty for buying the bricks but congratulate you for building the house. But it is clear in the handbook. It's the begetting that's the sin. The original sin is having more souls. The sin is wanting immortality like whatsit and begetting kids. It is clear as day in the bloody handbook. We are the problem. We are the germ. Stop original sin it says. So what do we do, we change what original sin is........Pass the ladder over will you mate, we can then be on our way."
Helena Sukova, the once tennis star is looking at an odd looking tube with a small top. She scratches her chin and announces in a broad Yorkshire accent, that the thing she is looking at is not a toilet. It doesn't serve the function it has been invented for. It doesn't work. It shouldn't be here.
Later that morning, Cass talks about her take on something, someone said on the television. Being Sunday, it has something to do with sin. The Picayune remembers a dream he had.
IN THE CENTRE OF IMMENSITIES
The card from the dentists came today. Reminding us that we have a routine checkup to arrange. I have to also arrange a prescription replacement. Then there is the posting of the DVD. A few bookshelves to rearrange. When one is in the lighthouse, the hope is always that the outside world will slip away without me noticing it. But it doesn't. Then the phone calls start, yes we will drop in tomorrow, yes we can do that, no we can't do that. Without the outside world the lighthouse would be meaningless. It is just annoying that with the world poking and nudging me all the time, I find the meaning of it all confusing.
Take the dentists for instance. I hate dentists, but the one we go to is fine. Many years ago, I was in pain with a toothache. I hadn't been to a dentist in fifteen years. So I had to go to an emergency private dentist to sort out a temporary filling. Then arrange to go and see an NHS dentist. I wasn't living in the lighthouse. So I dealt with the problem without a fuss. It was a bit of life that was mine. I kept on going to my new NHS dentist. Even though the waiting room chairs were too small for me to sit in, or too low for me to climb out of. But the dentist was mine. Then last year, just after I came back to the lighthouse. Just before Christmas if the truth be told. Cass complained of a toothache. She likes dentists as much as I do. She no longer had trust in hers and so I suggested mine. So she now goes to mine. Now we go together. Now we even are asked to go into the Dentist's surgery at the same time. It is no longer my dentist. But our dentist. I have the same fear and annoyance about going. But it is no longer my fear alone.
Cosmic hopes it will rain. Otherwise he will have to take a sponge over to his car. The birds have decorated his windscreen. We are not allowed to kill seagulls, or rid the lighthouse of their nests. Nor are we allowed to chuck water at them. Apparently they are endangered and so are protected. I see no sign here of the demise of the pests. But the law is the law. So we must just keep cleaning and putting up with them. I just wish they would nest in the perfectly good cliff face down the road.
Another protected species are the thorn bushes that are amongst the weeds that are about to throttle the life out of Caustic Cove. The thorns are the flowering kind and attract butterflies. As so many people have concrete as a garden and a foreign thorn that doesn't flower has invaded our shores. It turns out our flowering thorn bushes need to be protected. People go missing and are attacked on a daily basis. But we now have to arrange to attack the thorn bushes, even more in secret. Hasn't stopped people throwing things at Cosmic because they still blame him for the weed infestation. As it was his house the weeds allegedly began their invasion.
So I stand in the crumbling lighthouse looking out at all this confusion. Then comes the report of a mid air plane crash along the coast. One plane made it, one didn't. We hear little buzzing planes go over all the time, heading for the small airport. The reports suggest the dead pilot crashed the plane in an open playground area, fighting to control the plane. He managed to clear the houses and by some miracle, nobody was out walking the dog, or playing in the playground. Fighting to protect others even as he knew he was about to die. Fighting to protect his specie. Not sure I would care enough to be that brave.
A helicopter has been up around us all day. There was a security van heist in Caustic Cove. Pictures of suspects have been sent to us all via the net. I feel for the security guards. I did their job once.
In the lighthouse we can't forget the outside world. It keeps telling us to stop doing things and to start doing something else. But I prefer to be here, looking out. I may have to visit it on the odd occasion. But I wouldn't want to live in the outside world. Not for any length of time.
I PUT THIS MOMENT HERE
A day when what had to be done was done. But nothing was done to chip away at what has to be done. Odd then that Cosmic feels contented. Contented that what had to be done was done. But I remind him of all the things that have to be done. Cosmic remarks that, there lies the difference between us. He looks at yesterday and remarks that we remain on course. On course for what? Doesn't seem to matter to Cosmic. We are just on course. Where as I complain that tomorrow we could sink. Sink from what or whom doesn't seem to matter to me. We could just sink. Cosmic reminds me that it is all finite. He also reminds me it is rubbish day and we need to order the shopping.
One thing I did do was organise my prescription. The receptionist was very nice and although they don't do reorders for lost prescriptions over the phone. On this rare occasion she would do it for me. I thank her and the post arrives with an NHS questionnaire about service. Are the two connected? Cass calls me a lucky so and so. Here was me thinking it was just my nice demeanour. Cosmic says if it was him on the phone reordering a prescription he would still think it was his calm demeanour. That, he says is the difference between us. Why all the reminders of the differences we share?
I have been receiving emails by my 'spy in the know', Deep Dull tells me the latest gossip concerning the weed war and football, Who signed for who and why. Who’s been cutting what thorn off what plant. Dull But Honest fools nobody but he has so many different aliases I forget it is the same person. He may be very clever but Dull But Honest doesn't like being himself. We live in a time and space that was made for him. I make this point to Cosmic, who just looks at me in a condescending manner. What could he mean?
We order the shopping and arrange the whole two boat ferry system. We make sure the delivery van knows where to stop and everything is in place. We make sure Cass and Cosmic and myself are all available for the delivery. On the morning of the delivery an automated phone call from the credit card company tells us there may have been an unauthorised use of our card. We check, there isn't. Sighs all round. Then Cass has a thought. She used the card for an order or two in the Internet. I used it to buy Cosmic some petrol and we used it for the shopping. We check the email from the supermarket. Everything seems OK. Delivery time, confirmation of arrangements. But Cass insists on ringing them up. I tell her the supermarket would have told us before now, via the many means of communication available to them, if there had been a problem. After all, it is now just three hours before the delivery time. But Cass being a belt and braces sort of person, rings up anyway. Yes the order has been cancelled by the credit card company. For no reason except the card has been used twice that day. No checks and no confirmation other than an automated phone call which was half an hour ago. Security just a little heavy handed. So we have to re arrange everything again. An extra charge for a delivery time, twenty four hours after the original delivery time appears instantly on an email. So we have an email confirming our original order and one giving us another order time with an extra payment charge. Still no cancellation email.
Modern life can be very odd. Cass is busy complaining by email about the lack of email from the supermarket. We tend to feel the credit card company were at least doing the job of security. Even if they couldn't spare the expense of asking us, other than with an automated call that came too late to save our shopping.
Cosmic says it is raining. It will at least clean the muck from the car windscreen.
MIRROR UNIVERSE
Keeping my head down today and Cosmic has retreated to a safe part of the lighthouse. But I cannot avoid the fallout. Cass is still up in arms about the shopping cancellation. Everything would have been fine but the supermarket replied to her complaint. They sent two emails. One was to a Mrs Higginthorpe and one was to Cass. Not a good start. Both emails explained that after the order for the shopping had been cancelled, the supermarket sent a text to our home phone number, but received no reply. If we didn't receive a text then we should contact our telephone provider. Cass is livid. She writes back an email explaining there were no missed calls, our main phone doesn't take texts and we are still charged extra delivery. However the email cannot be sent to the address provided and comes back undelivered. So Cass sends it to another address within the Supermarket email system. For some reason, the normally calm Cass is hopping mad and continues to complain to me and the passing seagulls, I tell her to calm down. What sort of strange alternate universe have I woken up in?
Talking of hopping mad people, Cass says she should go to the doctor as her back is stopping her walk any distance or madly hop. The pain starts after a few steps and then catches her. As a family we have always suffered from sciatica. Mine has been eased of late by sleeping with a cushion between my knees. Cass at last tries this remedy, but complains the next morning of the knees clapping the cushion so tightly it caused tension in her back. I am no doctor but I think that may be where part of her problem lies. She cannot relax when she is relaxing. I find myself explaining this and wonder what strange part I have been given in the days proceedings. I am the one with tension and moan and Cass tells me to chill. So why the reversal? Still I suggest that she make an appointment to the doctors if she thinks it will help. But they will only tell her to stop smoking and lose weight and take exercise. Cass says she can't take exercise because of her back. Isn't that what I have said is my problem? Anyway, Cass bends down and lifts and moves shelves and shows that there is little wrong with her back. If it is only walking that brings on the really bad pain (the pain is always there), try strengthening the legs with bending and standing and thigh work. Release the tension. Although I have a feeling Cass will turn to her cancer stick and wine to release the tension. But I can but advice.
I always have a pain in my back as well. I am not one to complain. But now the pain is moving down. Now I know why.
Cosmic says there are weeds growing around the quayside where the shopping will be delivered. I cannot stand anymore tension and tell him to stop it. When did I become the one people moan to. I am the moaner not the moaned at.
Today is Friday, and that puzzles me. How did it happen so quickly? There is still so much to do and it is Friday. Friday is the day I do things to put a full stop on the week. But then outside influences change the full stop into a comma (please don't mention punctuation - Beverley the internal monologue recorder) and I am left waiting for a new paragraph.
Shopping arrives and some things arrive in a bag and can be transported easily. While others are not. It takes forever to transport stuff over to the lighthouse. Then we start putting things away. After a time my back kicks in and I sit down and go through the list. I hear Cass moan at all the things I have put away as they are not in alphabetical order or date order or size order or something. We go through the list. Two bottles of vinegar, we ordered one and one egg actually missing from a egg box. Weird or what. Cosmic jumps around looking busy and then we all sit down for a break. But Cosmic senses the tension and is off after a sandwich. I ask how the pain is in my sister's back while mine still throbs. Cass says I remind her of a man she saw the other day on a documentary. He was an old Nazi who used to do what old Nazi people tented to do. He was friendly with Hitler, but whenever Hitler was cross with him he used to retire to his room in a self pitying swoon. Then order the deaths of hundreds. He would need somebody to strike his hand when he was trying to go to sleep.
Now I think you can understand why I retired to my room, in a self pitying swoon after reminding Cass of somebody like that. So a very odd day trips along in a very odd way. A very odd way. Now I had a list to finish. Where did I put it?
NEWS, VIEWS AND NOWHERE TO GO
We were looking forward to the weekend. When one sets out the day to include everything one wants to see or hear. Make the seat nice and comfy and the television and computer at the perfect angle. One doesn't expect constant disappointment. Live to the Golf to see the best players hide from the storm. A tree falling short of the green. Water in the perfect position on the fairway. Play expected to start at midday, no two, no four o'clock. No forget it, come back tomorrow.
Still there was always the motor racing. Very little point in watching until the actual race tomorrow. Looking at a bunch of people, fill in time until the same drivers take the poll positions is dull in the extreme. But no matter, as we have the football. England Women's team in the quarter final of the World Cup. Preceding that, a friendly between a newly promoted side to the league and an eleven from Foolem. Listen to that live. Foolem miss, miss, other team don't, don't. Right World Cup to watch. Good game score first. Tense, exciting stuff. Few minutes to go, manager puts on two subs in the defence. Two minutes to go England concede. All over now. We are all walking wounded, the French are not. Cosmic crying because that pretty French girl in full make up has been substituted. Me crying because it goes to penalties. We lead with just two penalties to go. We lose the game on penalties.
News is full of news about news and the abuse of news and how the papers obtain news. It is all very news worthy. Newspaper to close so another one can be let out of the news pen by the same news proprietor. But is it the newspapers fault or the people that by them? Which leads us onto the banks and is it really their fault or the people that put money in them? Are the Government to blame or the people that voted for them? Are people to blame or the people that have them? Is God to blame or the people that do or don't believe in God? If I take the blame, will we stop blaming others?
Cass has been looking at my walls. Or rather the space left from the shelves she took down. I say that I have posters to fill the space. Cass decides that this is a bad idea. She wants to fill the holes and wash the walls and paint the walls and ........ For my part I suggest a quick dust and then cover the holes with the posters. But no, we have to set up a committee and discuss the homeless children and then decide on the colour of the paint, Cass wants a colour I don't. What am I, three years years old? On second thoughts I was given a choice at three years old. No, I say, putting my foot down. My room, my posters and that is an end to it.
Cass has put up insect screens at her windows, that allow air in and smoke out. But stops the giant moths from coming in. I rather like those and if there comes a time I can reach my windows. I may ask her to put some up for me.
THE LAND THAT DRUGS FORGOT
A warmish day, nice enough to take the boat for a row. A gentle stroll to the chemists, and a gentle stroll back. Yeah right, as if that was ever going to happen. Cosmic has a headache and an upset stomach. So it is down to Cass to go to the chemists. But she went out Sunday for her drug habit. Not to the chemists but to the local Co-op to buy cigarettes. Cosmic was well enough then to give her a lift. Well, I say that but he was moaning and complaining then. But when you are a drug addict like Cass, it matters not how you obtain the quick fix. Or who it effects. So we are stuck. Although I have one ace up my sleeveless sleeve. I phone Dull But Honest. I ask him how he is and we talk about the football over the weekend and moan. I then ask if he will be popping into Caustic Cove? He says he isn't. I explain the problem we have. True, I did lay it on a bit thick. Still, it is good to know one has real friends when the going is tough.
A warmish day, nice enough to take the boat for a row. I take the keys to Cosmic's car. Cass tells me the chemist is shut until a quarter passed two. I don't think it is. So Cass checks and I am right. She stands by the post and a clock which is running nearly an hour fast. I am aware of neither of these things. As soon as I leave the door of the lighthouse I am attacked by seagulls. The little darlings have managed to lose, not one, but two baby seagulls from the nest. As I race to the boat. Well alright, walk a bit quicker than usual to the boat, the baby seagulls are intent on keeping pace with me on the ground. My attempts to shoo them away only cause their parents, and what feels like most of their neighbours, to join them in security duty. Eventually I manage to climb into the boat and row towards Caustic Cove. However, despite leaving the baby seagulls behind, the parents and friends continue to attack me. By the time I have reached Cosmc's car, I am covered in sweat as well as droppings.
I spend several minutes remembering how to adjust the car seat in Cosmic's car, but I manage it and off I go. I park as close to the chemists in Caustic Cove as I can. At this point I can feel my good nature bursting from me. Although the truth be told, I have my prescription to pick up anyway, not sure if I can take another day without my drugs. So I walk to the chemists from the car and open the door. Except it doesn't open. I move the handle again. No it will not budge. I look at the sign. 'Closed for lunch, between one and two o' clock.' It is half past one. I realise I should have checked more than one time piece. When I return to the car I realise I have forgotten the post. I curse Cass as the devil incarnate. But as I am still in the car myself I decide to return to the lighthouse, by which time I can return with the post.
They wait before I set foot off the boat before attacking me. I collect the post and return from whence I came. But this time the seagulls stay with me. I scramble to the car and return to the chemists. I ask for all the stomach calming things and headache pills and forget my prescription until I reach the car. I return to the chemist who then asks me if I was the gentleman who came earlier when they were shut for lunch. I say I have just been in to collect headache pills and stomach pills, have they forgotten already? But our little routine is lost in the sound of drills and hammering. The chemists have the builders in. They must be expanding.
Having returned to the lighthouse, I take my coat off and put it near the washing machine for washing. I retire to my room and take my prescription, a headache pill and a stomach pill. I dream of seagulls opening doors with keys and going to the bathroom to have showers. I awake to the sound of seagulls and my stomach's hunger calls.
What was I saying about drugs?
WARNING - DO NOT MIX DRUGS WITHOUT DOCTORS PERMISSION. JUST SAY NO.
I AM A ROCK
Rain and wind battering the old lighthouse today. Cosmic is awake and moving around. He hasn't been talking to me ever since I came back from the chemists and forgot to tell him I had some medicine for his funny stomach. He seems better now, but is in an odd mood. As the golf has been on television , his mood hasn't really affected me. Too busy working and watching the television to care. With Cass also unable to go to work because of a heavy cold, I have been the only one fit and healthy. Trouble is, my 'fit and healthy' is most peoples 'slow and painful'.
As I was the only one available to do it, I had to go out and do things. On my own and without help. I was fine as it was a nice, even a little too warm, day. I was fine, that is, until I went to the bank. I had taken Cosmic's car and was worried I had broken the driving seat. Then I walked the small distance, a few yards, to the bank, joined a long queue and was waiting. I was debating with myself on the advantage of filling in a form and posting the cheques I was paying in. Or wait until the queue moved along and I could pay over the counter. I was looking around happily, playing with my new found freedom. When I noticed the reflection in the protected glass of the counter. I was there, slightly bent over, pained expression on my face, three times the size of the people around me. The last of my race amongst the new human species. It really felt as if I didn't belong there. Not then and not amongst these people. So I actually left the bank. No really, that is what I did. I left the bank and returned to the car. I sat there thinking how odd all this was. By 'this' I meant the whole kit and caboodle. Life and banks and queuing up and traffic. It all seemed odd. Even worse than usual. Was this simply a reaction for me cutting myself off from the world, taking no part in it? I had become the stranger in a strange land, I always imagined I was. Be careful what you wish for.
Driving around, I was drawn to all the familiar places. Weeds and signs blocking off roads, making even this pastime a complicated adventure. In the car I felt safe enough, divided from those outside. I could acknowledge people when they left a space for me, or I let somebody in. It was only when I over analysed it, I imagined my alien frame peering from the normality of the earthbound car. Not sure how long this feeling stayed with me. But eventually I returned to the bank and the paying in of the cheques. The queue had gone and the girl behind the counter smiled as I presented the paying in book. She masked her repulsion well. What did I expect, the screaming of the body snatcher? Fact is, I am spending too much time alone. I need to go out more. The barrier of the water between the lighthouse and the land has made the sanctuary a prison. Which sounds all well and good. But when I phoned up Cass to ask if she wanted to come shopping, I realised I would starve before mixing with the outside world again.
Rain and wind battering the lighthouse today. The sea is rough and the golf is on the television. It is dark and nobody is talking to each other. I feel safe and contented. Who needs people and exercise? I finish off a caramel chocolate bar and feel a sugar rush coming on. My heart starts jumping about. Life is good. As long as I am left alone. As long as I can keep ordering in.
127 MINUTES (ACTUALLY MUCH LESS TO BE HONEST)
The golf was coming to an end. I had no more excuses. I would have time for a shower and all that that involves. Have something to eat, watch the DVD. All before I recorded 'Law and Order UK' while watching 'Coast'. Time it was a ticking.
First thing was to climb out of the chair. It is not a chair, but a couch, a settee that has a bed in it. I used the bed every night for years. Until I moved. Then disaster happens and I am back sitting in the couch in my room. I think it is broken because I now sink into it. Climbing out means supporting my weight with my left arm on the arm of the couch. Then I have to move the little desk away, although not a desk but a very old table that slides over beds to put ones tray on. I have had this desk thing for years. It has proved to be a great buy. I now have my computer keyboard on it , my legs underneath it and just enough room to stretch out one leg. So to climb out of the couch, I have to move the desk, bed tray desk thing, back towards the computer screen. This gives me just enough room to shift my weight onto my left arm, Slide forward, turn my body slightly and push up on my legs, while doing the same with my left arm. Past attempts of my doing this come flooding back. The times I was successful, the times I couldn't manage it. When I had injured my arm and gone to the hospital, taken anti inflammatory tablets, woke up with the blood clots doing a tour of The Picayune. It all comes flooding back. Stuck at this spot and on the couch. But not today.
I am on my feet. The pain in my arms and legs and back, rip and tear at my defences. But I am used to this and expect the onslaught. I shuffle sideways and have reached the open wardrobe. I leave the clothes that need washing to hang there. I continue onto the bathroom. Hanging over the bath are clean clothes that I can change into after a shower. But there are others there. I will have to remove those and hang them somewhere else. It as at this point I realised I should have told somebody where I was going and what I was going to do. Too late now for regrets. I reach over the bath and very carefully remove the clothes that are not mine. One false move now and they would hurtle to the murky depths. But with good luck and no little judgement, I am successful and hang the clothes on a door handle.
Returning to the bathroom I have to remove the clothes I need to wear from above the bath. I still need to be careful, but somehow the pressure is off. I hang these on the bathroom door. I then remove what I am wearing and have to climb into the bath. My legs are now screaming to be rested but I battle on. This is the point of no return. I need to turn the shower on. Water comes pouring towards me, I do my best to avoid the worst of it until the temperature normalises. Then the effort to find my way around The Picayune with the soap begins. I strain and reach for hand holds and support, but slip back and have to try again. Despite setbacks I manage to reach most things. Thank goodness I can no longer see most of it. I look down at the feet of The Picayune. It is a long way down. Dare I chance it? I do, and fall toward my feet, making sure I have a hand hold. Now I return to the safety of small but safe perch. My back is strained and my sciatica is kicking in. My thighs are starting to collect signatures from other body parts in an effort to force me to cease and desist my standing. But I venture on. More water falls on my head. I reach for the shampoo. Water cascades everywhere, the last effort is needed. Then wash and rinse and the water stops. I am left panting and at the end of my strength. I know this area and know the best places to rest. However I also know how much further I need to go.
I climb out of the bath and reach for the towel. I dry myself and seek out my clothes. I reach for my socks. Then I look down and the dread hits me. I can't put my socks on. I can reach down and slide them on but they will be trapped. Trapped unless I can cut my toe nails. Now there is a part in the proceedings where people have been warned is the nasty bit. So they skip on and don't watch. This is that moment. Please go to the next paragraph, while the less squeamish continue the roller coaster ride. I need to find sharp scissors. I need to find the long, old persons handled scissors. I search in the cupboard above the sink. They are there. I try and put my foot on the side of the bath. But am only partially successful at reaching my toes. The overhang is too big. So I bend down and finish off the job with my feet on the floor. Every cut, every careful clip could cause me to sever a body part or cut into the flesh. I manage it though, without damage. I strain and reach for the socks. My feet are dressed.
I dress the rest of my body and leave the bathroom. I take my old clothes with me. I take the old clothes from my room. I climb downstairs. Drop the clothes in front of the washing machine. Cass asks where I have been. Foolish of me not to warn her. She asks if I would like to finish the cold ham. I gasp an answer.
In time, I sit in a chair and watch a DVD about a bloke who goes climbing and is trapped. It is a true story. But frankly '127 Hours' has nothing on my shower routine.
WHERE THERE’S A WILL
Is it the full moon? Is it the time of man? Is it all just fate? Well I don't know, so stop asking me. All I do know is that things that were once important have a habit of being less so as time goes on. Take the making of a will. Not something we want to think about, but there comes a time when we all have to. Over the years I have made it clear, what was important to me should I suddenly cop it. It came from the soul and it is my basic last will and testimony. But we need to make it official. For a few years both Cass and myself have reminded each other how important such a document is. For some reason, everybody I knew and loved suddenly passed away. Now we still have relatives we both love and cherish ( any resemblance to any persons living or feeling poorly are just coincidental). I have charitable organisations I wish to bequeath a few pennies to, should my sister pre decease me. I have made all this clear to Cass. When we eventually find ourselves in a position to make a will. it will be done calmly and with the aid of a proper solicitor.
To this day, nobody, least of all Cass, knew why she picked that moment to ring up for an appointment for the solicitors. Was she feeling ill? Did she wake up sensing the end was in sight? Who knows, because when it happened ,it happened suddenly.
For no reason, other than that they were handy. Our solicitors were in Upper Caustic. They were our families solicitors and kept all our deeds and stuff. No I have no idea what they kept either. But they kept it in a basement on a flood plain. A flood plain that became flooded from time to time. Anyway, they were handy. Handy that is until they moved. Then another solicitors moved in to where our solicitors used to be. The new solicitors were not that new and were known to us as they were the solicitors who we went to, to obtain probate over our Mothers will. Is anybody following this, because I sort of lost it at 'is it a full moon'.
Cass rings up the solicitors that occupy the building that used to be occupied by our solicitors. Cass didn't tell anybody she was going to do this. But she did it.
"Snodgrass, Pendleton and Snodgrass, Snodrass speaking" (no secretary answering the phone, no alarm bells?)
"Morning, my name is Cass Picayune. Where you the Snodgrass, Pendleton and Snodgrass solicitors who used to be further up the high street in Upper Caustic, by the bakery?"
" Not only where we the Snodgrass,Pendleton and Snodgrass, conveyance to the stars and solicitors to the less well known, who used to be by the bakery. But we still are the Snodgrass,Pendleton and Snodgrass who have just moved along the high street".
"Good, well my brother and myself saw you some time ago about probate for my Mother's will and...."
" Any problems should be referred to our solicitors, Snodgrass, Heap and Maloney, fortunes lost and found, complaints sorted for a small fee..."
" No sorry, there is no problem with that. No I was wondering if you could draw up our wills for us. Very simple really, we leave everything to each other and if one of us dies we leave it to a charity or something"
"What charity?" Now this may sound like a simple question. But Cass was expecting a question about appointments and when would be convenient for you both to pop in. So she panicked.
" Charity? Oh yes.. um.. the Multiple Sclerosis charity thing. I have no address or anything but..."
" No matter Madam, I shall type that up for you and send it along to you for checking and then you can come in and sign it."
The matter of price plus VAT was discussed and the conversation ended. Well, thought Cass, that was easier than she thought it was going to be. As she was about to go off to work and Cosmic was about to give her a lift. She mentioned in passing, the fact that at last she had sorted out our wills. Now this came as some surprise to me, as she explained what was to be in my will.
" Why Multiple Sclerosis?" I asked. I for one am happy to give my money to such a worthy cause but I just pondered the reason why we should be suddenly giving our poultry money to such an important cause. Cass, for her part looked puzzled and a little weary.
" Your best mate died of it. We always said we would give what we had when we died to the charity," Cass replied, It was my turn to look puzzled and weary.
" No", I said " I said I would give it to Motor Neurone and to the library for the blind"
" Oh yes, that's right, I always confuse the two"
Cass said she would ring up the solicitor and correct things.
I am somewhat relieved, that our financial dealings are not more complicated, or that I had given specific instructions for my funeral. One phone call and all the planning in the world goes out the window. Death is really very odd when It comes to the legal other side.
TO SLEEP, PERCHANCE TO DREAM – AY, THERE’S THE RUB
Yesterday I slept in. Well I didn't go to bed until three in the morning, so where is the harm? I will tell you where the harm is. It has just gone five o' clock on the following morning. I went to bed late again. I was reading and ordering on the Internet, books I didn't really want and cancelling orders for the books I didn't really want. Then thinking I actually do want the books I have cancelled and so on and so forth. The point is, it is five in the morning. Unlike yesterday, when I slept right through. Today I am wide awake and my eyes are wide open. In the good old days I would have been able to go back to sleep no problem. I was more than happy to go back to bed, even after I had risen from it only hours earlier. But now, I suppose, because I still haven't actually a bed to sleep in. Returning to a mattress hasn't the same welcoming feel.
So at five o'clock in the morning I am wide awake. The sun is streaming through the window, so I close the blinds. It is however too late. This simple movement has alerted my bladder, who now thinks it has to work and begins to send signals to the brain. I spend the next few minutes trying to convince my brain to ignore the mumblings of an idiot bladder. But the brain won’t have it. I am left with no choice but to answer the call of nature. By the time the brain has realised I was right all along it is simply too late. I am awake, nature has been answered, although it could easily have hung on, and I am vertical with no where to go. However there is no point in returning to the mattress, so I collect my socks and shoes and tip toe downstairs. I say tip toe but why I bother I don't know. Half way down the stairs is the frog that makes a noise in daylight when you pass it. It is activated by light. As I pass it, it lets out its three croak alarm. Then falls silence. I continue downstairs and meet our butler. A smaller butler accompanies him and is battery operated. However it is only a recorded voice operated by the movement and light that is affected. "I am not a number, but a free man" it tells me. It was funny when I recorded it the first time. But it becomes a little tired when repeated several times a day. I creep into the chair downstairs in the hope of not waking Cosmic who is lying on a mattress by the television.
Having closed my eyes, I realise how comfortable this chair is. I can fall asleep very easily here. Then just as I close my eyes, the cacophony begins. First of all there is a noise from upstairs like the opening of the doors of hell. Cass has began her snoring, snort, cough that reverberates though the whole building. This sets off Cosmic who doesn't snore, but when exhaling, makes a groaning sound that suddenly turns into words. I am sure I can hear him say "pumping tyres, pumping tyres", inhale deeply and repeat. Then there is silence. Silence until the sun creeps out from behind a cloud and hits the censor on the frog, CROAK CROAK CROAK. Then the butler utters "I am not a number, I am a free man". I am now aware of dripping coming from a tap somewhere. Then the clocks begin to tick louder than usual. SNORT, SNORE, SNORT, COUGH.
"I am not a number I am a free man"
"SNORT SNORT, COUGH"
Tick tock tick tock
CROAK, CROAK, CROAK
"Pumping tyres, pumping tyres"
Then silence. I am alone at last. My eyes begin to close.
CROAK, CROAK, CROAK
Tick tock tick tock
drip......drip.......drip
"Pumping tyres, pumping tyres"
"I am not a number, I am a free man"
"SNORT, SNORE, SNORT, COUGH, SNORE
tick tock tick tock
"Pumping tyres, pumping tyres"
CROAK, CROAK, CROAK
"I am not a number I am a free man"
I can stand it no longer and climb from my comfy chair and make a cup of tea and some toast, before waking everybody up at seven o' clock.
Having made sure Cosmic is awake, I climb the stairs with a cup of tea for Cass. I knock on the door and go in. She tells me to be careful and points to something on the floor. I am not sure what she means so I go to put the tea down to where she is pointing. But she is warning me about the wire on the floor. The chair, the open drawer, the jutting corner of the table are all passed without warning. But the bit of wire, I can see, but would have to make a detour to trip over, is worth the warning. I make sure I tell Cass about my disturbed night.
" I thought you must have gone downstairs. Something disturbed me last night" she says. I close the door behind me.
Cosmic reminds me to remind him about something. " I must check on the tyres today. Remind me if I forget will you?"
I start work early and have dropped off by the third invoice.
COSMIC ADDS AN APT GENESIS SONG …
The clock on the wall says it's time to call. So let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Remember an oldie but goodie -
No I don't want it there. Can you put it there? No there. Oh alright then that will do. Fine I can always move it later can't I? I can? Good well thanks for everything. Wait a minute, how do I move it? I do what with what and who? I have to go where? Click what? Well can I ask you to move it if I want it moved? Or I can ask my Sister, she knows about this sort of thing. Well that's fine then. What's Beverley writing? My internal dialogue? That wont make sense to anybody, No you are right. Well thanks again.
A FEW DAYS IN THE LIFE
The week starts of with me deciding to vacuum my room in the lighthouse and a few of the top steps. I empty the dust in the bin and go and post a few letters. Cass has done some work today and I take a look at some other stuff that needs to be done. Then in the late afternoon, just as I am about to have some beans on toast, the phone rings. It is a withheld number but Cass answers it. She manages very well and is trying to practise her speech. Good thing too as it is the hospital. They want her to have another blood test tomorrow and an operation the day after if the blood test is alright. She will need to stay in hospital for at least a few days. I am puzzled as Cass has had no blood thinning drugs or anything. But what do I know? So the week begins.
Cass spends the next day having marks put on her neck by the experts ready for the operation. Three hours later the operation is called off as the blood tests for the cyst they found in one of the earlier scans didn't include a cancer test. Which oddly was the only test that was actually required. So more appointments to be made and more frustration. Have to admire her strength.
The next day Cass shows me her mark the Specialist put on the side of her neck. It is a big black arrow pointing to a big swelling. Now I thought when they did an ultrasound and found something it would be some hidden, secret evil. But it is a swelling the size of a small golf ball. Hardly needs the big arrow pointing at it. Like having a broken leg and fitting a big head brace with a large stick protruding from it with neon sign flashing BROKEN LEG THIS WAY with a sign post attached. Trouble is I mention this and Cass was unaware there was any swelling so we both worry that the swelling is something new. But there is a point where one can no longer second guess so called experts. So we joke about it. Neither one of us is fooled for long. I spend the rest of the day doing nothing. The long Bank Holiday Weekend is a day away and I feel inclined to find some petrol, buy some bread and check on Cosmics house. At least as much of it as I can see. However wanting to do something and doing it are two different things completely. It becomes a struggle to find the enthusiasm to dress let alone go out.
Cass says we could order shopping on line. This is madness as we ordered not that long ago. So we order on line. This still means I only need to check on Cosmic's house and find petrol just in case next week the stupid people learn of a tanker strike or the rumour of a strike and start taking it all. My petrol tank is a quarter full. I am still not dressed but the feeling I may become dressed at a not too distant point in the future becomes more of a possibility. I collect the post. Amongst the letters is one from the hospital confirming the appointment for the operation yesterday that Cass was stopped from having. So the letter is a day late and wrong anyway. Rubbing salt into the festering wound. I go out for petrol and check on Cosmic's house. The weeds are beginning to grow again. That at least never changes. Another few days in the life.
Right then. So here we are. This was Cosmic’s idea. He has them sometimes along with writing songs and first paragraphs of novels. He said as long as he could use it sometimes I could keep it here at the lighthouse. Then Beverley said, once Cosmic was out of ear shot, that she would like it as well. As long as nobody minded. I said fine. Now Cass, my Sister said She would use it at a push but doesn't want me using it for evil. So I dug up the evil, wicked body and gave it to Cosmic to take with him back to shore in the rowing boat. Beverley went with him. Tight fit with Cosmic, Beverley and The Evil wicked dug up body but they bobbed along happily and the sea was calm.
Then the drilling started. Cass has a drill and Cosmic left some stuff he thought I would like. Truth is the stuff came from his house and he keeps talking about moving. There is always a long pause after he tells me this. It's as if he wants me to say something. But I never do. I know he would like to move into one of the rooms. But the lighthouse is too small. Although the money would come in handy.
I notice there are Area 51 metal signs put everywhere. The walls are hard to drill into and it takes effort and cursing. But Cass says Cosmic said I said it was alright to put them up. Along with the Bates Motel Vacancy Sign. I worry people will think this is a real Motel and people will sue me if I don't let them in. This is irrational I know. So I decide to watch the football and then have a shower.
TEA TIME
I am awakened by voices. Not my usual voices but real voices. I climb out of my mattress, I haven't slept in a bed for over a year. I am trying to find one that fits the lighthouse. Well we have found one but then it is a case of moving things around. In a lighthouse there isn't much room to move things around. So I go downstairs and there are people there. They are talking about the pub owner. The Smugglers is owned by a man who accuses all his patrons of stealing from him. He is quite nasty in his accusations even though he collects the money and puts it in the till. I feel sorry for him as I am scared of going senile. But Cosmic is holding court about the latest insults. Beverley is sitting in a chair writing, looking lovely with a hint of mystery, that can only mean.....wait a minute. I am not thinking that. Having somebody else write your internal monologue, always check for errors.
So Cosmic and Beverley and a few others are there. A man I know by sight. who used to write for a newspaper but drink found him out. He has promised to write Cosmic’s biography. Cosmic used to be a backing singer back in the 70s. That famous star who wore one sock and sang with his back to the audience, Can't remember his name. Anyway Cosmic was the one in the cloak with a guitar standing behind him but facing him. Ethel is also there but watching one of my DVDs as there is nothing worth watching on TV. The DVD is Pierrepoint and Ethel is lost in the film. She has watched it before but Ethel loves films. Well loves TV and films and anything she doesn't have to work at herself. She went all misty eyed at the Glee Christmas episode but would deny it if ever asked.
I am still being ignored in my own home. It is dark outside and I am worried that all these people will stay overnight. Even more worrying is them trying to row back to shore in the dark. I feel like that girl from an early Buffy episode who vanishes because everybody ignores her. So eventually I make a noise. Not the noise I had planned but a noise none the less. Cosmic stops talking and turns to me. I ask them what's going on? Cosmic says that they are waiting for pizza. No delivery boy is going to come out here at this time. As if to answer me the door bell rings. Cass comes in laden with shopping bags and complaining how hard it is to row with six plastic bags of shopping. Nobody offers to help but they all agree that it must be hard. Cass puts the frozen pizzas in the oven.
Over dinner the conversation turns to the news. The news is bad and we have pictures to prove it. Another film taken on a phone of people in trouble. Another exclusive of tearful people. I wish I could do more to help. What do you mean more? Just write the thoughts Beverley. Then Ethel says she blames Vietnam. Naturally we all fall silent and await an explanation. The cameras she says. That's when TV really started to take pictures of instant misery. Cosmic nods sagely.
When everybody has gone I have some cheese and biscuits
THE SMUGGLERS AND MICHAEL JACKSON
A couple are at the bar with a few friends. The band hasn't started yet and, as it is a Sunday night, the place isn't buzzing. Another girl comes up to the bar and has a phone or some other modern hand held time waster in her hand. She talks to the couple and is one of those touchy feely types. She puts her hand on the mans arm and then touches the girls hand. She points to the contraption in her hand and then to the camera on the wall. She waves at the camera and then points to her hand. She laughs. The couple smile. I wave back. The girl then lifts her blouse up and flashes at the camera. She wears no bra and a few of the customers casually lift up their phones and take a photo of the flashing girl. The couple smile. I wave. The girl laughs again. This little vignette of life is repeated. Until the couple move away and the phones stop taking photos and I stop waving. But the girl keeps laughing at herself on her phone flashing at the camera.
I have a phone call. What did I think of the Football. I didn't. Why go all that way and not turn up. We discuss that it was a throw back to our last manager. Lets go away and not play. We both agree. Then the subject turns to Michael Jackson and a statue. My caller goes quiet. I don't have any feelings on the subject. But nobody seems to want it. The Michael Jackson fans don't want their idol at the site of a load of football yobs. While the football fans don't want a pop star in their football ground. Lots of talk and abuse. But my caller stays quiet. I still don't have any feelings on the subject. Then we talk about this blog. He asks if he will be in it? I tell him I doubt it.
I think I am alone and its three o clock in the morning. I am not tired. Still I have work to do tomorrow or later today. I have to post back my rental DVDs and the faulty one that couldn't play at all on any of my machines. So I think about sleep. But Cass is still up because I here clicks and buzzes coming from somewhere. She is playing a game or quiz on her computer. I tell her the time. She asks who was on the phone earlier and I tell her. Beverley says she has to have her beauty sleep, not that she needs it as her skin is like porcelain and....I tell her to stop writing what I am not thinking. She says she will just as soon as I stop thinking. This makes no sense. So I turn off the lights, except the one that shines out as a warning to passing shipping. I wonder what ships will pass in the night?
PUNCTUATION
Beverley has been out for the morning. She has brought some work with her to do. She asks if I mind. I don't. She tells me she has told some people where she works about this blog. I am not happy. Well if I didn't want people to read it then why not keep a diary is her not too persuasive argument. Actually very persuasive argument actually, thank you very much. Those aren't my internal thoughts are they? No Beverley is once again adding insightful and helpful .......My train of thought clearly has left the station with a different driver. Anyway when Beverley decides to return to the point, or should that be points, as we are talking about railway lines. No it shouldn't, can I get on. The point is, Beverley tells me that my blog has been criticised. I tell her I don't care and then ask her why. Lack of punctuation she says. This confuses me seeing as she is writing my internal monologue. Isn't that her responsibility? She nods her head and says exactly. But Beverley informed everybody where she works that she used to work in a solicitors.
Shouldn't there be more to the story? Beverley puts in question mark, everybody happy? Oh look another one. Returning to the point again I wonder what a solicitors has to do with punctuation or the lack there of. Well in a solicitors letter, nobody ever puts in punctuation. They do that so when you read it, you pass out through lack of oxygen waiting for the comma. I didn't know that. Well you do now. They want punctuation they can have punctuation -.,??."!!". --.
It was foggy last night and I couldn't see the shore when I eventually went to bed. But everybody who was going ashore arrived safely. Today it is very bright and sunny. There are wonderful views from every window. So I go on the Net and log on to the camera site. I can see the World on this screen. While the World passes me by outside.
THE COSMIC TALE
Hi there, the clock on the wall says it's time to call. So let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here ready to play songs old and new, green and blue. That's. right, songs to make you sick or sad. I bet there are a number of people who will remember those famous opening words to my much lamented radio show. I had taken a sabbatical from my music career as backing singer to Calvin Moonsoil, and embarked on a bright new journey into being a disc jockey. If you remember I followed Tony King on the radio schedules in what we in the business call the golden hour. Two in the morning to half past six. They were great days. I often had to fight my way through the crowd of fans on my way in to the station. Most of whom were waiting for Tony King to come out. Man the buzz of show business never leaves you.
I am often asked whatever happened to Albert Springfwillow. Yeah he was the other backing singer to Calvin. No I am not surprised few of you remember him. I, as everybody remembers, wore the mask and cloak and used to fling the cloak over my head. I sometimes had a tambourine in my hand and was known as a versatile musician. Albert, God love him, always seemed to be lost in my shadow. Well after Calvin decided to leave the business after the disaster of the sales for our last Album 'Moonsoil madmen in a rowing boat'. A genuinely ahead of its time concept Album. 'Conceptually compelling and highly forgettable. ' so wrote the Old Musical Stationwagon. Albert left to go to the States. Where I am afraid he sold out. He married a model, not sure what of, and bought a ranch. He started a company and now owns a major Public Relations Firm. Springfellow Enterprises. Poor fellow forgot his roots.
Still, when we were big, we were big. I met all the stars. I even met Morcambe and Wise. No we never made their show but I remember back in the day, as we in the trade like to say. I remember meeting them at a book signing. I was in the queue ready to meet the Kings of Comedy when I myself was recognised. By the bloke in the book store who was setting up the desk. You guested it. That was when I met The Pic himself. He was working in the book shop. Man he met a few stars too. Flora Robson and the woman who was in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. No not her the other one. Yeah a good day for me. I could tell you such stories of Morcambe and Wise. Everybody remembers them as good blokes always ready with a joke. Always 'on' as we in the trade like to say. Well I can tell you I saw them when the public were not around. They were delightful and funny and still 'on'. Charming people. They really don't make them like that anymore.
Anyway, I only popped in to leave my Mums Ashes Urn here. A good job I did because The Pic has left a note. 'Man coming to deliver screws, Money in dragon ashtray' I am concerned that The Pic is becoming what you call those people scared to go out and meet people. Yes that's right. I am worried The Pic is becoming a coward. That reminds me I also met the journalist for the local rag that day, as we in the trade call them. Yeah he was waiting to get a quote from the Comedy Pair. That was the beginning of the end really for him because he never managed to get one. Don't think The Pic ever met him that day. Still doesn't know him that well. Anyway best wait for the screw man.
BERNIE WOODSTAIN JOURNALIST
Good Morning, I am reporting to you from the ravished, war torn, hell that Cosmic’s back garden has become. It is true that we first met many years ago during a Morcambe and Wise Book Signing. I had hopes beyond my talent and have failed in making the tea at several local papers. Now papers are dead on their feet leaving only TV and Radio, both of which have simply become too busy. We are now reporting on the bombs falling on a dictator we once hated, then liked a bit, then hated again. Although too many Whiskey Macs may have dumbed down my journalistic senses, I am only now aware that being sober helps no one.
Good Morning. I can report that I am at this very moment about to embark on writing a mighty tome concerning the life and works of Cosmic Antidust. My hope is that the trivia book world will open up their collective eyes to read what Cosmic and his fascinating collection of famous friends actually did to make them famous. Swoon at the Tambourine lessons, gasp at the orgy of prescription drug taking, mainly for back ache apparently. What in hell am I doing? I could have been somebody. A famous journalist read by millions. I could have been invited on Question Time. I am the ONLY person Not to be invited on Question Time. I could have been a contender. I could have been somebody.
So I hang out with a bunch of people I don't really know. Hoping for a story to come flying at me. Wishing that my byline will come up. One day it will. One day from the bottom of a bottle will come a story that will change my luck. Meanwhile the biggest natural disaster is put back because we are bombing people and they are bombing people. One day my story will come.
AND SO TO BED
I am alone thank goodness. I notice a few extra additions to the entry in the blog. I always wanted to know who that journalist was. No interest to anybody but me. Anyway for some reason the Lighthouse is empty. Except I notice a few more bits of furniture have been added. Plus an urn I don't remember seeing before. Yes it's good being alone. You can sort out thoughts and put the mind in order. Yes it is just fine.
Nothing much on TV tonight. No good watching the roulette thing on TV because the women presenters aren't on it. Actually what did I see tonight. Oh no wait a minute. Better not say too much. I promised Ethel she could do some Film and DVD reviews. So I expect she would like a free stage to do her stuff. So then what else is there? Oh I know, I can watch the old camera site on the Net. Except everything is dark for reasons I don't really need to go into. Still can look at The Smugglers though. Let's see what is going on? Oh well there you go. Another band or maybe the same ones. Now this is one of the cameras that has sound to go with it. But my speakers are off. Well why not turn them on again? How shall I turn them on again Dear Beverley Dear Beverley oh how..... sorry went off on one then. Now if I can just reach for the on switch ...I can.....just.......No can't reach unless I actually climb to my feet. If I do that then parts of my body will start signalling to each other. Quick Bladder Control, he is on the move , start operation empty. Heart he is moving start pumping again. No not worth all the effort. So we will leave The Smugglers alone.
Right then I suppose I should read for a bit. Except I have only......a pile of.......November 2009 Magazines to read. Well those are the only ones I can reach. So then a bit of work tomorrow and then may do some cleaning up. Or not. Probably not. Oh I know its recycling day the day after tomorrow. Big day for me that. Have to collect all the stuff together, put it in a plastic skip or three. Then row over to the shore and let the bin men collect at the appropriate time. They are really good here. As long as the stuff is in the right place. They allow me to mix my recycling up into one skip. It all goes into a tip anyway I expect.
I was told that the new thing to do is to eat as much as you like before Six in the evening and then nothing at all after that until breakfast. I have tried that but sometimes it is just not a viable thing to do. But today I have managed it. So a bit of will power and there you go.
At least it will be early to bed tonight. Not that I can sleep in all this silence. I wonder where everybody is? Still nice to be alone for a while. May just have a sandwich before I go.
LOSE CONNECTIONS
Last night I had a dream. I won’t bother to tell you about it but suffice to say it meant something to me. Now I find that when I dream I dream in TV format. The episodic type of dream. Often leaving off what will happen next and featuring people I may vaguely remember from TV series. Now the one last night featured Kate Silverton, the News Presenter. She was walking around an audience, presenting a talk show type thing and I was in the audience. She talks to somebody and that sets the events of the dream into motion.
Do my dreams come with an Equity Card now? Or is it simply that we have lost the connection that TV used to give us. I am of the age when I used to hear people talk about what they watched last night. They could laugh and debate it because we all saw the same things usually. Now we all watch something different and some good stuff is cancelled after a few episodes because none of us knew it existed.
I look at what is on offer on the Goggle Box for next week and despair. Poor Ethel asks me if there is anything I have to watch that she hasn't actually watched. Usually there is nothing and so she goes off and hopes the postman will arrive with a DVD she ordered. So many channels, so little to see. Although when you live on a lighthouse, you only have a choice of a few channels with reception not what it could be. We used to have boosters the size of industrial air conditioning units. But times have changed and the boosters are a little smaller.
Ironically then, we have lost the art of conversation. Not because we are too busy watching something to notice the presence of another Human Being. But because we don't have a common TV experience to share. It is a strange World.
Time for a cuppa I think and to settle down to watch the quiz show I like. Have you seen it yet?
IMAGES AND DENIALS
Arriving with a few books in his hand, Cosmic sits down and whistles loudly to attract attention. I am the only one in spitting distance so I look up. He tells me he has had a letter from Bernie Woodstain complaining about the state of Cosmic’s back garden. I ask if this is a euphemism. Cosmic says no. The fence is down and the foxes have been growling and prowling. For a moment I can't remember who or what Bernie Woodstain is but it suddenly comes to me. Although I leave the subject of what Cosmic’s back garden has to do with the reporter anyway.
Cosmic is the sort of person who doesn't seem to mind people not listening to him. So he continues talking about matters of no importance. Suddenly I am aware that he is on his feet eyeing my book shelves. They are full. So full that I have had to put books on the floor. Cosmic is telling me that he has had to put books in boxes and will have to rid himself of a few. Just like his music collection. Time to down size he says. Then he asks me if I would like to downsize. I say no thanks. Next time I notice him he has sat back down and no longer has any books in his hand.
The mere fact Cosmic hasn't moved means that he still wants something. Beverley stops writing my internal thoughts and asks Cosmic if he would like a cup of tea? He says he would. Then says he will help with the recycling if I like. I say nothing. When Beverley returns, She is telling Cosmic that I have been mixing names up all day. I called Ethel, Edna and Beverley Brigitte. I say it is nothing to laugh at but try not to show my concern. I am worried. However Cosmic tells me he read the blog this morning and I meant to put 'Loose Connections' didn't I, as the heading. But I didn't and deny it. He asks me if I am sure. I explain why I put 'Lose' and not 'Loose', Cosmic smiles as if he has caught me out. Nothing more frustrating than being accused of something trivial that is simply not true. I feel like Henry Fonda in The Wrong Man.
When Cass comes in she is complaining that her feet hurt when she doesn't put her shoes on properly. Cosmic and Brigitte, I mean Beverley, seem to sympathise but I don't understand. I wonder if senility is catching. How can you put on shoes improperly? Does the confusion not end when you work out which foot to put into which shoe?
I have come to a natural break in what I am doing. But fear makes me pretend I am still working in case Cosmic wants me to downsize a book shelf. Beverley then asks Cosmic what Bernie is doing in Cosmic’s back garden? It is annoying that Beverley asked the question and more frustrating that I am interested in the answer. But Cosmic just shrugs and says we don't want to know. Clearly we do, but I guess Cosmic will wait for a bigger audience before he tells us. Then he says he has a damp patch in his living room that will have to be sorted out before he can put his house up for sale. ‘And the garden’ I say, and he repeats 'the garden' and agrees. He then tells me that the damp patch looks like Bobby Zamora which is why he has let it go for so long. It is too much of a gamble hoping the prospective buyers of the house will be fans.
My feet begin to throb along with my head. I wonder if I put my shoes on properly this morning?
NOT A FILM REVIEW BY ETHEL
Ethel is sobbing in the corner of the room and Beverley is trying to console her. I have been upstairs and unaware of what has been going on. Fortunately Beverley can multi task, so can record my inner dialogue while consoling Ethel. Beverley shows me the film review that I had apparently promised Ethel could write. The review is full of 'that bloke that was in that film,' and ' you know the girl that looks like that other girl from Holby City'. But she ends up by saying she liked the film and the special effects were very good. However there is a meandering epilogue to the supposed review.
I guess it has been in there for some time. I sort of knew that Ethel had separated from her husband. But wasn't aware that he had left a note saying he was leaving her and then had died in a car accident, with their daughter, on their way to the other woman. I am shocked, and yet pleased in a way, that all that bottled up emotion was coming out. It is supposed to be healthy isn't it?
Beverley calls me to one side in a hush hush manner. She points out that we can't put this on the blog. I say why not? She points out that the heading 'Ethel Reviews Prince Of Persia', however complimentary to the film, may be less a review and more a grief counselling. She has a point I suppose. So I suggest changing the title. But Beverley looks daggers at me. She says we can't put this on a blog in case .....then after a pause She says that it would be too upsetting for too many people.
Films and Books are wonderful things. They allow you to drift away into worlds that make you forget about the world you inhabit. I spend my time not wanting to be where I am. Ethel says she is sorry but feels fine now. She walks to the door and Beverley has her arm around her. So I ponder about the review. Should we go ahead and publish and be damned?
Cass comes down from working on something and asks what the noise was about. I tell her and show her the review. She seems less shocked then I expected and says she advises me not to include it in the blog. Cass remembers a few of us all sitting down together and Edna telling us about her Husband leaving her for a cleaner. Cass was sure I was there. I was on a split shift. It was in the afternoon and the TV was on. Just as they were starting to broadcast soaps and stuff during the day. Ethel probably heard the plot line from one of those soaps. Cass doesn't think Ethel and Dick ever had any kids. Besides Ethel was always known to try and make her life a little more interesting.
When Beverley comes back she asks if I want to change 'Edna' to 'Ethel' in my inner dialogue because I keep forgetting Ethel is the right name. I tell her what Cass has just said. Beverley says we all knew that didn't we? But Beverley was hardly going to admit it when Ethel was in the room.
So I just nod.
Funny how what started as a film review has turned into such a........what's the word?
Anyway Prince of Persia is a fun film by all accounts.
THE MOON AND A DREAM
After last nights strange goings on with Ethel, I find myself a bit drained of emotion. Also I was a bit miffed with Beverley who left an 'Edna' in my internal thoughts instead of correcting it because I didn't answer her query about correcting the name. But now we seem to have both been able to put that little fracas behind us (selfish bore). Sorry?
After retiring for the night I wandered up to the top of the lighthouse. The view from the lighthouse was as clear as day. The Moon, although not full, was as bright as any time I can remember. I could see the coast and the town and would have been able to stare into the guest houses if there was anything worth watching. I must have dropped off up there because I remember a dream about a shop. As a young man I used to work in a shop. But the dream shop bore no similarity to it. I was asked to apologise for bringing in a packed lunch when the shop canteen provided food. I said nobody had told me but I would explain to the canteen person. But when I went to the canteen, the clear door was closed and two girls were scrubbing the floor. I then noticed little spiders on my coat and a tried to pick them off. Then the moon woke me up. The Moon is supposed to be closer than usual to us. I am not sure if that means emotionally or in distance
A glorious day today so stayed inside to watch some Apes in a live cam at a zoo. They were moving as much as I was. They kept disappearing into a little shelter. Probably watching a live cam of me sitting watching them. The Apes all looking at each other complaining that I don't do much.
I hear water in the pipes which means somebody is having a shower. Oh yes all mod cons here. But if it is Cass it means she will want to go out. She only ever has a shower when she wants to go out somewhere. I am in two minds about whether to call Cosmic as he is the only one with a car and could help. If Cass wants to go shopping for anything other than in the local shops Cosmic can take her. We did have a car but a year ago it just sort of stopped. The garage said it would be too expensive to put back on the road. So if either of us have to go somewhere then Cosmic kindly takes us. I say 'us' but I don't remember the last time I went over to the mainland. So do I call Cosmic or not? I will have a piece of toast and wait to see the lay of the land.
COSMIC SAVES THE DAY
So the clock on the wall says it's time for my quiz show. Not mine exactly but one I could have been fronting, if the audition had gone better. So I am about to settle down to watch it when, 'ring ring', the first part of an Abba song alerts me that my phone is ringing. So I think ‘shall I let it go to answer phone’ but hey it could be my agent. Not that I think I have him anymore. We may have parted company and just sort of drifted apart. That sounds like a cool lyric, let me write it down. Anyhoo I answer the phone but it's no agent. Just Cass ringing saying she wants some tobacco and some idiot has taken both the boats and moored them on the jetty. Well they have a system don't they. One boat at the jetty and one at the lighthouse. Not complicated but the system has collapsed. So will I come and save the blimmin day. Oh yeah like I have nothing better to do.
So I drive to the jetty and row over to the lighthouse. Needless to say Cass isn't ready so I have to walk up and go in. The Pic is munching a toastie and the smell of toast is a real turn on for me. So I go to the kitchen and make myself some. The Pic is pretending to work but I can tell he is watching the quiz show. Not that he would admit it. Anyhoo I sit down ready to enjoy the TV and Cass comes in all dressed in her thick Parka and holding her 'Terminator Bag' around her shoulder. A few hurried mouthfuls and 'here I go again, off down the road again', as Twiggy sung. I ask The Pic if he wants to come. I have already worked out the two boat problem. But he looks at the time and says he doesn't want to be caught in the traffic with all the Schools turning out. Cass says it isn't the right time but The Pic says it is. It isn't. Cass asks The Pic if he needs anything so I tell him he needs bread.
So I am waiting in the car because we have to go to the shop that sells the right type of stuff Cass wants. I notice a Japanese girl in tight shorts and a blazer type of top. She is struggling with a bike lock. Now I don't know how old this girl was. But I know there was a time I felt I had reached the age it was becoming creepy to look at young girls in a certain way. But what was far worse today was the first thought that popped into my mind. I can hardly believe it myself. The thought was, I hope the awful disasters in Japan haven't upset her or her family too much. Then I thought how creepy I felt not being creepy. I hate becoming old.
Cass returns with more bags flung around her neck and arms than is healthy for any human being. So when we arrive at the jetty I row the boat over. Cass carries the bags up to the lighthouse and then returns to row back with me, so she can return the boat and tie it up back at the lighthouse. By the time I get back to my place all the good TV is over and we have the news and repeats of The Eggheads quiz. Now I have already watched all of those. 'If not for me' as Olivia Newton John once sung, what would The Pic do?
I wonder if I could muddle a team together for Eggheads?
BEVERLEY AND FIRST WORDS
We all have an internal thought recorder. Some of us are known and given names. Some hold down independent jobs while not needed for thought recording. While others are dismissed as a thought pattern and sent on their way. Which is fine because on the whole ITRs, as we are referred to amongst ourselves, have no ego to talk of. Well we shouldn't but you would be amazed how the most insignificant ITR thinks themselves above all the others, even if they have never had a five letter word to record.
Which brings me to 'first words'. If you are famous, you may well have your last words recorded and published for posterity. Now I know posterity and it isn't stupid. It knows most of the so called 'last words' are a complete fabrication. Yes sometimes the 'last words' may well have been uttered by those claiming the rights. But more often than not they were simply not the last words uttered. Take for instance Captain Arthur Spigot Picayune of the 17th Huzzahs, at the Battle of Little Point. Now his last words were recorded as - 'My Country I do it for thee'. Where as the true words were ' Cor blimey get it out of me'. I shall admit this may well have been a natural mistake in the jotting down of the words. But I doubt it. We, as ITRs are responsible only for what is recorded in our head not in others. Although it would be fair to say we do on occasion have a small dinner dance and swap stories.
First words can be interesting. Not the guttural nonsense uttered while we are learning to type. There was a time we had to record free hand but I digress. The passing of baby food into the small intestine is often mistaken for a recognition for those within earshot. But it isn't. However much Mummy and Daddy wish it were. I don't suppose I am breaking any confidences, by telling you that the first words of the present Picayune was 'The End'. They were also the first words he read. He was often sat in front of the TV and for hours on end the programme finale was greeted by the words and then the sound 'The End'. Although The Picayune believes it was a sign of his future. Waiting for 'the end'. But it wasn't. Just his parrot like brain trying to copy what was in front of him.
I also know Cosmic’s first words. Well his ITR and myself often have the odd coffee together. His first words were 'Rock Hard'. Now fortunately he is unaware of this fact. Which is just as well because, like The Picayune, he would mistake the fact as some portent for the future. Where as the truth is he liked throwing things at his own face. His parents told him not to and like another parrot he learned the phrase.
Sometimes it helps if you have time to prepare first words. Even then some picky so and so will have a go for years on end if you make the slightest error. First words uttered on the Moon for instance. Also you can write your first words and they will forever be recorded and read by all. For instance the first words written on a message sent to test the telegraph were 'What hath God Wrought'? Or the first words to test the connection for the Internet were 'LO'. All deep and well thought through. Oh alright then the first words on the Internet should have been 'Login' but the connection was broken early. So first words can be interesting more than last words. Either way we read into them what we want to.
BERNIE WOODSTAIN HAS A WALK
I am reporting from the back garden of Cosmic’s House. Foxes have again been seen in the area, acting as if they own the place. In a way they do. Seeing as they use this area as a toilet and a kitchen and even somewhere to snooze during the day. I have not seen Cosmic, or indeed any human life out here in over a year. The thick tentacle like brambles are the other tribe fighting for supremacy. It needs UN intervention to stop the halt of these warring tribes. That nice lady from next door has told me to do something about the fence or she will call the police. I have to inform her that as a reporter, I must remain as a non intervening, independent source. She says something very rude. This seems an ideal opportunity for me to take a wider look at the area.
The front garden has the peace that only the back garden can dream of. Although even here the signs are bad. The brambles and thorns are showing signs of establishing a foot hold. Ironic then that all this seems to have been caused because the last professional army to come into the area thought it a good idea to use a shredder to cut down all the weeds. Then spread them over the whole area like some sort of Reverse Agent Orange. Now the brambles and thorns grow in abundance. No wonder the UN had to force that last army out of the garden.
Beyond the front garden is a tale of hope as well as fear. The shops stand mostly abandoned. Although on closer inspection only one is actually abandoned and why we need two coffee shops is beyond this reporter. A clothing store tells the uplifting tale of a girl down on her luck who made good with the help of a wealthy benefactor. Many years ago the girl was drawn to the area by the lure of bright lights and the pavements paved with gold. By the time She arrived the lights were flickering and you couldn't see the gold for the down and outs. She had to join them and become one of their number. She leaned to clothe herself in rubbish bags and recycled plastic . A passing, yet wealthy, stranger noticed how she stood out from the rest of the less fortunate. She had managed to make a top from a well known supermarket carrier bag, slacks from a brown permanent shopping bag. Shoes from vegetable plastic bags.
After a short discussion, the wealthy passer by bought her a shop & told her to use her natural talent in fashion to build the first shop in an empire of clothing stores. But after a week it became obvious that, in this area, nobody wanted to be seen in the same bag fashion as their neighbours. However the girl continues to try and make a living while the wealthy owner is in prison due to illegal banking practices.
Despite the continued down turn in the economy, shops try their best to hang on. The all day little supermarket has been re-vamped for the umpteenth time which really means the freezer was moved a foot to the left. The butchers remain even though people still point at it from outside with the curiosity of children visiting a Nineteen Fifties Town for a school project. The expensive fruit and veg store is failing to compete with the small all day supermarket so have advertised themselves as The Organic Store. While the two coffee shop owners spend their time chatting loudly to one another outside their shops, putting off anybody who might like to frequent their establishments.
At least the girl and her fashion store have one good customer. The only one in need of surplus carrier bags. This is the one shop above all others that remains busy. The Chemists reign supreme. There has never been so much need for anti anxiety pills.
HAMMERING AND A JABBERING
For some time I have heard strange noises coming from the main land. They are building things anew and knocking bits down. The pneumatic drills and the concrete mixers have been rehearsing the cacophonous opera for weeks now. But suddenly silence. Has the money run out to pay the chorus? Or has everything been flattened that requires flattening? Has the town been brought down to size? I feel as if it is the end of War Of The Worlds, and the mighty invaders have been laid low by the smallest of all of Gods creatures, the germs and common cold. Then a chill of fear grabs me in my soul and I hear it. The noises of the alien building, knocking down and building up, have left the main land and are now here. They are upstairs in the lighthouse.
As I move slowly up the stairs (although handy for effect, 'slow' is in fact my natural pace.) The sounds of hammering are becoming louder, along with the pitiful sound of a voice muttering and jabbering. Is there some poor person of the cloth, waging an internal battle with themselves, concerning the truth of good and evil? Or some helpless victim of the alien machine? I draw close, my breath caught in my throat. Along with the banging and the muttering comes the smell. Oh that awful smell of decay and burning. What monstrous atrocity is being performed?
Then, all of a sudden, it rushes at me. Like a poltergeist on speed, the bits of furniture flung towards me. I clutch the wall and try and press hard against it. This is painful as the lighthouse has real stipple walls that will leave wounds if you lean on them. I see a bit of wood rush past me, what looks like a wardrobe door misses me by inches, a large white plank follows, until eventually enough wood to build hope and a reason for living for a homeless family of four, are discarded and abandoned on the floor. Then the smoke cloud floats towards me. I hold my breath. Oh dear God is that Cass trapped in the thick tendrils of the cloud. Her mutterings are indeed pitiful. ' I have no room to move,' her plaintiff cry is lost as the wood is moved from the floor and down the stairs.
My lungs burst with the need for fresh air, but I am forced to look inside her room and expect nothing but devastation and ruin. Instead my eyes can see no discernible change. There still seems to be no actual space between the furniture. Possibly a chink of light from the window has been allowed to force its way into the room. But otherwise it is hard to see what has been taken out.
Cass brings up a mug of tea and hands it to me. Then there is talk of cork boards and where to put them and there might be a space if we move the microwave. Now I for one have never actually used a cork board to put anything on. I use the fridge door and magnets as my ideal message drop point. There is even a parrot recorder on the fridge that you can leave messages on. So why do we need a cork board.? Fact is we have three of them so far. So it is dump them or use them. It is now, at my most vulnerable, that I must not let my concentration fail. In the past I have agreed to all sorts of things and not realised until it was too late. So now every sinew in my body is strained to make a decision. So I fudge and say we should keep one.
Hoping I have escaped the alien invasion I retire to my room. But the shattering noise and blood curdling scream causes me to meander (I don't do rushing) to the epicentre of the sound. Downstairs under a pile of wood that had been placed by the door is a foot poking out. Cosmic’s muffled voice says that we will have to make a trip to the dump then, next week sometime. Then his hand forces its way from beneath a plank. Cosmic had brought in the post. Amongst the post is a Neighbourhood Watch Newsletter. The headline reads 'Together we can reinforce success'. With this amount of wood we can not only reinforce it, but build a spanking whole new one.
HAVENEDGE RIOT
The local TV broadcaster seemed excited. We had pictures from Havenedge. That's the town we go to, to live a little. They have drugs and drink and people willing to do things, so they can buy some of the drugs and drink themselves. But today even Bernie Woodstain would have bought a bus ticket there, if he could have afforded one or indeed could find a bus. Today Havenedge had a riot. Although not so much a riot more of a slight altercation. But it involved more than three people so the TV called it a riot.
Back in the Sixties Havenedge had riots every weekend. Well they had A riot on one weekend in the Sixties. But, because pictures were taken, it sort of became a legend. It also became a commentary for the decade. So it would have been awkward if the commentary for the decade only actually lasted a weekend. Well only one windy Saturday really, between two in the afternoon and nine twenty five in the evening. So the tale was told of riots every weekend at Havenedge. These riots were said to be between The Mods and The Rockers. This time the facts were stolen from other seaside towns. The actual Havenedge riot was between Cyril Busby’s Saturday Morning Music Club and Mrs Moore’s Flower Arranging Club. Both clubs had double booked the scout hut and neither would allow the other to enter it until their relative deposits were returned. There was even a rumour that the great Bob Dylan wrote a song about it. Some believe that to this day.
So today's riots reminded one of those long lost times. The people on the TV interviewed today were pretty sure the Government cuts were to blame for today's unseemly pictures. A coach was hired to take some of our more vehement political thinkers to London. So they could march in the anti cuts marches going on there. However only one coach was ordered and one more person arrived than the bus could legally hold. The rest of the available buses had been taken by the bus company to ship their own staff up to London to complain about the cut backs. A vote had been taken, and the most unpopular driver told to stay behind and drive up the other protesters. However Mr Patel said he may well be the most unpopular driver but he would complain to some Government body about his unpopularity being down to his parentage and not because he had slept with most of the wives of his fellow employees. . So the next unpopular driver was told to stay behind. That is why Gerald Scrivens was left in front of the cameras as the sole representative of the bus company. The reason why he was nicknamed by his fellow drivers 'Back Stabbing Gutless Smelly Scrivens' and the second most unpopular driver also became apparent. Scrivens blamed everybody else for the riots including in alphabetical order every driver who had ever made his life a misery.
So when the protesters arrived at the bus and Scrivens counted the queue he was happy to let them on except the last one to arrive. But Miss Slacido was eighty two and thought her complaint, about the pensions and being thrown out of the Country after being smuggled here in the back of a lorry full of Korean stain remover, took precedence over the young complaining about cuts in University fees. Her complaint was backed up by Colonel Walter Strong who had fought in the Korean War and hated the kids of today. So a push became a shove. A 'Who you looking at Mister, I have my Dance and Media Studies Degree to protect' became a ' Move it Fatty Grandpa' and thus the altercation became a riot.
As I peer out of the lighthouse to the coast of our small town and then beyond to the lit up sky above Havenedge. I can only hope that the light is from the towns light pollution and not from any fires started in the town.. The late news has just reminded me to put my clocks forward tonight. Yet today feels so much like a throw back to the Sixties. When all was peace and love and we kicked hell out of each other and made a slap the sound of the Sixties.
BANK & LIFE
Banks are self perpetuating organisms that are only there for the good of their own existence. In the good old days when nobody needed to borrow money and the banks wanted you to give them your money. They offered you lots of interest. They were the glory days. I was never as rich as I was when I received my first paycheque for 13 pounds Gross. The beer was cheap and you could have a good night out at least once a week.
Nowadays banks take all your money. Offer you interest rates that wouldn't keep a fly in food. Then expects you to move the money after a year to another of their schemes, because the scheme you are in only lasts for a year, until the interest goes down to .01 per cent. Did you not read the small print? Why not discuss your money with a financial adviser? Has anyone ever had a financial adviser? If they do, do they not charge for the service. In which case do you not need to be rich enough not to need banks anyway?
Now if you are lucky enough to have a bank you can actually visit, you can queue for hours and they thank you for waiting. Or you can go on the Internet and go through the elaborate security system that needs changing every few months, because somebody has hacked into their system. I find the worry of deciding if drawing out from my saver long term account offering 1.2 per cent on my three hundred and twenty seven pounds forty three pence so I can transfer it to my current account offering no interest but pays the bills coming in if the money is there just too much sometimes. Especially now as banks are going to rid themselves of the bother of issuing cheque books. Then the banks really will be a building where you put what pittance you have so the CEO of the bank can live in luxury. What will be the point of banks for anybody not in dire need of a financial adviser.
Now if this was still a working lighthouse, the worry of such trivial matters could not be addressed even if they wanted to be. You would be stuck on the lighthouse with two other blokes, You would all share the shifts and haVE time to think of life without the clutter. Shifts would be spread amongst the three men. Midnight until four AM. Then four AM until midday. Midday until Sixteen hundred hours and then the first bloke would come back and take the sixteen hundred hours until twenty hundred hours and so on. You see nice and simple. Everyone knew what their duties were and everyone was willing to lend a hand.
Now everything is more complicated. We are given all these labour saving devices to help us, but instead we just have to rush to keep up with it all. Life has become automatic. We don't stop to look at where we are.
(A note from Beverley, Internal Monologue writer).
The above rant is a replacement for Ethel's review of the TV Series 'The Pacific'. Her review thought the characters too similar and the fact that they were all based on real people, they should have been more distinctive. She also said the special effects people liked the blowing off, of legs too much. However Ethel then became upset and wrote about how it brought back the memory of her own Father dying in World War Two. However Ethel's Dad is alive and well and can often be seen shouting at the local youth for making too much noise and looking scruffy. Ethel will no longer be writing any Reviews again. Bernie Woodstain will take that position over.
Also The Picayune has never rushed or tried to rush since 1987. So while he talks of a life full of rushing and the dizzying pace of life. He is merely going on hearsay.
Thank you.
ETHEL AND BERNIE DEBATE
With less than two reviews completed I have been told that my career is over. While it is fair to say my reviews were from a very personal point of view, I don't accept they did not have their place. Besides, if I included some private matters within the review, then it merely shows how involved I was with the project and the films themselves.
One of the criticisms of my criticism was that not all the personal matters I mentioned were true. But then who really cared? Nobody really cares what anybody else thinks of a film, let alone a 45 year old woman that has gone through in life what I have gone through. The personal inclusions need only to be taken out, not the whole review banned. Besides it would have been better if I had just been told not to include certain elements in my reviews and that would have been it. Did I not need help more than exclusion?
Already there has been a petition on Facethebook to have my reviews reinstated. Please support the petition and have those who would silence a thirty five year old woman who has a voice, reverse their decision. A twenty seven year old single mother shouldn't be silent.
Good Morning, I am Bernie Woodstain reporting from Cosmic's back garden where things are worse and the animosity along with the plants, still growing. I was asked to take over the Film Reviews last night. As anybody in the Newspaper World knows, this is not a proper job for a serious journalist like myself. Normally it is done by people with no talent or the Arts reviewer. They normally sit alone anyway and have nothing to do when there isn't a painting to look at or an Amateur Play to sleep through. So it is not a step up for me to take over The Film Reviews.
As in any review, there has to be some background, some extra information. It is not good enough just to say one liked or disliked a film. Even if the reasons given are valid. Ethel's reviews would have been fine. But it is rather bad taste if nothing else, to include matters of a personal nature. Especially as the personal matters prove to be untrue. It can upset those readers who identify with the writer, because they have genuinely gone through a similar experience. only to find they have been duped and their emotions manipulated.
Within the review one has to accept what is read is at least well researched. Ethel's above argument to have her reviews reinstated includes three errors on her age. Her real age is above even the highest quoted. Even a cursory look at any or all of the Social Networks online would prove there is no petition anywhere to have her reviews reinstated.
Besides does anybody really need to see yet another review. We live in an age where we can all comment on films we have watched. The one thing I agree with Ethel about is, who cares? So while there may well be a place for Ethel, we should accept that that place is not commenting on Films. I have learned over the years, a true journalist cannot become too involved in what or who they are writing about.
PICAYUNE AND THE BIG SHOP
There is a muffled cry and a bang from outside. I ask if anybody heard that. Cass answers from another room. I don't hear what she says. So I shout again if anybody heard the noise? Cass shouts something that I don't hear. So I have to leave the luxury of my book and go to the stairs. I shout if anybody had heard the noise? Cass says She had heard the noise. She then asks me if I heard it and what it was. We both discuss the possibility of it being important and whether it needs closer investigation. As it's time to do the big shop for the month, we both decide we can check on the reason for the noise when we do the shopping. So I return to my room, put on a coat and sit down and carry on reading my book.
Having both been driven to the kitchen by hunger I find myself with an armful of post. Again I am faced with the idea that whenever I move, my body and brain decide it is time to kill several birds with one small pebble. So with the post in hand I go to put it by the door so Cosmic can pick it up, next time he is over. It is then I remember the noise I heard earlier. So carefully I open the door and find a whole pile of wood. So we have had a delivery of wood for some reason. This isn't that unusual. I have often found things delivered to the door that remain a mystery to me. Cass appears to know what most of it is for. I know that unless it is shaped like a book or DVD, it isn't for me.
So I shout to Cass that her delivery has come. She says something from the kitchen I can't hear. I begin to bring the planks and the boards in until I see a hand poke out from the pile. Cosmic has brought over the post. I take the letters and pointless offers and give him back our post to take over to the mainland. There is a muffled voice and I clear some space. Cosmic asks me why I am taking the wood inside. I tell him. He informs me it is the wood that was thrown out only a few days ago and has to be dumped. He hasn't had time to clear it yet. Could I help him up? Having conceded to his wishes, I tell him I felt a certain deja vu with this situation and then ask him why he was trapped under the wood if he knew it was there. He tells me I don't want to know.
Once inside I tell Cosmic we are about to do our big shop. He remarks by saying 'Oh Joy'. Cosmic also tells me I will never guess what has happened at his house. So I don't. Then he says I wouldn't want to know. So for the time being that is out of the way. I make sure my scarf is tight around my neck, my coat is done up and my shoes are on. Then I sit down at the computer and log on to the Supermarket Site. When it eventually loads I start shouting out items. Cass scurries around shouted 'yes, we need fourteen of those', or 'no of course not'. She shows her annoyance whenever any item She has no interest in is shouted out. Then debates with herself for what seems hours whenever an item She likes come to the fore as to the amount desired. Cosmics has to remember if there are any items he needs because the shopping will be delivered to his house Although he can add them to the order once he is at home.
Having managed to complete the order in more time than it would have taken to physically go out and do the shopping, we all stop for a break. I ask Cosmic what it was he wanted and why he came over. He says I wouldn't want to know. So I don't ask again.
LOVE IS IN THE AIR
Do you remember the single 'Love is in the Air' by Pope John Paul. No hold on it wasn't him. John Paul Young was the name I think. I was not a fan of the song, not that John Paul would care. But whenever I heard the lyrics, I thought they sounded like 'Lovers in the Air'. So whenever the song came on the radio, I had a mental picture of low flying naked copulating couples. Whizzing about making aeroplane noises. The reason why I bring this up is we have our first romance of the blog. Well I say romance, more a meeting of minds. When you first think about it, it seems unlikely, But the more you ponder the fates the more you begin to realise it was kind of inevitable.
The speed of the romance has me shocked. I wasn't aware these kids (using the term loosely) even knew each other. I didn't even know they knew of the existence of each other before yesterday. So I feel rather proud. If it hadn't been for something I put into motion than these two may never have met. I didn't know they had done. I feel like speaking in a strange Liverpudlian accent and talking endlessly about buying a hat. But I wont. For that may just be jumping the gun a bit.
The first I heard of it was as Cosmic was leaving. I told him to be careful of the thrown out wood piled up outside. He seems to be in the habit of using it as a temporary dwelling. Maybe he is actually trying to use it as a half way house between where he lives and the lighthouse. Anyway he said he may be back tomorrow as Cass had said she needed more tobacco. 'More tobacco already,' I said? As Cosmic is her lift to the shops I made a joke about hoping his intentions are honourable towards my sister, considering the time they are together. This comment made us both involuntarily shudder. But did lead to the fascinating facts of the real romance.
So I asked Cosmic why he hadn't told me before. He told me I didn't want to know. I hit him. Not a punch, more a rather dodgy slap. Both of us felt embarrassed. Cosmic said that he first noticed them this morning. He was up at eleven (early for him) and there they were. Talking in a rather intimate way in his back garden. Bernie and Ethel, large as life and deep in conversation. Could they just be in discussion about the Film Review. 'Get over yourself' Cosmic rather needlessly replied. Even a fantasist and a journalist couldn't find enough to talk about over a pointless review on a pointless blog. Hurt and stunned I took this comment to be nevertheless fair. Cosmic continued by saying that besides all the talking there was gazing and eye looking. Eye looking I asked meant what exactly. Cosmic replied 'looking into eyes'. But isn't that what we all do when talking to other people? Tishposh' came the down and with it ex pops stars reply. Apparently people don't look at each other in their eyes unless they want to sell you something or scare you. 'Or they like you' was added as an afterthought. So I said he meant 'gazing into eyes'. But he said no that's eye gazing and is creepy and means something else. I gave up
What do we do? Do we allow it or can we encourage it? Or do we just ignore it? Cosmic thought for a moment. He would give them some rubber gloves and some shears and they could start cutting away at the thorns and weeds in his garden. I didn't think this was very romantic, but as I was already losing interest in the grubby love life of two minor characters, I nodded my head in agreement.
So now is the time to start thinking about wedding presents. They can all be sent care of the lighthouse. I could do with a new TV.
PICAYUNE AND THE VACUUM CLEANER
How many Picayunes does it take to change a light bulb? Well one to find the right bulb, another to take the old one out, a third to go shopping for a new fitment, because the old one just came out with the bulb. A fourth to turn off the electricity, a fifth to fit the new fitment, a sixth to go out and buy a new screw driver because none of the screws in the new fitment actually match any screw driver made. A seventh to go out and buy another bulb because the new one doesn't work. An eighth to realise the bulb doesn't work because the electricity is still turned off. Finally a ninth to go round the lighthouse resetting everything because instead of turning off just the light circuit, the mains switch was pulled. Thank goodness I don't actually have to change the main lamp in the lighthouse anymore.
Electrical goods don't like me. They see me coming and nudge each other and giggle. When a car headlight goes out I look at the manual and see what bulb I need. Go off and buy one. It doesn't fit. Go back to the shop, ask for help. Then this kid of twelve looks at me as if I'm a simpleton, shakes his head, tuts a few times and then tells me I need a two prong A7589034 not a B7589034c. Then in under five seconds he fits it and its over. That's why I leave the car stuff to Cosmic. He goes in and announces to the whole shop that he needs a new headlight bulb and knows nothing and needs help. Then drives off waving and thanking everybody and they all think he is such a nice man. I however have my pride. Which is why it's all electrical goods, not just bulbs and light fitments that plot against me.
Televisions only like me when they have rubbish showing on them. Otherwise they go all fuzzy and start hissing at me. If I have a DVD, those wonderful, indestructible entertainment discs. I slot them in and just at the good bit it s t a r t s t o stic k. Then jumps back to the beginning of the plot again. I take it out of the machine and look at it. Then carefully wipe it and it is fine. Until the next good bit and we start all over again. Why are the credits always undamaged? Still we now have Blu Ray and 3 D and the rest. These are more scratch resistant. Yeah right, sure they are.
So it was with this background in guerrilla war tactics that I approached the vacuum cleaner. Now the last time I actually approached the vacuum to partake in a proper workout was about a year ago. Yes I know it is bad. But the lighthouse has seen some changes, sorting out and deciding what to keep and what not to keep. So speed was never my best attribute. I like to ponder things. A bag from a charity came over in the post and clearly stated it needed books to sell. Now one thing I have in the lighthouse is books. On the stairs, in the bathroom, in the light fitments instead of ligthtbulbs. I have books. So I put a few books in the bag so somebody can row them over to the mainland and before I reach the door the bag is broken. Why ask for books if you cannot handle the weight in the bag provided?
Back to the vacuum cleaner. Now this vacuum cleaner is a small, bend over hurt back, kind of cleaner. Cosmic lent me a stand up one but it was a bit impractical for a lighthouse. So we use this one. We bought an extension for it that wasn't really made for it and it keeps falling off. Besides the extension nozzle hole is bigger than the nozzle hole of the vacuum. So there is occasional build up of dirt and dust. So you take off the extension nozzle and have to work the towering dirt tower into the smaller hole. So I expected the usual problems. The cleaner cuts off and doesn't work unless you let it cool down. Then it fills up easily and you spend time trying to empty the easy empty bucket it has with it. Manage to spill most of it and you have to vacuum the dust up again. So as I say I approached the vacuum with some trepidation. It looked at me as if it was asking what it was I wanted. But not to be put off I started to find its lead and plug. Oh yes it put up a battle to keep them hidden. Which one of us is the more superior? A vacuum cleaner or a biological being with millions of years of evolution behind him?
Twenty minutes later I had found the plug and lead and decided to vacuum downstairs and halfway up the stairs. Now I wasn't about to move chairs or anything. This wasn't the decade clean for goodness sake. However where I saw dirt I pointed my extension nozzle at it. Yes it became blocked a few times and yes I had to empty the bucket thingy. But I managed to actually vacuum downstairs and go halfway up the stairs as planned. My back didn't hurt too much and I wasn't gasping for oxygen with all the exertion. So tomorrow I feel confident and able I can carry on and finish off the vacuuming.
There it sits. The Vacuum Cleaner, all smiling and helpful. Knowing that, having lulled me into a false sense of security today, it will give me hell tomorrow. I can hear the giggling from here.
COSMIC AND HIS DELIVERY SERVICE
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Hi there, Cosmic here ready to make the day a happy place to be. You may well remember the radio show I did after my successful pop career. Now however, I seem to be involved in a delivery business. Normally, if I have a spare moment in my busy schedule, I will pick up the post for the Lighthouse and then row over to deliver it. Takes no more than a quarter of an hour, half an hour round trip. They tend to use my address for items that need delivery, because there is no way the poor old postman has time to stop and spend half an hour on a few letters.
Sometimes one has days like today that all I seem to have time for is the Lighthouse delivery. At half eight this morning, there is a ring at the door. Ethel is standing there and says she has signed for the packages. They are both for The Picayune. Half eleven, ring at the door and the delivery chap is holding a parcel, addressed to the Big P himself. A quarter to one and the shopping delivery arrives. So I go through all the substitutes they have put in. Yes Evaporated Milk is fine instead of Light Evaporated Milk. Not sure about the Vegetarian Spaghetti and Cheese Quiche but I will take it. So I bring all the stuff in and then take out the stuff that I ordered just for me. Tick them off the invoice and then load the rest in the car. Now there are plenty of frozen foods so no real time to mess about. The car boot is full, the back seat is full and the passenger seat has enough long life milk on it to supply war torn Bridlington.
I then drive to the quay and fill up the rowing boat, allowing enough room for me to sit and paddle. Why The Pic doesn't invest in a motor for the boat is beyond me. But he says he can't afford it. So I paddle there and hand over the parcels and then the first part of the shopping. Making sure that the invoice is there so they can check the shopping off. I then take both boats back and fill them up with the shopping and row back again. Now the steps to the Lighthouse take some climbing but The Pic waits until a few Chocolate bars are left in the boat before he comes down to help. He says he has been transferring the shopping to the kitchen.
So with the last shopping delivered, the kettle is put on and he sits with me and asks how I am. Meanwhile the shopping is being put away by Cass who also ticks off the items from the list. She brings in the tea and offers me a scone. I always say yes please, just to see the look on Pics face. He seems to think I should drop off the shopping and be on my way. So I am eating my scone and drinking my tea, when The Pic starts opening up his parcels. He has ordered some American TV Series from France because it is not available over here. He then fits some slippers on. They are the sort that have a flap at the top, so people who have trouble moving and bending can put them on easily. Despite this apparent feature, The Pic has trouble manoeuvring his feet into them. Until, that is, he actually climbs to his feet and then has no problem at all, despite the pained expression in his face.
Then comes the moment that I dread. The Pic looks about him like a startled Meerkat and asks where the lager is. I say there wasn't any. He looks at me accusingly and says he ordered it. Cass looks at the list and says it isn't listed. The Pic says he ordered it. I say he couldn't have done because it isn't on the list. He then blames the computer for not registering the lager he ordered. He then blames God and The Labour Party, goes off into a long diatribe about Fascism and munches sulkily on crisps and a chocolate bar. Before he has time to ask me to bring some lager back with me, I am out of there.
I am by the boat and have in my arms a computer. This is a computer that needs mending by the nice bloke in town. I also am asked to give a lift to Cass for her work this time tomorrow. So having done all that and then delivered the computer, I arrive home. Ethel and Bernie are in the front garden. They are both drinking hot beverages. Bernie says he is glad he caught me as I seem to be running low on coffee. What goes around comes around.
CASS GOES OUT TO WORK
Awaiting phone call re computer, can it be fixed or is it dead? Not sure if I should go out to work today or stay in and do work here. If computer can be fixed by Wednesday than it would be easier to work from home on that computer instead of the computer down stairs. But if it can't be fixed I need to finish on the computer downstairs before Wednesday. Or it may be Thursday. I have lost the phone number to the chap who is mending my computer. But suffice to say I think it best to go out today, at least have tomorrow to work on the computer downstairs. Although I need to go out next week if I don't go out Friday as well. Hate not having a car.
So having decided to go out to work today, I have time to take some more furniture out of my room. I have to dismantle it as I go. Over the years, whenever anybody has said they want to keep something, but don't know where to put it, it has ended up in my room. I have no room to move. Must have a cigarette. Now I am moving stuff out to leave room to move stuff in from another room. Plus there is furniture to come from Cosmics house. At least I think he has arranged to move in. The money would be nice. But I am not sure The Pic, my brother, has any idea what is going on. Decisions seem to be made that pass him by. It is like the books. He has emptied loads of shelves. Now the books are in cardboard boxes. So I ask him is he sure he wants to rid himself of the books? Yes he says. So I ask him again if he is sure? He says yes. So I start taking a few out to leave for the charity shop. I know we will have to deliver most of them, but the van is coming round, so I said I would leave them out. So I do, but I can tell The Pic isn't happy. I ask him if he is alright with the books going? He says he is. But I am not so sure he is. I need a cigarette.
A shroud of mist has descended on the coast. I ask The Pic what he will be doing today. He says he may finish the vacuuming. So I go off to work. I notice the bags with the books in for charity haven't been collected. Cosmic is waiting in the car to give me a lift. I mention the books not being picked up. Despite the damp, they seem alright. But why leave them instead of picking them up? Cosmic agrees and we drive to where I am working. It is the short drive today. The longer one, where I may go tomorrow, haven't really decided yet, is along the coast and right near Havenedge Harbour. Today is in the back streets and solid work all day. Must have a cigarette.
At last it is at the end of the day and it is still damp. Cosmic picks me up and moans about the traffic. We arrive at the quay and the bags of books are still there. I go back to the lighthouse and The Pic tells me the man mending the computer has phoned and asks if it is alright to buy a part. Could I give him a ring? So I say to The Pic why didn't he answer it? But The Pic doesn't answer the phone anymore. Besides the part will be ordered for the computer if I don't ring back anyway or so The Pic says. He tells me he has taken the vacuum upstairs ready to use. I ask him if he has eaten. No he hasn't, except for some toast and cheese this afternoon. Does he want something? He asks like what? So I say Chicken, Fish, Meat Pie, Sausages, Fish Fingers, Quiche. Bacon, Spam Fritters and or an assortment of any of the above. He asks what I want? ‘I don't know’ I reply and have a cigarette.
So I have some salmon and rice and The Pic has something with beans. Now tomorrow, I am not sure if it would be a good idea to go out to work or to stay in and finish the work I have to to do by next Wednesday. Now if my computer is working by next Monday ...................
THE APRIL FOOL AND AN UNINVITED GUEST
Thick fog and the mainland is cut off from the lighthouse. Not that I care today. I can feel the other thing coming. It will just hang around, probably won’t come up to the lighthouse. May just appear at the window. There was a time it followed me about everywhere, barking and snarling. Even bit me a few times. But it is when it actually nuzzles up to you and you have to hug it that you know you are on the border line. When it's bad, it is worse than I have ever known it. But then it doesn't often come around now, certainly doesn't hang around all the time.
There it is. Despite the fog, I can see it from the lighthouse. Squatting down on all fours, smelling the air like an animal. It's decaying body, liquefying and putrid. A horror to behold. A nightmare from the works of Edgar Allen Poe. A demon and a right pain. I speak of The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body. You can bury it, but time and time again it will suddenly appear for no rhyme nor reason. Its featureless countenance and dripping shroud hangs around it. You can smell the decay. Then, when you least expect it, it will bark like a dog. Not a scary dog, but a cartoon dog. Nevertheless it is enough to make one realise it is there. But as I say , today it is outside. It may well drift away on the wind like the fog. Or I may well find it standing by my side at any time. Until I can bury it, or ask Cosmic to row it over to the mainland.
There is a ring at the door. I am torn between running away and hiding. Or facing it straight on. Then I hear the singing. For a second I am puzzled. I go to the door and three small children are singing to me. They have a scarecrow standing next to them. I wonder if I am still asleep. The kids start singing Christmas Carols. They go through complete chorus of ' The Holly and the Ivy' and then start on ' Good King Wenceslas'. I am then asked for a penny for the Guy. At which point Cosmic appears beaming from ear to ear and shouts 'April Fools'. The kids laugh hysterically and take the scarecrow and run down the stairs, to where a man is waiting to row them back through the thick fog. Cosmic is standing in front of me waiting for a response. So I debate with him whether or not this was a genuine April Fools. At which point he frowns and tells me to do something unpleasant.
I have forgotten how long Cosmic has known me. But he should have realised I am not a fan of practical jokes or April Fools. When one appears on TV, I complain about the waste of the Licence Money. When we used to read the Daily Newspapers I would complain, either about being fooled or the weak story that was so obviously an April Fool. However Cosmic pushes past me and explains the bother of setting the whole thing up, the time it took and the expense. While he is moaning and complaining about my lack of enthusiasm for his jolly jape. I stop him in mid sentence. 'April Fool' I shout at him and start skipping on the spot. Cosmic looks as puzzled as I was earlier. But then at least my April Fool made more sense. Although I was not amused I fooled him into thinking I wasn't amused and then by shouting April Fool made him think I was impressed. Double April Fool. I feel smug at my quick thinking but Cosmic seems hurt. Both by my lack of enthusiasm of April Fool and by the fact he may well have been done on the cheap.
Outside The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, shrugs to itself, as baffled as the rest of the World. Then drifts away in the fog. Feeling just a little unwanted and depressed.
BERNIE AND ETHEL
Bernie Woodstain reporting from the the back garden of Cosmic Antidust, where the Fox Poo becomes as intrusive as the thorns. I have never before seen such flagrant disregard to health and safety. The fox, we must call, that one, has deliberately made an assault towards the back door of the house by marking a drain cover. While this reporter cannot move easily without being stung by nettles or pierced by thorns, these night howlers seem to be able to move about with free will. They make strange, bizarre noises at the dead of night. We are unaware if the sounds are from fights to the death or from them having sex. They seem to do both with alarming regularity. One thing is for sure. Unless something is done soon, neighbouring areas will start to insist on action being taken. The World holds its breath, while the super powers decide.
If I may just pause for a moment and introduce a personal note into this report. I am proud to say that my relationship with Ethel has reached the point where we can almost tell what the other one is about to say. That warm and fuzzy feeling one has, when we no longer feel alone but a couple. That sudden realisation that.... hold on Ethel is talking to me. Yes beloved, what is it?
Yes Ethel I was just saying that....Yes dear.....yes dear....but I cannot just take a spade and clear up the mess myself. Well because I am a reporter and we can't just encroach upon a story we are reporting on. I know..... yes dear I know but.....yes true enough but you see......If I start taking clippers and saw to the garden and start to clear the mess myself, it will appear I am taking sides. I have to remain impartial. Yes I know the fence panel has come down and the rest is being held up by string. Well nobody can fight their way to the fence because of the weeds and brambles. Yes I know I could but....yes dear.....yes dear...but you....yes I see. However it is not my back garden is it? I mean I am not trained am I? It would be like me invading someone else's garden to clean things up and then cutting down their favourite flowers. I wouldn't know what I was doing. Yes I know. But I wouldn't know where to cut the tree and all the overgrown stuff. Could I just take a saw to it and cut wherever? I don't think that would be a good idea. Yes I know they do but they are politicians.
Well Ethel my sweet, the problem is the garden has just been left to its own devices. Nothing anybody can do to weed now. We should just let it run its own course. Survival of the fittest. What do you mean that sounds familiar. Cutting back and destroying everything sounds familiar too. No there is no middle ground. Its all covered in weeds. Where are you going Ethel? What do you mean somebody has to do something? We should leave it for the authorities. No you can't ask Cosmic for a spade. Well you shouldn't even be here. This is after all my work. No I am not fed up with you already. Ethel. Ethel, where are you going now? But Ethel dear. Ethel? Ethel?
Once again it appears my job has intruded upon my personal happiness. It seems like only yesterday when everything in my life felt good. Wait a minute it was only yesterday. Now it is all over. The remnants of my relationship are like ashes in a cold fire. Only the breath of what air is left in me, will disturb the remains of hope. Now as I await ...... hold on what's.......Ethel where did you find the spade? Put it down, no don't do it, Ethel stop it...stop it, it will change everything.......stop it. No!!!!!!!
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The Picayune turned off the Television. Nothing on as usual.
THE ROAD TO TOMORROW IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS
There are two things I know for sure. When I go to bed tonight, I will feel a little ashamed and disappointed in myself. When I am in bed and thinking of the following day, I will be confident that I can step through the front door of the lighthouse. Even work outside for a short time. I even believe I can go down to the boat, clamber in and row to the jetty. Climb out and then walk to the post box. In my mind I can. In reality, the next morning, I can't leave the confines of the lighthouse.
There is plenty to do in the lighthouse. It is not as if there isn't tons of work to be done. But I shall think about the work and eventually do a little here and a little there. But the enormity of the work yet to be done, will grind me down and I shall stop. Then something else will crop up and I will feel even more under a pressure that doesn't exist.
May be it is just a guilt thing. I need to feel guilty. I swore to myself that, despite any feelings of being self conscious, once people I knew and loved began to die, there was no point and no room to feel this way. I have always believed we fill a space in time and that's it. God’s plan is no more than that. I believe in God but He is a nice person who sees all but can influence, not a lot. God will sit there and say to himself, 'why on Earth does Man allow this to happen. If Man really exists, why couldn't he stop the suffering'. So I have no reason to face the day in dread. It is not like I am going to let anybody down. But I need to feel guilty about the lack of achievement.
Or is it because I dislike the outside so much. Not so much the sights and sounds, but the people. They all have a pointless existence and all look as if they have somewhere to go. Whereas in reality, we are all heading to the same point in time. So what is the point in doing anything before we reach that point. You understand the point I am making? It is pointless I know. Wasn't there someone doomed to see the death of others but not his own death until it happened? Or maybe I am making it up? Anyway that's how I feel every morning. Hope in bed, hopeless out of it.
Cosmic is here, telling me about Ethel and the reporter bloke. Ethel is a fantasist. Somebody who is so broken and vulnerable that she has to make up her life. Yet She is outside. She can relate to these people. Or to any people. While I dislike people but care what they think even though I cannot relate to them.
I think I have decided that being alone is wonderful. That is the point. I enjoy it so should stop beating myself up about it. Lazy and lonely. Why try and change after all this time?
(Note from Beverley - As I write the internal monologue of The Picayune (please see past blogs) I think I know what is missing from the above. Most shy people actually have a superiority complex. The irony being if you think you think you have an inferiority complex you have the opposite. So while The Picayune may well feel crippled by his inadequacy, he is in fact a cocky so and so, who looks down on others failings. He simply doesn't like the Human Race. He thinks he is the very god like person he describes as believing in. Less time looking down and in. More time spent looking up and out will do wonders. Not that it will ever happen.
If you are walking along and close one eye. With the open eye, stare at your nose. That's who you are. A brain trapped in a body. I know that sounds the sort of thing The Picayune would say. But the fact is, he would go on about the inadequacy of the nose. Sometimes a nose is just a nose. A life is just a life. The Picayune has both. He should be thankful and do something with it).
STAMP IT OUT
Ethel leans on a spade. Cosmic has asked her to join him later to go the lighthouse and help bring the dumped wood over, so it can be transported to the official dump dump. Ethel nods and is half listening to Bernie report to himself on the rise of stamp prices. Up to forty six pence for first class stamps, he is saying. Thirty Six pence for second hand stamps. She remembers receiving Birthday Cards from aunties with a ten shilling note inside as a present. Now just sending the card costs that much.
Ethel used to collect stamps as a girl. She had albums full of the things from all over the World. Then she just stopped and drifted onto other things. Although the thrill of collecting special edition stamps was rekindled earlier this year. They had brought out the anniversary editions stamps for Gerry Anderson's Thunderbirds and a few other of his series. Ethel remembered them all and listened with amusement as Cosmic and The Pic talked about their favourite episodes and then replayed them all on DVD. Her thrill was remembering the stamps collecting. But she couldn't remember when philately became an embarrassing hobby to have? Or indeed why? The Pic had said he found the word 'Philately' still haunted him. When he worked in a bookshop, the hobbies section was by the medical section. So he always equated stamp collecting with a decease. For Ethel that is exactly what it had become.
Silly really the way people collect things and sometimes just stop. Cosmic once had a huge music collection. Vinyl, Tapes, Cd's and a few strange Cartridge things. It was a collection that he had started long before he became famous. But, one day, he just decided to break up the collection and sell a few. Then sell most of them. He was only left with a few dregs. Not much money in ' That's what I Call Music and Dance eighty three'. So they were the only ones he now had. Bernie Woodstain once had a collection of type writers, or so he was saying. All gone now. The Pic had a huge collection of books. All gone or going. Finance and lack of space is always part of the excuse. But it sometimes appears to go beyond that.
Ethel remembered her Fathers collection of Porn. Only the magazines and books. When the videos and the films became easily accessible, her Dad said it took the heart out of the subject. So he sold what he could of his collection and threw away the rest. Some people keep on collecting until their days have ended. Anything and everything. Some people are killed when the collection of newspapers collapses on them after sixty years. But then that is when collection strays into hoarding.
Bernie is finishing off his piece to camera and is ready to hand back to the studio. Ethel is still leaning on the spade and Cosmic has gone indoors to have a cup of tea. Ethel thinks of the things she collects now without realising it. There is a knock on a window and Cosmic is pointing to a mug of tea. Ethel nods and stops leaning on the spade. She glances over to Bernie who is asking the studio if they need him to go again or was that alright. Ethel smiles to herself. We never really stop collecting.
TAKING SIDES
For over thirty years, Cosmic has known Bernie. While not exactly mates, they have been in each other’s orbit for over half their lives. They have shared a few laughs and a few tears. They were together when some of the great news events of the past were going on. At this point Cosmic went off on a diatribe of disasters. A sort of 'where were you' when the four twenty bus to Havenedge was cancelled. I suppose it didn't help when I had to keep telling him these shared experiences were not actually shared. The four twenty was not cancelled, but delayed for an hour. Theoretically it was the five twenty that was cancelled. No they couldn't have both watched live on TV, as the first snow fall hit the fun fare big top, as the cameras were not there at the time but arrived later. I think he would find that the man found on the beach, dressed from head to foot in a woollen coat, was in fact a sheep. However as I sat there, listening to this list, I did concede that Cosmic and Bernie were long standing acquaintances.
So what is the problem? Bernie has taken to sitting in Cosmic’s front garden. He refuses to ever set foot in the back garden again. Bernie says he can stand the attacks from foxes and insects, He can even put up with the lost tribesman he sees up there. Along with the brambles and the thorns, ripping at his coat and skin. But the one person he refuses to be around is 'that woman'. Ethel has taken to staying in the back garden and has become very helpful. Now it should be explained that both front and back gardens of the Antidust residence are in a bit of a state. But it is, without doubt, the back garden that is in dire peril of exploding onto neighbouring property. Although that isn't stopping Ethel. She told Cosmic, while she helped him move the wood from the lighthouse front door into the boat, that she would clean up the front garden as well. If Bernie was there it wouldn't bother her. Not that she is a gardener. Just a 'cleaner upper'. So Cosmic said fine, and Bernie saw them in the car together, Ethel sitting on a wooden bed frame, and Bernie blamed Cosmic for taking sides. Or at least not taking Bernie’s side exclusively.
Cosmic rarely talks to his neighbours. They either ignore him or moan behind his back and park their cars in the road instead of their drives, making it hard for him to back out into the road. Until his move into the front garden, Bernie too had very little contact with anybody. Only the shouts and curses from people in their gardens about the fence coming down or the Fox being allowed to enter their property from Cosmic’s garden. But Bernie just told them it had nothing to do with him as he was simply an impartial observer. All changed when he moved into the front garden. Suddenly he has become the voice of the people. Talking to everybody and anyone as they pass, or go off to work. Agreeing with them when they complain about Cosmic. Reassuring them that despite Bernie’s best efforts reporting on the state of the garden, Cosmic has remained deaf to all pleas to improve the situation. What is more, Cosmic seems to be allowing any homeless passer by to settle in the back garden. They all nod their heads and wish each other a good day. Until Cosmic comes out and then everybody shuts up and coughs.
I listen to Cosmic as the clouds begin to roll in. I think it is going to rain. A telephone call has some good news. Cass will have her computer back by tonight. As long as Cosmic can bring it over and here is a card to draw out some money to pay for it. Could he buy some bread on the way back as well? Oh and if he is passing the post box? So Cosmic pulls up his collar and heads back. I am glad I am able to help him with his problems. Sometimes one just needs to talk to ease the worry. Although I must admit to feeling a little drained after spending so much time as a sounding board for others. Still if there is anything else I can do?
However I am fully aware that it is important for me not to take sides. I can be supportive and listen, but I have to be able to see every ones point of view. I remind Cosmic not to let the computer get wet when he rows it back. He says something that I cannot quite hear. Maybe just a 'thanks'. I feel good for once. You see I don't need to go anywhere to help people. I can just help them from here.
PUSHING THE ENVELOPE
When one day goes by, without major mishap, one tends to try and go for it again. Not always a good idea and one I try and steer clear of. It is late and Ethel is at the door. A computer, fixed and paid for and another parcel is in her hands. She smiles and hands them over. I struggle with the computer but hand it on to Cass. A gushing conversation takes place and everybody seems enormously happy that everything is fine. The computer hasn't been switched on yet but the gushing overflows. Ethel said what a nice man the computer man was and will use him herself, should she ever own a computer that needs fixing. Or indeed own a computer at all.
In the other parcel is a toilet seat. I wasn't aware computers need them but the lighthouse needs one apparently. Actually it needs a new everything so why not start with a toilet seat. Ethel then takes me to one side and says she wasn't sure about 'the other letters'. So she has left them and will bring them over if I want, or shred them if I decide that that is the best course of action to take. I ask her what other letters. The answer does slap me on many levels. Cosmic never bothered to keep the 'other letters' away. So we just shredded them ourselves. Ethel says she knows how upset Cosmic is when he receives these 'other letter'. Again I am surprised on many levels. How does Ethel know the intimate post of Cosmic’s letter box. She has only been in the garden for a few days. It turns out we are talking about letters addressed to loved ones long passed. Except for me, eighteen months still doesn't seem long since my Mother died. Although why the Australian Lottery and Olga Mystykover the mystic, should need to keep in contact with Mum is a mystery. Ethel says Cosmic has the same sort of letters and his parents died many years ago. I would complain that mystic Olga isn't very good at her job, but we still have banks sending correspondence despite having the relevant details on their mystical systems. I thank Ethel and tell her to shred them. I am warming to Ethel. She tells me about her trip to the dump to help Cosmic toss all our unwanted wood. When did Ethel became so important? But then I think it may because I have insulted Cosmic in some way and Ethel is picking up the slack. I worry easily.
Cass tells Ethel that there will soon be more furniture to chuck. Cass had decided to wait to test the computer when it is in its new place. What new place? A different room and with furniture being moved and I can move that there and where I sleep now will move to somewhere else. Then that other thing I wanted to keep can go where that other thing we decided to move is now. If it fits with the picture where it was. I ask Ethel if she wants a tea and she says no as she is off to The Smugglers for a swift half. Since when did Ethel go to the Smugglers? I feel left out of the loop of what is going on. Especially as twenty minutes later Cass comes up for air after continually talking and asks "if that's alright with me?" What is it I was supposed to be listening out for to agree with? I shrug and make a sort of snore come groan noise in hope that that will suffice as an answer.
I am not sure if tomorrow will be safe. Ethel has taken over the recycling to the mainland and I suddenly feel even more useless than before. Things are at last happening without any input by me. Just as well as if people waited for me to do something then nothing would ever be done. I look at the bookshelf I cleared. I look at the dusters I put on it, still waiting to be used. It has only now occurred to me. I don't want to disturb the past. Very deep and meaningful I am sure. But still true. Everything stays the same but everything changes. I remember steam trains and waiting on bridges as the steam disappeared one side and then magically appeared the other. I remember walking to and standing for hours at Football Matches. I remember going to the cinema and going out to work. Now I have a computer and the Internet and a heart condition. When did I become so cut off?
The thought of just stepping outside fills me with dread. But maybe tomorrow will be a good day to push open the envelope a little more. But I don't promise anything.
COSMIC TAKES A BREAK
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here to play songs old and new, with fish or stew. The cooking segment comes up just after this song by Speed Achievement. Lets rock this place.
All of a sudden my responsibilities have been taken away from me. Ethel seems more than happy to take up the slack of my duties and I for one am loving it. There is still a certain atmosphere in the garden. What with the negative reports coming from Bernie Woodstain in the front garden. Ethel appearing to be above such tactics in the back garden. She seems more than happy to leave the fight against the tribes and just pop out to deliver or pop back to her place for a sleep and a wash. I have never had it so good.
Went to The Smugglers last night and had a drink with Ethel. Oh stop it, we just enjoyed a break from the normal routine. Mind you it was quiet in there. What with the prices and the fear of being shouted out by the landlord for not paying him for the drinks, I think people prefer the trip into Havensedge. Mind you prices everywhere are high.
Still it's great to relax. Ethel has already delivered the post to The Pic this morning and says she will collect the rubbish and return the recycle skips. She has plans for the garden but the enormity of the project is hitting home. Although once she takes that first step, she says, then it will be a start. As far as I am concerned, Ethel can do whatever she wants whenever she wants. It gives me time to catch up with some reading. I can have a look at some of the fan letters that still come in. Yes then I can...um...sort out a few things that have been on the back burner. You know the sort of things that keep being put off. Yeah I need to spruce up the old place so I can sell it. I know Ethel will be fine but not sure how Bernie would cope when I move. Still that's a long way off yet. Can't worry about Bernie. So yes then, having Ethel take over some of my little jobs has been just great. Really a relief. Left me some time to sort a few things out. Yes sirree, time for myself to treat myself.
Not much on Television this afternoon. Not that I have the time to stop and look and TV. No just making an observation. I could go out and help Ethel in the garden or even with some of the chores she is helping with. I don't want her to think that I have abandoned her. Yeah that's what I will do then. See if she needs any help this afternoon.
It's great having time to oneself. Nice to be able to take a break.
TOMORROW AND TOMORROW AND TOMORROW
I am watching the sad sight of a ferry being moved for an overhaul. Part of my daily routine is watching, via the Web, the ferry go back and forth. I shall miss it as will many of the patrons of the camera we watch the ferry on. I then turned to witness the tide go out on The Poole Harbour camera. But my big event of the day was I watched for Ethel, without the aid of a camera, to bring over the recycling skips and met her at the boat with the rubbish. It was the first time I had been out of the lighthouse for some time. It was a nice day and I felt proud. But on the way back to the lighthouse, up a slope I never realised was so steep, I noticed the path being over taken by grass and weeds. Also the steps were crumbling. I knew that going out would throw up more problems than answers.
I was surprised but pleased to see Cosmic today. He was less pleased. I thought he would be happy that Ethel had taken some of the work load off him. Up to a point he was, but he seemed less than enthusiastic. Apparently he had asked Ethel if she would like him to help her in the garden. But she said that as Cass was throwing out furniture and as Cosmic had rubbish filling up his garage, wouldn't it be a good idea to clear up the garage. Cosmic says that along with garden rubbish. there are old reclining chairs, a settee and a whole lot of broken computers from the lighthouse. Cosmic said they need the hard drives taken out and there are plenty of old screens. A few big TVs that are no longer able to be mended and a whole lot of creepy crawlies. So with all that in mind could I give him a hand. I wouldn't have to do much, just take stuff from one end of the garage and pile it by the garage door. Then it would be taken to the dump later. I said I thought I would be too busy tomorrow.
Cosmic stayed to watch the football and we talked about The Grand National and The Big Game Saturday. Cosmic said we could all watch the race and listen to the football together. He would pick me up tomorrow at the quay on the mainland at about eleven thirty. I said fine and he left. I walked down to the rowing boat with him and as he was half way across realised what I had agreed to. So I called to him and he waved back. I shouted again to try and catch his attention. But he either pretended not to notice or didn't want to. So I began to panic. I must leave him a message on his answer phone telling him I cannot possibly help him tomorrow. Or I could just leave it and wait until tomorrow and tell him something has come up.
Back inside Cass was moving furniture and filling up every spare bit of space we have on the stairs. I told her about Cosmic and the garage, She said it would be a grand idea. The sooner there was space in his garage, we could move our stuff to his garage and he could either dump it or give it to charity. That would leave space in the lighthouse for him to bring over his furniture. Then he could put his house up for sale and we would then be setting the wheels in motion. Besides it would leave room for me to have a proper bed instead of sleeping on a mattress. I wondered if I wanted my wheels set in motion.
All of a sudden I feel I have gone from being an outsider looking in, to somebody who is screaming and kicking as he he is dragged into the maelstrom. So it looks as if I am actually going out tomorrow. I mean proper going out, as in going out out. Still not sure if I will back down yet. I am torn between feeling as if I have been let out of a prison hulk for a day, or am facing the firing squad. No doubt somewhere in between lies the answer. Wish me luck.
AS COSMIC AND I WERE SAYING
The garage was full. Not just fullish but full. I was still buzzing from making the journey. I had dressed and walked down to the rowing boat. Hesitantly I put my foot in the boat and after a few attempts actually balanced myself. Then I slowly lowered myself onto the seat and wiped the sweat from my brow. Carefully I picked up the oars and began to paddle. Within seconds my arms were aching and my heart bursting. Drops of watery effort dropped onto my shirt. By the time I eventually reached the other side, Cosmic was waiting, clapping and smiling and dancing a little jig. This was not how I wanted to arrive on the main land. People were looking and frowning at Cosmic's antics. I rather hoped to draw no attention to myself at all. But the hardest part of my arrival was to come. I tried to reach for the jetty edge so I could heave myself up. Cosmic took the rope from the rowing boat to secure it and watched in pained fascination as I struggled to climb up. After the third attempt I managed to support my elbows with my man boobs and then my stomach, then rolled onto the safety of the jetty. Cosmic was shaking with laughter. He put his arms up as if to restrain a crowd pushing forward. "No don't push him back, he wants to be beached" cried Cosmic, as I flapped about on my back, doing my very best impression of a fish out of water. So I lay on my back for a little while gasping for breath. At last I made the effort to roll over on to my knees and then climb up onto my feet, with the aid of Cosmic's arms. Tears rolling down his face he told me nobody had noticed my arrival and began giggling like a school girl.
The passenger car seat had to be slid back and the back tilted. I couldn't easily climb in normally so I had to put my bottom in first and then swing round, banging my knees on the dashboard. I feared that I would leave a sweaty stain on his car seat, but the fumbling and the contortions trying to put on the seat belt soon put all other fears out of mind. On our way to his house we passed the windmill I had forgotten existed and the shops I am glad I didn't have to visit. The place looked horribly crowded but Cosmic said it was quiet. When we arrived at his house, Bernie was sitting in the front garden. He put his finger to his head and did a little salute. I smiled back. Climbing out of the car was no easier the fitting in it. Again I had to swing my legs out first and then my head wouldn't go low enough to fit through the door. But after a couple of complicated manoeuvres, the freak was free.
We had a cup of tea before entering the garage. When we did the size of the job in front of us became apparent. Cosmic rubbed his chin and took a broom from the collection of things he had scattered about. He began brushing away the cob webs as far as he could reach. The problem was there was only a brief pathway between the side door of the garage and a gas meter on the far side. The rest of the floor space was taken up with tools, old beds and a few large chairs I remembered from the lighthouse. There was a wall of plastic draws separating the front of the garage to the back. At the back were piles of computers and other beds and settees and couches and every known hose known to man. Cosmic looked worried. We agreed this was going to take a bit of working out.
As we sat down, me on a tool box, Cosmic on a dusty mattress, we discussed the problem that lay ahead of us. Cosmic decided that the best thing to start with was taking out, through the side door, all the stuff by the front garage door. Then we could move the plastic tool support things out from the wall. Move the stacks of draws separating the front from the back of the garage, to the walls. Thus allowing access to the rubbish that we could then pile next to the front garage door. From there we could transfer it to the car at a later date to be dumped. The plan was set.
Cosmic explained that we could start Sunday. Today had been the planning stage and tomorrow will be too busy. Saturday will be Sport and that left Sunday to make a start. I was a little bit reluctant to say yes and have to repeat my exhausting journey, But he said the second time will never be as bad as the first. So it was agreed, Besides on Sunday we would both either be moaning at Fulham’s goal difference having been withered away or euphoric at a brave defeat. Plus the racing, so Sunday was ideal.
I had expected to be taken back but Cosmic began to talk. Did I know for instance that Richard Osman from the quiz show Pointless was a Fulham Season Ticket Holder? Was I aware that the real reason a man kisses a woman, is to transfer ahead of pregnancy, a virus. This virus was harmless to fit adults but harmful to unborn babies. So it served a two prong purpose. Harming a baby that wasn't his and vaccinating the woman against this virus for future progeny. I pointed out the hole in the logic but Cosmic had read it somewhere so that was the end of it. A whole afternoon was spent discussing life and blaming governments and being rude about football teams and their managers. We talked about films, great songs and books. We laughed out loud and we put the World to rights.
The trip back was easier, still awkward but at least I knew my limitations. Today had been a good day. I was actually looking forward to Sunday and another trip out. Who knew?
MY HEART SKIPS A BEAT
As a reward for braving the outside World and arranging a further trip out. I find a large bar of caramel chocolate. I always vow that I deserve just one every so often. But as I break off just a few squares I realise this is my third bar in three weeks. After that realisation my pathetic performance of trying to row the boat and sit in a car today makes me depressed. Did I see this creep up on me?
Cass is asleep again and is missing nothing on the telly. When I arrived back at the lighthouse I was full of the days exciting tales. But after seeing what she had managed to do while I sat and chatted with Cosmic, I felt less like boasting and more like apologising. Her room has been totally rearranged and she has room to move around a central desk type concoction. How did the room grow so large? I look at what I have achieved in eighteen months of planning and feel I have let things go completely. I am unable to move into first gear. The neutral gear remains dominant. Oh well to correct a problem, you have to understand you have a problem. My name is The Picayune and I most definitely have a problem.
I seem have finished the large caramel chocolate bar and wake Cass up. It is time she went to bed. This means she will go up stairs to her room and work for another few hours. While I will read for the same amount of time in my room. Again I manage to achieve nothing. As I walk up I do at least congratulate myself on taking the briefest of exercise today. With this in mind I walk up the stairs without using the handrail. Not out of breath that much so I guess I am heading in the right direction.
Then my heart does a flutter. Then it freezes and suddenly gallops and then freezes again. The heartbeat becomes irregular. Skip,beat beat beat quickly, pause pause, skip,flutter, beat,beat ,beat, beat,pause, skip. Still no pain but I am waiting for one. I go to the phone and take it. I will leave it within my reach just in case. That chocolate was a mistake and all the other chocolate before it. However if I died in the next few seconds I don't regret anything I have done. I wait for the next few seconds. I wouldn't have done things at the time if I regretted them, I decide bravely as the next few seconds pass. Besides it wasn't all down to me. Fate played a role. Always blame others is a good philosophy to live by if you think you are about to die.
After an hour my heart regains its rhythm. Sixty Eight beats a minute with only the odd skip. No pain yet and I feel better. Well I guess this is the start. Except I remember waking up and having my heart to a fan dance a few months ago. Blimey things are worse than I thought. Still maybe after Sunday I will feel as if I have more energy. I begin to think of all the famous people who have died younger than I am now. For goodness sake, self obsessed and now a superior feeling of survival. I decide to read until I feel tired.
I read about a woman who is a hundred and seven year old Holocaust survivor, who lost most of her family in the war. Her son died a few years ago. She is optimistic and hates nobody. My heart skips a beat.
DRIVING MISS CASS
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Playing songs old and new, if you have a cold or the flu. Cosmic Antidust here making drive time that bit easier.
Except driving on a Friday afternoon, in the sunshine by the coast, will never be easy. Cass is working a late shift by the docks. No I didn't like to ask either. I knew by the journey to the lighthouse it was going to be busy. But having to drive through Havenedge was like driving through treacle. OK the Sun is out and it is around fifteen degrees. Or whatever that is in modern terms. Or is that modern and the other one old fashioned. Whatever the case it was about fifteen degrees. I was at school when I learned all this plus Pounds, Shillings and Pence in the LSD system. Or was that a drug? When decimalization came in it was just an excuse to put up the prices. Nine old pence for a paper or something suddenly became five new pence. That is three old pence more overnight. All through history we have been cheated by the system. Or The Man as we used to say back in the day. Bastards all of them.
Anyway so I am driving through Havenedge. I know it is warmer than usual, so I have taken my sweater off. Still have vest, under shirt, shirt and body warmer jacket on. But people seem to think it is high Summer. Men dressed in shorts with no shirts and the women in shorts and bikini tops and such like. Now the girls are fine and are very pretty, But I am concerned they will catch a cold wearing so little. Besides why do they have to cross the road in relays instead of crossing in one big crowd. Havenedge wants to be green so there are traffic lights every few yards. Plus the pedal bikes zones and the bus zones. I used to like driving but now I am just relieved if I haven't picked up a traffic ticket or a parking fine, at the end of my journey.
This weekend, on top of everything else, Havenedge is hosting a marathon. So the main roads will be closed. Lots of moving heart attacks waiting to happen and the show-offs. Not sure having the excuse of running for charity is good enough. The cost of these marathons to the taxpayer must far outweigh any good charity receives. Already main roads have signs on them directing people to water stations. We have bollards popping up in strange places. Plus you have never seen so many Policemen and Firemen standing around discussing tactics with Ambulance staff. You can see them (you can watch in safety as the traffic is at a stand still) all debating on the best place to hide come the day of the marathon. All deep in thought over where to put that bollard, or that bit of tape or that sign and arrow. Meanwhile my car has moved a foot in ten minutes. Would have been quicker to drive through the runners on the day of the marathon.
I drop off Cass and say ring anytime to be picked up. There was a time I had to make sure I wouldn't miss anything worth watching on the box. But there is only one programme tonight worth bothering about. So I head home. Too late to start anything really. Ethel catches me as I go in the back door of the house, and asks about the garage. I say it is 'almost there'. My answer could mean anything so I close the door before we can enter into any discussion. Right now I have time to watch the things I didn't want to watch before. Or I can play a DVD of our last concert. It looks a bit blurry and misty. There is plenty of drop out from the transfer from video. But it reminds me on a day like this, that priorities change. Hold on this is good timing. The quiz show I like is on. See you later.
BERNIE WOODSTAIN AND THE GRAND NATIONAL PREVIEW
Good Evening, my name is Bernie Woodstain and I am here in the front garden of Cosmic Antidust’s house. With me are Cosmic and Ethel. On the phone live from the lighthouse are The Picayune and his sister Cass. For the purpose of this preview we also have Beverley, who writes the internal monologue of The Picayune and The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks.
Now before I hand over the microphone to each of you, I was just wondering how interested each of you are in The National and if you have a bet.
The Picayune - Hi Bernie, if I can come in here. My memory of the Grand National goes back many years. I remember the great races as well as the not so great. I also remember my Mum picking the winner or a finisher in the first four on many an occasion. Much to my Fathers annoyance.
Cass - We bet on line, but I don't think The Pic would bother if it wasn't for me doing it. Our interest will be on the game. If at half time Fulham are doing OK at United we will only be half listening to the start of the National.
The Picayune - Yes but I will be watching the four hour preview to the National
Cass - And I will be working
Bernie - So have you picked out your winners?
The Picayune - Yes I have picked three but will go for Big Fella Thanks. Trained by J Mangan and and ridden by Graham Lee
Cass - I have gone for Comply Or Die
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF
Bernie - So to Cosmic. Any feelings on the Race
Cosmic - Well I have to say my mind has been taken up by the traffic in Havenedge today. If it is this bad so early in the year, can you imagine how bad it will be later in the Summer. I also had to go through a red light today because a Police Car with lights flashing couldn't have pushed passed unless I did. What's the betting I pick up a fine and have to explain it all because they are too stupid to realise.
Cass - Don't worry we will write to the Havenedge Courier or to the BBC if you do. They wouldn't get away with it.
Bernie - And the horse you are going for?
Cosmic - Oh I don't know. How about West End Rocker
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF WOOF
Bernie - Ethel?
Ethel - What?
Bernie - You know very well what? What horse do want to put the skids under
Ethel - Well my late uncle was a jockey.
Beverley - The one that sleeps in the Library and is sixteen stone and very much alive?
Ethel - I have a problem, I don't deny it. I shall go for Character Building
Beverley - The Tother One for me.
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF
Bernie - Well that's easy for you to say. My pick is Hello Bud
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF
Bernie - A fair point well made. So The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body is plumping for Quinz because it sounds like Quint, the evil ghost from Turn of the screw.
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF WOOF?
Bernie - Yes indeed, or was Peter Quint just a figment of Miss Jessels imagination? Another point well made.
So there you have it. A bunch of people who know nothing having a good guess. Much like life it self. My name is Bernie Woodstain, goodnight and good luck.
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks - WOOF WOOF
Bernie - I know, but hasn't everything been done before?
WATCHING THE RADIO
The lighthouse seems to be entertaining the hoards today. Cosmic was first over and is now working on the Video. I want to cancel the pre-recorded programmes or is it 'program' that I set up yesterday for today. But instead of setting up for today I set it up for yesterday next week. There is also another problem. The program or is it programme I want to record is Glee. Now I am not gay or a hypocrite. But I have already had a conversation about the state of TV with Cosmic. One of the programmes, or is it program, we singled out for jumping on a bandwagon of Fame type campism was the aforementioned Glee. However I do enjoy it. I also enjoy Cyndi Lauper and Cher and especially enjoyed their duet in a concert I saw on YouTube. Why do I have to hide the fact?
Beverley mentions that I am just insecure and the spelling of programme is English English and Cosmic swears at the instruction booklet to the video and says he has to go to the toilet. So I tune in via the computer to listen to the radio. Sitting next to the computer is a radio. No not a DAB Special Forces Surround Sound Digital Receiver. But a transistor radio of the old sort. But I still turn on the computer. Now I realise why. You can now watch the presenters as they talk. Just like watching a TV. At first I must admit you feel sort of dirty. As if you are peeping through someone’s windows and looking at them read a book. However one soon becomes used to it. It is a good way to forget just how dull radio can be.
Cosmic returns and asks the time I want picking up tomorrow? I had almost forgotten my second trip out in a week. It will be warm and a Sunday and there will be crowds around. I begin to panic. But Cosmic reassures me that if I make it to the garage, I will be too tired after five minutes of clearing and moving stuff to care about other people. Although I suspect Cosmic is just trying to impress anybody within earshot. Trouble is I am the only one in earshot and the comment just scares me.
We settle down and watch the first half of the football. Bernie Woodstain and a few other friends have joined us. But by the half time whistle, Bernie is doing a piece to camera and the friends have left. So I am torn and have both the racing AND the football on. Watching the radio is like watching paint dry so may well be my next big time waster.
The racing ended with few dramatic moments or excitement. I finished the race and Cass is pleased enough. The football had few moments in the second half to set the pulse racing. But we all agree we would have taken the result.
Then the moment comes when you feel as if somebody has taken all your presents. No denying the day has been a let down. We all smile and are polite but the day failed to fizzle. I see another Caramel Choc Bar and feel the guilt already closing in. Cosmic and Bernie sulk off to the Smugglers. Cass goes to work on her room. I look to watch the radio on the computer. Suddenly watching paint dry has its attractions.
GARAGE MUSIC
Well the clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here to play the tunes of yesteryear. Songs that make you want to weep, when life was so cheap. As I look across at The Pic trying to row across from the lighthouse, I am pulled back into the studio of the mind. Our last great, misunderstood album, 'Madman in a Rowing Boat', a Concept Album without a concept. If only I had the image that's in front of me now, way back when we were writing that album, I would be quids in.
Chest heaving and face streaming, The Pic arrives at the jetty. I know he appreciated my understated behaviour the last time he was here, he does shun embarrassment after all. So I help him tie up the boat and heave him onto dry land. More people are around than usual. So I have an audience and explain that the mass of human flesh on the jetty, trembling like the inside of an Alien egg, is a late entrant for the marathon at Havensedge. The Pic seems to groan and I help him to his feet.
After the usual fuss of trying to fit him into the car, we are at last on our way. The Pic is silent until we reach the house and prize him back out of the car. He tells me that Cass is still off loading furniture from her room at the lighthouse. So another trip to the dump will be in order. I ask just how much furniture and stuff did that room actually hold? There were at least three filing cabinets, a wardrobe, two desks, three chairs and two chest of drawers thrown out already. It must be like a Tardis room. The Pic says that is what his sister says. But slowly but shortly they are sorting things out.
Which brings us to my garage. Now we have a plan of action. However Ethel has decided to lend a hand which means take over the operation. I tell her we have a plan. So she says wouldn't it be a good idea to take the rubbish from the garage and put it straight into the car. Naturally we laugh at that. Well at least I do as The Pic is sitting on a step taking in the sunshine. I explain to Ethel that we simply don't have time or enough space in the car to do that. Besides we have everything in hand. We have a plan of action.
Bernie Woodstain sticks his nose in and starts supporting my point of view. I know he is just doing this just to annoy Ethel, but nevertheless I am happy for the comments. Still, the time comes when things have to be organised. So I tell The Pic to stand at the side door to the garage and take out the stuff I give him. As I am handing stuff to him, he tells me that there is a load of fox poo about. So I have to hand out spades and brushes so he can clear it up. I would help but I am now trapped in the garage. I can hear Ethel telling The Pic where to put the poo in the garden. That is when I find I can leave the garage and fetch a radio. I must have music to drown out the sounds of the underground, as we say in the trade.
When The Pic returns he asks where I found the radio? I lie to him because to upset him now would be foolish. So I hand him a dustbin full of garden rubbish to put somewhere out of the way so we have room to move. It is like those old puzzles where you have to move tiles in a square to make patterns or put the colours together. So when The Pic has done that, I repeat the gesture with another dustbin of garden rubbish. I do this a further two times. We now have a bit of space to move in. So I ask The Pic to start shifting the black bags full of whatever they are full of, and start making a pile at the the front of the garage, so they can then be transferred to the car and from there to the dump. He asks me where I am going? I need to go the little boys room for a while.
When I return The Pic is leaning on a broom handle and wheezing. He has disturbed enough bags to disturb the spider colony that have been happily living there for years. This is not fun. However we have a plan. We begin to unearth screens for computers, computers, telephone fax machines, answer machines, a sewing machine, kitchen utensils, a cuddly toy, a set of dinner plates, old computer games for machines that no longer exist and enough paper and packing to set up Father Christmas for the next fifty years. This is before we have even thought about the two large reclining chairs and settee (or couch, depending on where you were brought up). We then can move all the garden equipment, spades, forks, toilet seat (don't ask) and packs of rubber gloves and trowels into a pile to be transferred onto shelves and into drawers that will come from some of the furniture from the lighthouse. Simple isn't it?
Three hours later and the poor Pic is dead on his feet. He can't sit anywhere through fear of being eaten alive by the native population. I am not sure he has been on his feet, let alone shifted stuff around, for this long since he was at school. So we decide we have done alright and begin to bring in the dustbins and the garden rubbish from outside. The garage now looks as full as it has always done but at least we know what pile needs to be dumped and what pile needs to be kept probably to be dumped later. So I close the garage side door and The Pic joins me in a sit down and a cup of tea. We are both a bit stinky but there is no way I will have the strength, after I have driven The Pic back to the boat, to have a shower tonight. We congratulate each other on a job well done and after tea I drive back to the boat. Thanking The Pic as he rows back to the lighthouse (hope he makes it) I return to my house I stick my feet in a bowl of warm water.
I must have dropped off because I am suddenly awoken by a knock on the door. It is Ethel asking how we did today so I tell her. Only Ethel mentions that there is a noise of muffled music coming from inside the garage. I wearily open the side door. From somewhere amongst the pile of computers and answer machines comes the haunting refrain. The spiders and assorted bug mates are having a dance and sing song and generally having a great time. But if they think I am going through this lot again to find the radio they are sadly mistaken. Let them enjoy a bit of garage music while my feet go back to enjoying the comforting bowl of water.
SITUATION HOPELESS, PLEASE SEND MONEY
Alone in the lighthouse, what bliss it is. Cass is out at work, which leaves me to look at some outstanding paperwork. Having looked at it, thought it looked fine, I settle down to rest my weary bones. I am still struggling to repair the damage from yesterdays exertions. When Cosmic dropped me off, I waited until he drove off in his car before collapsing in the rowing boat. I could just see the sky above and nothing else. It would have been magical if cramp hadn't clutched at my legs and pulled me back into the world of pain. By the time I reached the lighthouse I was more than happy to sleep in the boat. Somehow I did manage to walk up, after a few rests. I was reminded of a lovely old lady who shouted "VIEW" when she wanted to stop walking. Those walking with her would stop as well and pretend to look at the lovely countryside around them. Even if the view was just the back of a dilapidated bus shelter. I have become that old woman.
When I eventually sat down last night, Cass told me how busy she had been in her room. The television was full of people running huge distances for charity. No sympathy for me then standing for a few hours in the black hole of Cosmic's garage. Still never mind, I at least was able to force down some food and drink that Cass cooked. Then watched television late into the evening. Although I must have dropped off because I imagined Inspector Lewis playing golf in Georgia and putting for a birdie in an Oxford College. He missed the putt and blamed a bloke in the crowd who had a camera, promptly arresting him. Anyway it all seemed very exciting.
The other day I was reading about ancient Aztec texts. This reminded Beverley, who writes my internal monologue, that we have a few letters to answer regarding questions brought up by this blog. A Miss Annie Forthright has asked where the lighthouse is actually situated? Well Miss Forthright, it is on a rock just off the coast at Caustic Cove, near Havenedge. If you follow the A43904 to Buttringham and take the B34904 then you will miss us by some distance. So don't make that mistake. Another question now from Alan Prisongirl. He writes that he well remembers Cosmic on the radio as he had the show that followed him. It was called 'Alan’s Breakfast Show'. He wonders if Bernie Woodstain would like to write his biography as well as Cosmic’s? I shall certainly pass on your message, Mr Prisongirl, thanks for writing.
Another letter asks how Cosmic and my good self became supporters of Fulham Football Club, as they seem to be mentioned a bit. This goes back to when I worked in a book shop and met a life long fan. He persuaded me to go up and watch them and then when I met Cosmic, I persuaded him. Both Cosmic and my good self are waiting for the photographs to come to light, so we can no longer be blackmailed. The last letter today comes from Elsie McTavenstaven. She writes 'your punctuation is appalling, boat sinking, lost all contact with coastguard, situation hopeless, please send money'. Well Ms McTavenstaven, I think we have dealt with the grammar and lack thereof in an earlier blog. But thanks for writing.
Just time for me to have a cup of tea before Cass comes home to cook my dinner. Thanks to all those who wrote.
(Beverley says - Some letters were shortened and some made up. Others were lengthened and scribbled on. We are sorry we cannot participate in any private correspondence or return pictures sent to us. Any money sent to Ms McTavenstaven should be sent via the lighthouse. We are unable to send it on but have you seen the state of the lighthouse?)
THE CHARITY WORKER ALWAYS RINGS TWICE
Ding-a-ling-a-bing-a-dring-a-ling, the front door bell chimes. The lighthouse has three bells. One at the jetty to save people coming up to the door. One at the front door and one at the back. Oh yes, the lighthouse has a back door of sorts. It is really a side door by a building we can put the boats in, should a storm that would otherwise cause them damage be on the prowl. Not that it is used for much other than the dustbin and the rubbish. Just like Cosmic's garage in a way. Ding-a-ling-a-bing-a-dring-a-ling, the bell chimes again. This immediately puts us on our guard. If Cosmic or any of the others ring the bell, having come up here unannounced, which in itself is unusual, they always ring just once. They know the lighthouse is not a place one can sprint down to the front door. Who is that snickering at the back? Alright the thought of me sprinting is somewhat hard to picture. But still, you understanding the meaning of my drift? Good, then I will continue.
Cass marches to the door. She is wearing a thick longish coat that billows out behind her. The coat is worn for two reasons. It is old and she is still working in her room shifting furniture. The second reason is that, despite the bright sunshine, the cold air is whipping off the sea today and it is a bit chilly. A lighthouse is cool in the summer but will retain the heat after a time. The same is true in the cold winter months. Today it is just chilly and most people would have put on the heating. We tend not to until we can see the breath coming out of our mouths.
Opening the front door, looking like a cross between Margaret Rutherford and Hattie Jacques, Cass scowls at the intruder. Who would bother to row across to the lighthouse on the off chance other than our favourite type of person. A sallow youth beams at her. His first mistake I am afraid. Then he quickly follows it with his big second mistake. The youth asks her if she has been enjoying the sun? Bad opening gambit. So Cass says she hasn't and what does he want. The youth then asks her if she has any children? Well we now know what the charity is for. The last time I was asked this question I looked sad and said that it is something I never talk about. This shuts them up usually. Cass is more forthright. She asks what he wants without answering his question. He then delivers his spiel.
Now don't make me feel guilty. I have been persuaded before to give to charity by a passing professional charity broker. I give to deaf and blind and Motor Neurone and old people and homeless charities. Yes I could do more but my poor box is empty too. But there comes a time when the professional charity beggar becomes a pain. They always say they are in the area. Meaning we have been told to swamp the area with our pretty badges and trained chat. We will spend hours putting the punter at their ease, like the same sort of people that try and sell you cheaper gas and electricity. The charity worker will then give you the facts and figures about whichever charity they are flogging. Then they say they are not collecting money now but sign you up for a bank payment. All well and good and good luck to them. In a World where we pay Governments taxes not to use on important things that people need, charity has become clever and business like in trying to receive more donations. But enough has to be enough. So don't be upset when the particular charity, however well meaning arrives too late at the trough.
The youth retraces his steps back to the boat. I can't help feeling sorry for him but proud we rebuffed the open hand. But more importantly a word of advice. If you want people to give you or your charity money. Don't pretend your my best friend, or care about my well being. Just come to the point. That way I can say yes or no without fighting to try and understand what it is you want. Take a leaf out of a certain Ms McTavenstaven from the letters page yesterday. 'Situation hopeless please send money' would be a fine first sentence to come out with. Which reminds me, I haven't sent money to her either. Something else to feel guilty about.
LIVE FROM THE SMUGGLERS
The Smugglers is a pub owned by a franchise who know nothing about pubs. The landlord is a man who suffers from periodic fits of abuse. However he always without fail, claims not to be paid for the drinks he serves. He is Australian, because by law all landlords of pubs on their last legs have to be Australian or Irish. The English having sold out long ago to Corporate Pubs R Us. Tonight the landlord has his white hair pulled back into a pony tail. He looks older than he is, but younger than he feels.
On occasions he has a live band or singer playing at the pub. He has no licence for this entertainment and waits every night for the call to come. Every customer could be from the council or the police, handing him a notice or a fine. He doesn't care anymore. The entertainment is lucky if it is paid and so we have a lot of new bands or singers who just want to sing live for the first and last time in their lives. Tonight it is Bobby and Vivian from one of the newsagents in Caustic Cove. They are calling themselves The Journey Minstrel Duo for no reason that anyone can think of. Vivian is singing and has maracas in her hand and wiggles her bottom a lot. Tony has a guitar and a cowboy hat. He plays with both items with equal passion. The small crowd are enjoying the music for what it is.
I am watching all this on the camera feed I can pick up from my computer. It is one of the few cameras that have sound as I have mentioned before. I feel like Gene Hackman in The Conversation. Catching half yelps and muffled speech. Young girls talking too loud to care, while young men hover around laughing too much at each others jokes. The older patrons look on and enjoy the music. They walk out every so often to have a smoke. When they return they look more unsteady on their feet than they did before they left. People struggling to enjoy themselves while trying to drown out tomorrow.
A girl in her twenties and a man of about the same age are sitting at the bar. They catch my eye because they look a little more up market than the Smugglers usual clientele. They are dressed casually but have the demeanour of people who are not used to being in each others company in surroundings such as these. They both nurse drinks and the man is banging the bar in time to the music. The girl starts to sway but is not very good at it and nearly falls off her seat.
The landlord comes into camera shot and talks to the couple at the bar. The girl nods and the man shakes his head. The landlord begins to wave his hands in the air. If I couldn't hear the music I would think he is trying to encourage audience participation for The Journey Minstrel Duo. Or be having his usual accusing conversation with the patrons over non payment. Or this may be the moment the council have served him with his licence violation notice or whatever it is called. But then the girl does something that surprises me. She flings her arms around the landlord and they both appear to be sobbing. The Man with her is looking awkward but smiles. The landlord disappears out of camera shot and the girl says something to the man. He nods his head and comes behind the bar and starts serving. The girl waits for the song to end and the half hearted clapping to stop. She goes to the microphone and whispers something to the woman with the maracas who nods. The girl goes to the microphone. The announcement is swift and clear. Tonight The Smugglers is to lose its landlord. The big faceless corporation has gobbled up another pub. He has sold out. A last bastion of insanity falls to the big faceless thug.
For a moment the small crowd in the pub say nothing. Then The Journey Minstrel Duo break into 'Thunder only happens when it's raining' and the crowd begin to talk and the buzzing grows. I have just been a witness to personal change and major upheaval. Yet I will forget about it as quickly as I forget most programmes I watch on TV or as quickly as I forget a dream. Such is a life. All live from The Smugglers
MEET SILAS STRAW
Silas Straw has no official fixed abode. He travels about and seems to fill in his time making things to sell. He crafts things from scrap. Anything he finds on his travels, from bits of metal to bits of what were once road kill. Pretty pendants and broaches for the ladies. Rings and medals for the more manly taste. He never approaches people to try and hoist his wares onto them. But waits for them to come to him. Come they do and word of mouth has been as powerful as the Internet for spreading the news.
Not that craft work is Silas Straws only means of making a living. He is a gaunt fellow, tall and gawky with features that have been well weathered over the years. When he smiles, the creases around his eyes are like sun beams around the sun. Silas Straw is a happy man. Silas Straw is a professional scarecrow. His crow like beak of a nose make him an ideal scarecrow. He looks like the birds he is paid to scare away. Farmers line up during the summer to employ him. They each give Silas a map of the fields they want patrolled. A small fee, one meal a day and a shelter (often just a barn) is all Silas asks in return.
When the taxman comes a calling, as he once did, farmers deny there is such a person as Silas Straw. He is a nobody to officialdom. He has no money and takes nothing off them so they stopped making life awkward for him long ago. I always thought of myself as a loner until I met Silas. The word 'loner' was coined with him in mind. I am a party animal compared to Silas.
This morning when the front door bell sounded, Cass was first to the door. I say first as if there was any likelihood of me rising from my chair, let alone trying to beat her to open the door onto the insane asylum outside. Two men were standing there in black business suits. They asked her if she wanted to come to Jesus. It must be Easter soon. The God squad are on the prowl. Now Cass is not the person to ask about Jesus. Anything like religion scares her, because people tend to be so serious and certain when they talk about such things. So Cass said she wasn't interested and half slammed the door. I say half slammed the door. But it was a sort of firm close, if you understand me. As I had made no effort to answer the door I had the perfect right to criticise Cass for dealing poorly with our visitors. It must be a thankless task going from place to place. Especially dressed so formally, rowing over in the boat. Quite a comical sight I would think. So Cass said I could answer the door next time. No, no I didn't mean for me to open the door and react to people. I don't need to know their take on Jesus or God or whoever they have written down in a book. I have my own thank you. No I was rather hoping I could try and make Cass more sympathetic.
So when the bell rung again an hour later, I was forced kicking and screaming towards it. But I could see the straw hat silhouetted against the glass and the big long nose. So I happily opened up the door and welcomed Silas in. Now I have to be honest and say I have no idea why I became friendly with Silas. I have no idea why Cass is friendly with him. Silas is just Silas. He doesn't ask for much and doesn't over stay his welcome. Besides he is one of the few people who you feel better for spending time with. Silas was given a cup of tea and while he used the computer, he told us about his exploits and the jobs he already had lined up around the local farms. While he logged onto a site he uses to play games and talk to friends. He asked how we were? How were things with us? For some reason Silas is the only person who can genuinely sound as if he cares. So we tell him.
I wonder to myself how a loner like Silas has so many things to do online. But I never bother to enquire further. It is not really my place. Except it is as he is using my computer. Could be on the stock market for all I know. I could check later. But decide not to. Unless I come across the history by accident.
Reminded of our earlier callers I do ask Silas if he is religious in any way. He says he never knows what religion is? Silas sees God in the countryside and the innocent laughter of the kids on holiday. So I tell him I always found children's laughter spooky. Silas doesn't disagree just nods his head. He then says God is in the detail and Jesus is in the design. Now Silas seems ready to leave and walks towards the door, He is satisfied his work online has been completed. So he thanks me and waves goodbye to Cass.
The cold air makes me shiver. The warmth has just gone out of the day. Cass says if Silas had come to the door and asked her to come to Jesus she wouldn't have closed the door quite so firmly.
I am not sure Silas would care to ask.
FOOTBALL AND THE LOTTERY
Our reserve team in Havenedge has been in the news of late. Well the local news but it counts. The football team has been doing very well in the Bigalow Cars Southern District D League. But they have had a problem with a reserve player who was criticised in a local paper. Apparently the paper said he was too old to still be in the side and was only there because of his connection to the Chairman's auntie. At this point it becomes very hard to work out what is true and what is just a jealous attack on an innocent man trying to ply his trade.
SHANE TRULY IS SCRUMPTIOUS SAYS CHAIRMAN'S AUNTIE. screamed the headlines. At the next reserve game 46 year old forward Truly scored a belter from thirty yards and ran to the only photographer in the ground and started yelling abuse. The photographer, a Mr Harry Sidewinder, woke up and started snapping away. Next morning there was no football report in the paper, just a page of photographs of BAD BOY TRULY IS SHOCKING. The local Association met and banned Truly for five games.
When all the furore had died down, Truly apologised to the media. He said he didn't know what had happened when he ran to the photographer that night, he just opened his mouth and words 'fell out'. The photographer will not let the matter drop however and is suing Truly for loss of earnings. Apparently the photographer hasn't been able to keep his Camera shutter speed constant since the trauma of that night. This story is set to run and run. Unlike Truly himself who must be near to giving up the game after yet another set back in his career.
Meanwhile I waited for the local lottery numbers to be called tonight. Visions of swimming with dolphins and retiring to some exotic place filled my head. But once again those dreams were crushed by the balls failing to deliver. I used to be lucky but that all seems to have deserted me now. So I asked Cosmic to buy me a few lottery scratch cards last week. I was busy scratching when the coin I was using slipped and fell from my eager grasp. Could I find the coin on the floor? No it has mysteriously disappeared along with my hopes and dreams. Still where there is hope. there is hopes mother, bitter letdown. Wife of 'not a hope in hell'. Still they do say ' if you are not in it, you can't win it', and I am right in it, up to my neck. May be next week.
THE PAST IS ANOTHER COUNTRY – CHEAP FLIGHTS AVAILABLE
Good Evening, my name is Bernie Woodstain and I am reporting to you live from the the front garden of Cosmic Antidust. Today I have been on a trip to the seedy underbelly of the metropolis to the regretful past and decisions of so many lost people. My name is Bernie Woodstain. This is my report.
(Opening titles show Bernie Woodstain walking, standing, pointing, talking to a dog and looking into the non existent camera. Lights, camera, sound and action)
Good Evening. Today I have been on a journey. A journey that was totally unexpected. A journey that took me to the depths of a city with so many tales and stories to tell. All of which I missed. To the changes in our culture and the turning over of the sod and grass that covers our secrets.
ADVERT BREAK FOR WHAT SEEMS LIKE FIVE MINUTES. AND IS IN FACT FOUR MINUTES
Good Evening, my name is Bernie Woodstain and I am going to repeat everything I said before the advert break to make it appear I have something more to say than I have. I will look earnest and caring but frankly there is such little body to this programme, most of which isn't live but recorded, that we have to stretch it out as best as we know how.
It all started this morning. I was talking to that nice girl who delivers the morning papers to the houses that still take them. Although she finds me creepy and rushes by I pretend to have a conversation with her. The post arrives and I briefly interview the postman who reveals to me that he thinks a man who lives in somebody else's garden is weird.
Later in the afternoon, Cosmic Antidust is seen leaving the house. He asks me if I fancy a drive as he is picking up Cass and taking her to her job in the docks. My reporter’s instincts kick in and I say I can't be bothered. But I change my mind and find myself being taken on a journey. A journey into the seedy underbelly of a city they named by lottery. To a sod of a past with grass on it.
ADVERT BREAK YOU FAST FORWARD THROUGH IF YOU STILL HAVE THE OLD VIDEO.
Good Evening, my name is Bernie Woodstain and you can fast forward through this bit as well, because I just repeat what I said In the first part of the first part and the first part of the second part.
So we pick up Cass and at a junction comes our first talking point. Cosmic waits for a car to turn and is shocked to find its occupant is an old adversary. Actually he doesn't notice but Cass does. The occupant of the other car is non other that the man who charged a large amount for shredding weeds and spreading them over the garden of Cosmic’s house. Which is why the place is covered in thorns and brambles. It transpires that this man is still in business.
I ask Cosmic how he feels that the person he sacked for being a greedy, unethical ignorant man who wrecked his garden is still trading. Cosmic tells me I don't want to know. I wonder how many times he uses that phrase without being hit.
ADVERT BREAK FEATURING AN ACTRESS SELLING PERFUME AND OR CARS.
Good Evening, my name is Boris Woodstain. No I mean Bernie Woodstain,Yadda Yadda Yadda. We drop off Cass at the docks and wend our way home through the dark, seedy underbelly of Havensedge. Where the crowds come to the coast and the coast hits the sea. A world of drugs and drink and forgotten people, Some of whom do remember to forget what it is they should remember. .
An ambulance with blue lights flashing approaches on the same point, but on the opposite side of the road as the police car did last week, when Cosmic had to go through the red light to let it through. This time Cosmic finds a place of safety and the ambulance passes without incident. We decide not to go home but to visit The Picayune. We phone him and a meeting place and time are arranged. The lighthouse is the place and whenever we arrive, the time.
ADVERT BREAK TELLING YOU ABOUT BETTER PROGRAMMES TO COME.
Good Evening. my name is Bernie Woodstain. Drone on and on and on and on. So we arrive at the lighthouse. The man who lives here is a recluse who sees nobody unless they have an appointment. Or bring food and gossip. So Cosmic tells The Picayune about the day he has had and they reminisce about their days in the garage, cleaning it up. Or rather half day. The music from the radio trapped in the garage rubbish can still be heard wafting over Caustic Cove on still nights.
The discussion comes around to the scenes at The Smugglers the other night. The shocking news is revealed that the Smugglers is to be taken over and have a name change. It will now be called The Smugglers Tavern. Now realising I haven't arrived at the most important bit and the credits are about to roll. I realise I have to gabble my way through this bit.
As we are leaving, The Picayune mentions that Silas Straw came around yesterday to use the computer. The question is asked again. What question I hear you ask? Non other than what would Silas Straw be doing on a computer? So Cosmic convinces The Picayune to have a look at the history of what Silas was looking at. The truth will then be told. Except the truth won’t be told because Silas has deleted the history. Why would he do that? For what purpose? This story is about to turn into a thriller. This is over doing it. But something pretty dull, this way comes.
So we leave the lighthouse and Cosmic and myself have a jolly good gossip about what the mystery could be. Cosmic tells me I don't want to know. Cosmic nearly falls into the water.
ADVERT BREAK SHOWING YOU WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT WEEK SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO BOTHER TO WATCH.
OR DO THEY?
BELT AND BRACES
I don't know why we don't just have the answer phone machine answer every phone call with "I am sorry I am not interested". The amount of drivel you have to wade through before you realise you are being conned. That is the reason I never answer phones anymore. So when I do have a phone call from somebody of interest, why don't they leave a message? I know it sounds as if I have the same reaction to the telephone as I have to the front door. But it is not my fault that people are all out to cheat me. Not just people.
Clothes are another thing that conspire to irritate me. You try and take off a sweater or a shirt and it hangs on playing silly devils. The clothes make the excuse it is static electricity that makes them cling on to each other. But it is just bloody mindedness. Then if you do manage to take them off all in one movement, the sweater, the shirt, the vest. The next morning you go to put them on in one go and the sleeves don't match up and you stand there, entombed in a fabric web, trying to fling your arms about like a trapped escapologist in a straight jacket.
A pair of socks would be easy enough to put on, you would think, wouldn't you? Yes I know, some of us have trouble bending down and trying to lasso the foot with the sock. But even when you can manage to hold onto your leg and put the sock over the foot, the fabric decides to catch on a toe. Or it somehow manages to twist itself on the foot and you have to go around for the rest of the day limping, because there is no way you can face battling with it before you have to take them off.
Since you ask, I am no happier with belts. They are a straight forward bit of material. You would think that an adult human being could manage to put a belt on without too much hassle. Why do you always miss one trouser belt hoop with the belt? Why is it that when you put the belt on straight, it still twists after you have buckled it up? You can feel it is straight, your fingers tracing around the body and making sure the belt is flat. Believe me with my body that takes effort and time. So I make sure that it is all straight and fine. Then I go to buckle it and it twists and turns in different places. How can there be so many kinks? I did try braces once but never really was comfortable. If I wasn't in a constant battle with keeping upright and not forced to bend over as they fought to constrain me , they would suddenly fling off and decimate anybody and anything within a ten metre radius.
Thank goodness I don't wear ties anymore.
THE SMUGGLERS TAVERN
I am watching the re launch of The Smugglers on the internal camera in the pub. At least the camera hasn't been taken down. It seems only a few days ago that The Smugglers was the pub we all knew and disliked. Well it was only a few days ago, that's why it seems like only a few days. Now the mad landlord has been bought out and new tables and chairs have been brought in. Mind you, apart from that, there is little internal change to the pub that I can see. I am told that The Smugglers will serve food and have entertainment on a nightly basis. On top of that the name has been changed from The Smugglers to The Smugglers Tavern. It is hoped that this and the other changes will bring in a more family type clientele.
Mystery still surround the identity of the consortium who bought the mad landlord out. We all thought it was a big Pub franchise. Now there seems to be a doubt who this franchise is. So I wait to see what happens. The music starts and the crowd begin to pour in through the doors. Well more a constant drip. A live band is introduced and they turn out to be a cover band of somebody I have never heard of. Then after a few songs, the official opening ceremony takes place. A big local celebrity comes to the microphone. Shane Truly says a few words and a few people clap. Then the music starts again.
My mind begins to wander and I start clicking on sites I haven't visited for a bit. Then the local paper new site comes up. I am looking at a picture of the people that 'saved The Smugglers' Apparently the pub was threatened with being demolished. This is the first I have heard of it. If it wasn't for these men who part own Pub Save, then the building would have been lost. There is a picture of a bunch of smiling faces. A fat man in a suit, a thin man in a suit, a man with glasses in a suit, a crow like man in a straw hat, a woman dressed in a suit, a man in shirtsleeves and a man in an ill fitting suit. Just your typical bunch of corporate.....wait a minute. A man in a straw hat that looks like a crow. No it can't be can it?
I click on the man’s picture. Yes it is Silas Straw of Road Kill Jewellery Incorporated. He owns a company? I put in Silas Straw Road Kill in a search engine and a web site comes up. It has been trading for seven years. The top company for recycling rubbish into gifts and road kill into jewellery to die for. So this is the man who has been using my computer without paying me a penny. I bet he goes around using other people’s phones and electricity and computers too. He can happily invest and make money without any overheads. I can't work our if I feel betrayed and cheated or I feel admiration for him. Here was me thinking the tax man didn't care about him and now I realise they really have been hunting for him. The crafty so and so.
I phone Cosmic and tell him. He is watching a film and seems only mildly interested. I wake up Cass, who has taken up her now routine position of feet up on a foot rest, while she is covered in a blanket of old furry carpet. She snorts a swear word and seems to drop off again. So I am left alone. Mildly irritated that I didn't realise that the Silas Straw that went through life in a whisper was really Silas Straw, the taker of good deeds without repaying them. All I can say is just wait until I see him again. Just you wait.
IT STARTED WITH A CRISP
So it is a Saturday morning and I am comfy laying on my mattress. I yawn and stretch and hit my hands on the stipple walls of the lighthouse. My hands hurt. I scramble to my feet and thank the world that today is Saturday. Despite nothing to look forward to in the sport department I can at least have no interruptions to do and watch what I like. The front door bell rings. Cass answers it and Silas Straw asks to use the computer. So instead of telling him to go away she says fine. Come in and have a cup of tea. Now in my head I have nothing but hateful remarks and spite to spit at Silas. But I bide my time. Revenge is a dish best served with a bit of toast and marmalade. Sadly we are short of bread. So I have a bag of crisps instead. I go into the room and sit while Silas is there on the computer. He makes no effort to hide his website he is looking at from me. So I say to him, rather sarcastically and cutting. 'How is business'?, yeah that's right. I let him know that I know that he knows that I know. Silas tells me the orphan charity is doing fine as are the others he deals with. "that is the joy of taking no profit oneself," says Silas. That's right, take the wind out of my sails. He has now returned as the Robin Hood figure. Taking from the taxman and giving to the poor. What a guy after all. Bucking the system to help those less fortunate than himself. All this bubbling hate inside me begins to settle into a calm acceptance. Which is a shame. I don't trust him and yet I don't dislike him anymore. How fickle am I?
As Silas leaves the phone rings. Cass answers it, and it is a friend of the family from years ago who used to live near where we used to live when we were kids. They live abroad now. So Cass starts to over do the delight in hearing from them again. These friends are over here and would love to come to visit. Looking at the state of the lighthouse Cass starts to make excuses why they should meet up somewhere else. It is at that point I hear the barking. I don't know why, I never do. Maybe the past is an unfriendly reminder. Whatever the reason I have to let it in. While Cass makes easy conversation on the phone, The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, strides in.
I go to the computer and start to process the piles of paper I have in front of me. BARK BARK BARK. I do my best to ignore the barking. I have been very good of late in doing so. But not today. BARK BARK BARK. After several abortive efforts to work I put down the papers and walk upstairs. Cass is still on the phone. BARK BARK BARK., The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks follows me upstairs. My head and shoulders begin to ache. I hear Cass finish on the phone. She tells me who it was and I interrupt her by saying I don't want to meet up with them. She can by all means. But I have no interest. Cass says something but all I hear is BARK BARK BARK from The Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks. My head begins to throb. I am thirsty all of a sudden. BARK BARK BARK. This is not how I planned my Saturday.
DRUGS, DRINK AND SAUGAGE ROLLS
WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOOOOOF,GROWL,GRRRRRRR,WOOOF. The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks simply would not quit. This time it was accompanied by physical pain. Now I am a pain to others and am a pain to myself. But I haven't had a headache pain for years. Touch wood and prick the devil I won’t have one again for some time. I have no idea if the pent up aggression I felt against Silas, that was never released, played a part in the throbbing pain behind the eyes. Or maybe it was the phone call reminding me of the past, before it became a solid, decaying thing with mould on. Then again I might just have strained my eyes trying to do paper work on a Saturday. Who knows or who cares? But the pain coupled with the unexpected visit of The Evil Dug Up Body That Barks, wrapped together in a dance macabre, called for more than a shrug and a digging in of finger nails in the palm of the hand.
Fortunately, one of the advantages of not clearing anything up, or tidying things away, is you have things remain where you left them. Yeah right, usually you go to the place they were and they are gone. That important document, that means the difference between a loss of money and sleep and joy and happy dreams, always decides to go for a jog somewhere. Sometimes it never finds its way home. However that pack of pain killers you brought home from the last holiday you went on, is still on the table where the document should be. Now it has three tablets left in it. I search for a 'use by' date on the packet. But it has faded. So I reckon it was when my family went on holiday to Cornwall. I had a bad back and these tablets were the only ones that helped. For the odd headache I do have I need two pain killers to knock it out. I swear by these pain killers. I know they work. I am not even sure they still do them anymore. With all the other potions and drugs the doctors give me, I have no idea and can't see that they help with the silent death that I am told approaches closer every day. Unless that is I change my life style, become a monk and run a hundred miles a day and have the love of a good woman. Or buy a dog. But with these pain killers I know they work . I chose them and they love me. Which is why I don't use them unless I have to. Today I have to. But I take just the one.
Rows and rows of angel hair and Ice Cream Castles in the air. Joni Mitchel is here singing as the drug begins to work. WOOF WOOF WOOF woof woof wo................... I am alone at last. I am at peace and for a moment I have no bad dreams. The television must be on because somebody is introducing somebody else and people are applauding. But in my mind I see loved ones smile and appear at the doorway. Not sure what doorway. Must be the door to my room but I am downstairs. Still who cares? I am in a car now and driving us all. Olivia Newton John as a young girl is pointing out of the car window and telling us she used to live there. I look and she is pointing at Blackpool Tower. I tell her I have been to the circus there and the clowns scared me. At the end of the circus, the floor began to fill water. It was magical. But I only remember the scary clown coming out of a mirror in my dream. I was on medication as a child. Not sure why and neither were the doctors. My medical notes were lost. Then they pretended to find the notes and there was no trace of the medicines. Bugger that bit is actually true. But Scully from the X Files appears and that bit isn't. She says she doesn't believe me unless she sees it. Then the actress Gillian Anderson is no longer Scully but in another part in full Victorian costume. I am standing in a bath dressed as a clown by a fire. Gillian tells me not to stand too close to the fire as my make up will run and run and never be cancelled. Unlike The X Files.
I am now lost on a railway station and not sure which train to catch. I know this station I think. I used to arrive here to go to school as a kid. Then I am outside a football ground. But there is no way in. I hear the crowd and I have a ticket. Then I spot a hole in the wall. I squeeze in and arrive miles away from the pitch. Some fan turns to me and says I need to take the train to the away end. I don't belong here anymore. Then somebody sings 'take the ribbon from my hair, shake it loose and let it fall'. A GOAL IS SCORED. Everybody jumps up and I can't see anything.
woof woof WOOF WOOF. I am slowly being awoken by The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks. But the pain in my head is gone. I feel delightfully drowsy. I also feel thirsty. It takes a few minutes for the barking to stop and for me to push through the plastic cover of consciousness. I make the supreme effort and climb the mountain to my feet. I feel content. The barking along with its owner has gone. A brief visit again. Hurrah for all the little children in the circus. A clown appears through a mirror in a doorway and I am frozen to the spot.
I am awoken by my snore. This time I am awake. I climb to my feet and fetch a glass of lovely cold Orange Barley. I look in the fridge. We have bread and cheese and I spot some choccy biscuits on the counter. Somebody has delivered shopping. I must have slept through the arrival and departure of Cosmic? I hear Cass come downstairs. She asks if I want anything to eat. I ask if we have any sausage rolls? I am standing by the fridge but she has to push past me to look in the freezer. Yes we do. I rather fancy some sausage rolls.
I have a good evening watching a DVD. Cass is asleep with an old carpet over her again. I know why people become addicted to pain killers. I am not one of them yet. On the other hand, I may just finish that plate of sausage rolls.
SILAS STRAW AND THE SCARECROW
So they call me Silas Straw. The only one I see here is you. Nobody else cares but you. I know you want the money and I know you want to make me pay into the system. But even you can see that the system doesn't work. Look, I know you start out being genuine. I really do understand that. It never works though does it? The poor and sick and ill informed need help. But you never quite seem to manage to be the one who does it. You become richer and so do the people you know. Meanwhile the ill educated keep on wallowing in their own filth and making the same mistakes. You never stop them or help them. The sick become sicker and the poor become poorer.
No don't make the mistake and think that I don't understand. I think you are very clever. Mind you I am not sure you planned it that way. Did you see when they asked the room full of people who thought themselves as happy? Nearly everybody put their hand up. Very clever I am sure. Clever too, to make them all think that by bringing in somebody else into the system it will somehow make everything right. Believe me I think the class system or the faith system or the tribe system is very clever too. Nothing like democracy to divide a place when we already are in our boxes. But is doesn't work so don't blame me for not playing by the rules.
Do you know how much money is put into helping people with illness? How about just some of the illness that threatens us every day? No you don't because little of that is up to you. How much money we put into killing each other is easier for you find out. Well let's face it most of your mates sit on the boards of these companies. Yes that is a simplistic way of looking at it. It has to be. I don't have the time or money to set up enquiries and hand pick loads of people to look into a question I already know the answer to.
When I am standing in a field and waving the birds away from the crops, I see my job as doing the best I can for the greater number of people. All I ask is for you to stop calling me brother and stop being my friend. Just help me when I am in trouble. If I am ill, help make me feel better. If I am old, don't push me away and make my last years on Earth a nightmare. Do your best to help me.
But I know you never will and so do you. So that's why I am sleeping in a barn. I can see it will be a full moon tomorrow. Others will be warmer tonight than I am but some wont see the moon. But we will all feel it. We all feel the people who govern us. Shame some of us still don't see them or the system for what they are or it is. But we never do. At least you don't. Keep warm and guess who the real scarecrow is?
THE EVIL DUG UP BODY THAT BARKS
So I come and go do I? I am like some will o the wisp apparently. Here today and gone tomorrow. Oh and I seem to make silly barking noises. Well we all know where this is coming from don't we? Some self help book picked up on line because he is too scared to go out to buy one. The Picayune well knows I am here with him, in the lighthouse for as long as he lives.
Not sure when I first arrived here. Probably the same time as he did. I might have been here before he was ever thought of. Maybe I run in the family. I know you can hide away from me with drugs and drink and sausage rolls. But not for long. I visited The Picayune and his parents on occasion. I am always with Cass. In fact the lighthouse is a ripe fruit tree for me. I can feed on the juicy fruit for ever.
Give him his due, The Picayune has learned to live with me. You see I am better with others than I am with him. Nevertheless, I have him in a tight loving hug right at this moment. I am not squeezing too hard, I don't have to. But when I do, oh the despair and the doubt just oozes out of him. The fat, lazy, scared monster rolls up in a ball and rolls towards for the fridge. Food as comfort works for him. But more than that, fear of movement is better. I play some great tricks on him. There was a time when he went over to Caustic Cove, I had him thinking the same people were frowning at him. Little things work you see. He fears being alone because he will have to talk to people. Without the few people he knows, or his sister to act as a barrier, he will end up having to confront the very thing he abhors. Yet he craves loneliness.
The moment The Picayune was born he was a scared old man. I was with him the day when he was told all things come to an end. My work was done for me. Some people decide to pack into their life as much as they can. The Picayune said to himself, if there is a finite life to fill, let's not bother. Fate helped I grant you. Made it into the football team? Oh dear take away his confidence with illness and making him just too darn nice and offering up his place in the team to the sad substitute. Good singer in the choir? Make him freeze one day and just stop him going. Oh I have a million of them. Everybody he likes or loves outside of family, usually die early. Don't fancy Cosmic lasting that much longer. But you reap what you sew. The Picayune doesn't bother to sew a stitch anymore. Everything that goes wrong is a tragedy and everything that goes right won’t last long. There will always be people worse off then he is. But he envies those that are better off.
So how long will I keep nipping and biting at The Picayune this time before I am due a rest? Don't know don't care. The whining, doubt obsessed person is easy meat. I don't really have to work too hard with him. Others I have to make more of an effort with. But for now I am happy to stay here. Until something really nasty comes along and I can switch on the auto pilot.
Oh yes, woof woof bark bark. Fear the past, fear the present, fear the future. There is nothing here for him. Everything he touches turns to ashes. He is an empty shell of a man. The only one who loves The Picayune is me. My flesh is rotting and the bare bones show from beneath. I feel right at home with him. Woof Woof.
ETHEL IN THE BACK GARDEN
A full moon tonight and nice and warm. I have discovered a hut or garden house in the back garden of Cosmic’s. It is rotting and needs a wood preserver. I can't say it is easy to reach with all the thorns and weeds. But if I only had the right equipment I could at least make a start. But since the boys tidied up the garage last week, the garden tools have been put into a pile. I keep being told that they will be moving furniture in once they take the rubbish out. Then they can put the tools back in drawers and cupboards. Everything will be neat and tidy. Meanwhile the trees are bushier, the fence shabbier and the weeds higher. Cosmic is too busy at the moment he tells me. When I ask him what he is doing that keeps him so busy, he just says I don't want to know.
I am passed caring. What will be will be. Tonight I can see into infinity. The moon makes the sky so bright. The garden is bathed in light. Some people don't like the moon but I feel very comforted. I will have to pop back to my house soon. It seems madness to stay in Cosmic’s garden. I am wondering if Cosmic shouldn't stay in his house. I think he wants to move into the lighthouse but he seems to be the only one who wants him to. The Picayune would be happy to steered in any direction. I was just thinking, Why can't everybody move here? Or we could all sell up and buy a house together. Only one small problem I guess. I am not sure how much anybody actually likes anybody. Still it is a thought.
I am on speaking terms with Bernie now. It seemed silly not having the odd chat with him. I wave to the neighbours but they seem less friendly. Well I cannot blame them. They are busy smartening up their gardens and houses and Cosmic is just not bothering. Still I have learnt not to push people. When he decides to sell up, he will have to come around to sorting things. Maybe money is the problem. I thought after his music career he was set up for life. Not so apparently. He doesn't receive much money from royalties anymore. Cosmic appears to be living off the odd personal appearance. He opened a fete the other day. Not sure how much money he can command now. Must be strange being famous once then forgotten. Although he has a local radio programme coming up. I think it's called 'What's in your attic'. Problem is Cosmic knows exactly what's in his attic. He has a few old 'Shoots' and some stuff he isn't ready to move. Besides the ladder to the attic is broken. So they are having to pretend and go around an imaginary attic. Apparently they do that sort of thing all the time.
Oh well I hope it stays warm tonight. I shall enjoy watching the moon move across the sky. Makes me realise how little we can really do to change things. After all if the moon can move the tides then who knows what it is doing to our brain chemicals. Although, on saying that, I may ask Cosmic for the keys to the garage. It is about time fate had a helping hand. It's also about time somebody turned off the radio that they left in there.
THE PICAYUNE AND THE GLASS SAUCEPAN
I am unlucky. I don't care what you say. I am just unlucky. There are worse things that happen at sea and there are always people worse off. But God I'm unlucky. It could have been so much better. Oh I am unlucky. Have I mentioned how unlucky I am?
I had finished my paperwork early. Lot to do this month but I had managed to do my bit. For a fleeting moment I felt proud of myself. So I thought I would do a good turn to share the happy place I found myself in. So I decided to ready all the recycling so Cosmic could just pick the skips up from the bottom of the causeway. I am calling it a causeway now. Although to be fair it is only the length of two cars. But once you walk down the stairs from the lighthouse and along the causeway, and then make the return journey, a good thirty seconds have gone by. So I collect the recycling skips from the shed and take them into the kitchen. We have already a place to put all our paper and bottles and plastic. All I need to do is collect the stuff and put into the skip. We don't have to separate the recycling so life is made easier.
There is a lot of paper and cardboard from cleaning up rooms and things. So it takes some effort to start piling it all into this skip. We have also collected a pile of shredded paper that has been bagged up. So that will have to go into another skip as there is simply no room for it all in the one skip. I am finding the effort on a warm day a little more tiring than I had imagined. So I casually take my sweater off.
God I'm unlucky.
Somehow the sweater catches a handle of one of the glass saucepans we use. I blame the last person to use it for not putting it away with the handle safely tucked away. My sweater catches the handle of the glass saucepan which is on a shelf. The force of motion swings this saucepan around and it ploughs into a counter that I have rested a glass, plate and coffee cup on. They all go flying. The saucepan meanwhile comes to rest on the counter top, just slightly showing itself to the edge. So as I go to pick up the glass, plate and coffee cup from the floor, all of which are miraculously undamaged. My sweater, which is hanging from one arm, somehow leaps up onto the counter and pushes the saucepan to its shattering doom. Glass goes everywhere and I naturally let out a few choice words. I throw open the back door and start yelling at God. Doing my best Basil Fawlty impression I chastise God for never giving me a break. Why can't he just for once allow me to do the simple task of putting my recycling in a skip without over complicating the deed.
After returning to the kitchen and bending over to collect the broken glass, then finding paper to rap it in to throw away, I at last am allowed to complete my recycling duty. I call up to Cass and tell her to bring down the vacuum. It is never in the place you need it to be. She asks what has been broken and I tell her off for leaving the handle of the saucepan easily exposed to the flying fancy of a passing discarded sweater. She apologises but I am not convinced she is genuine in her apology. I take the skip out and put the shredded paper into another skip and walk down the steps. I am about to walk down the causeway when I see a whole crowd of people on the coast looking over to the lighthouse. I presume they have been drawn there by my over exuberant language that seems to have travelled far on a calm day. That blimmin woman who is always glaring at me is at the front. At least I think it could be her. So I leave the skips at the top of the causeway. I am not being exposed to those nosey leeches. Can leeches be nosey? Anyway I leave the skips by the bottom of the steps.
When I return to the kitchen, short of breath and in need of some sustenance, Cass is there cleaning up what few shards of glass are left on the floor. She tells me she has already ordered a replacement for the saucepan. I am not sure why we need a replacement as we seem to have plenty of saucepans. But they are a set apparently. Cass says I seem to have managed to draw quite a crowd. I swear again and put on some toast and tea. Next time I look out there are still people gathered on the coast looking towards the lighthouse. I half expect the coast guard to come calling.
What could have been a nice gentle afternoon has developed into a struggle. No doubt it about it. I am unlucky.
BERNIE WOODSTAIN AND HIS BIG PERSPECTIVE
Good Morning, my name is Bernie Woodstain reporting live from the front garden of Cosmic Antidust. This morning I will be endeavouring to answer the big questions and putting my years of journalistic expertise to the test. My name is Bernie Woodstain and this is my big perspective.
TITLES FLASH ACROSS SCREEN SHOWING BERNIE TALKING AND WALKING AND WAITING AT A BUS STOP. THE BIG PERSPECTIVE TITLES RUNS ACROSS THE SCREEN. THE LETTERS GROWING SMALLER AS THE WORD 'PERSPECTIVE' IS SPELT OUT. IT COST IN THE REGION OF A HUNDRED THOUSAND QUID FOR THIS LITTLE MASTERPIECE.
Good Morning. my name is Bernie Woodstain. I am often asked from passers by about the big questions of the day. People say to me ' Mr Woodstain, that Colonel chap in that Libertine place in Canada. What's that all about? I explain that they are ill informed and the only thing they have right is the Colonel bit. So let me try to explain using my big perspective.
A dictator we once loathed ruled his Country like dictators do. Then somebody shot one of our policewomen from his embassy and we loathed them even more. We bombed his Country, killing lots of people including one of his children. Years passed he said sorry, we said 'oil' and we shook his hands. Then his people tried to overthrow him and we said jolly good. But he fought back. So we have sent people over to explain things.
We cannot give the freedom fighters guns or bullets or anything except advice and humanitarian aid. Anything else would clearly be against the rules. So a sausage and word in your ear type of thing. We send over a few soldiers, who are armed to the teeth to protect themselves. They show the freedom fighters how to shoot these weapons if only they had them. These freedom fighters borrow guns to show their mums what they could be using if only they had them. They then return the guns to the soldiers the next day minus a few bullets.
This is called going in half cocked without an exit strategy because frankly we didn't have one last time and that went off OK. Oh no it didn't. Bugger, I think we better think this one through.
This has been Bernie Woodstain with his big perspective.
CLOSING CREDITS SHOW CAR ARRIVING AT COSMIC’S FRONT GARDEN AND BERNIE BEING ASKED TO COME TO A PLACE FAR FAR AWAY TO BE RENDERED. BERNIE WITH BLACK EYE TALKS TO THE CAMERA.
My name is Bernie Woodstain. Thank goodness we fight the dictators. Freedom is worth fighting for. For goodness sake do it to Ethel, don't do it to me. do it to Ethel. I love whoever it is I am supposed to love. Do it to Ethel.
Ethel is shown in the back garden through an infra red camera. She has a torch shining under her face and is wearing a woolly hat. She needs to blow her nose. She looks into the camera and shivers."Just like a man" she says. The screen goes blank. A distant voice is heard to say ......
STOP PLAYING WITH MY VIDEO CAMERA.
THE LONELINESS OF THE BECALMED SAILBOARDER
A beautiful sunny warm day here at the lighthouse. I have completed all the work I had to do stuck at a computer. So am now free to go out and enjoy the delights of a summers day. But really I don't want to. Instead I am listening to the chatter of a printer working in the next room. We live in a paperless society created for us by the magic of computers. We no longer need to write things down on paper. All the information can be digitally recorded on disk. Except we all have a deep mistrust of computers and how to extract the information we put into them. So we have to print out everything. We need the hard copy to reassure us. We don't trust printers either. The ink keeps running out and the paper still catches in the machine when we look away. The curse of mankind. I am Robot, hear me scream.
Cass enjoys finding out about our ancestors. The Picayunes are always fairly easy to trace. She talks to long lost branches of the family in America and Australia. We had ancestors who stole sheep and jewellery or jewellery in the shape of sheep, and were sent over to the States to suffer appearances on Broadway in failed musicals. Or were sent to Australia to stand around and claim how wonderful this new country was while dying of thirst. While small strange women sang at them. Yes the Picayunes can be traced right back to Prince Picayune the Unlikely who burnt the toast at Runnybutter.
My Mums line is a bit harder to trace back. She had a large family who went through life totally unaware of anything. They never seemed to understand any insult hurled at them by jealous neighbours. They never understood why elder brother George was Jamaican and they never understood why a sister was called Costa Rica Droitwich Elfson. In fact half the Elfsons didn't know how to spell their own names. I remember asking Auntie Costa if she had ever been to Droitwich and she just laughed and said "I have never been to me". What was weird was a song came out the following year using that very lyric. So the Elfsons remain a mystery to us all. I think they were simply too nice. They never questioned anything. Until it was too late for the answers.
Cass starts to swear as all the printing is finished and she has found out that some student in a ice cream shop has been paid three pounds fifty seven pence more than he should have been, so as not to pay the tax throttle payback student scheme loan for the under thirty sevens unless there is a song by Elvis Presley in the charts that month. All of which was announced in the budget last year. So I glance out of the window.
We have an interloper. There are clear signs that are well hidden, about no shipping or pleasure craft between the lighthouse and the coast being allowed. But there is a sailboarder just standing on his sailboard not moving. He looks the part. Dressed head to toe in a rubber wetsuit. He clearly has the balance all sorted out. He just hasn't worked out the relationship between a sail and the complete lack of wind. So he stands there. Pretending not to notice the crowds on the coast or the lighthouse behind him. I am a little irritated as I know Cosmic hasn't brought the empty recycling skips over and therefore not taken the rubbish to be collected. Having a sailboarder in the way could cause countless problems should Cosmic choose this moment to come over. Supposed somebody takes a skip? Or takes a cover to a skip. We haven't had post for a few days either. Cosmic says there hasn't been any but what about my TV Times? Not that we can watch TV at the moment with all the interference.
The sailboarder remains unmoved and unmoving. There is not a lot one can do if one is on a sailboard without any wind. Except not bother to go there in the first place. A lesson in life if there ever was one
ALL QUIET AND LITTLE FRONT AT THE SMUGGLERS TAVERN
A good day to be lazy. A good day for Cosmic to be late. When he eventually came over to collect the bin and return the recycling skips, the evening was closing in. But had he come earlier he would have collected our post which would have had in it the completed P367 or M52 or some such form, which would have had to be returned because of the over payment to the member of staff at the ice cream shop, who would have had to pay the interest on the tax because they wouldn't have known about the underpayment of the overpayment until the police knocked on their door. Some people think this blog is just thrown together. I read what I have written.
(Beverley writes - although there are a few continuity mistakes I have brought up at our daily brain storming meetings)
What meetings are these?
Anyway, the point is everything worked out well in the end. Sometimes putting things off and waiting a while and not doing things, pays off. Which brings me to the big debate on the local news. Will there be street parties for next weeks Royal Wedding? Now I am not sure what is going to happen, but I do know The Smugglers Tavern will only be throwing a few decorations up. When I looked in on The Smugglers Tavern via the close circuit camera it was as quiet as a home game of the Caustic Cove Casuals.
Sitting at a long table in the middle of The Smugglers Tavern were a number of the good and the lacking of Caustic Cove. They had insisted on renting the Tavern for the night for their committee to decide on the up and coming celebrations. However renting The Smugglers Tavern exclusively for the night did not come cheap. Most of their budget was in fact blown on this one little extravagance. At least the committee were able to thrash out a few ideas and run up the proverbial flagpole. It was suggested that the whole front and promenade at Caustic Cove should be closed for a party and bunting and food and drink. The Smugglers Tavern were all for that as long as they could supply the food and drink with only the smallest of mark ups. But the closing down of the main road in and out of Caustic Cove was rejected.
Should they have a party at all? The vast majority of the population of the local area were old enough to remember the last Royal Weddings. Not to put too fine a point on it. Things haven't gone well for the Royals since. On top of everything else the new bride to be has been given the engagement ring of the mother of the groom who had divorced his dad and died in tragic circumstances. Not the sort of ring to be given to give the bride luck. Still the kiddies of the area do like a party. So what to do?
Having eventually made a decision the committee closed the meeting and all shared in a boozy night out. So it looks as if Caustic Cove will run extra buses to Havenedge and let them sort out a party. While the rest of The Cove can watch the whole thing on TV. Now what is everybody doing on this weeks Bank Holiday?
COSMIC AND ETHEL
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. New or old, short or long. All the music just can't be wrong. Cosmic here with another lovely day which immediately brings problems. I would like to go out today. But it doesn't matter how stealth-like I am, directly that handle to the outside world is touched, Ethel accosts me by the back door. I have to decide if I can go out and reach the car before she can bombard me with accusations and instructions. If I am caught and have to work in the garden, do I try and do a snatch and grab at some weeds or go out and have to plan for a long term occupation of the garden? Between Ethel and the neighbours I am stuck in a hard place.
I decide that I will not become a virtual prisoner in my own house. So I grab the car keys and boldly step out. I have a few parcels to deliver to the lighthouse so I am already ready with my excuses. Sure enough, as soon as I step out from my back door, Ethel is there like a missile locked on its target. But instead of wanting to gain access to the garage and find some tools, she asks if I could give her a lift to her house. Directly I let my guard down and agree, Ethel points out all the weeds that have grown a few inches from yesterday.
The roads are not that crowded, but the place is crawling with people in states of undress. As I have mentioned before, my days at looking at teenage girls wearing nothing, has gone from animal like desire to concern that they don't catch a cold in their stomachs. My plan was to drop Ethel off at her home and go on and deliver the parcels and letters to the lighthouse. But Ethel asks me in and says she just wants to pick a few things up. Pick a few things up? Why doesn't she stay home? Why come back to my garden? I am rather hoping this early good weather breaks so Ethel and for that matter Bernie, are forced to move elsewhere. However I park up and follow Ethel into her home.
There is no doubt Ethel is comfortable here. This is her space and she fits in it nicely. A peg that has found that right shape hole. Her natural behaviour makes it an even bigger mystery to me why she doesn't want to spend more time here. Ethel takes me on a quick guided tour of her home. Every room holds a memory and she smiles or frowns depending on the story she is telling. I know Ethel exaggerates a little, but I don't care if the stories she is telling are true or not. They are her stories. Let her enjoy them.
Finally we approach her bedroom. She goes in and the bed looks as if it has been abandoned. The duvet is just thrown on the floor and the carpet looks dirty with bits of paper and tissue scattered on it. She points to the bedside phone. Every bit of bad news she has ever received, she says, has been relayed to her on that phone. The one place where she had felt safe and warm and contented. Her nice comfy bedroom. The atmosphere though has been sullied by that damn phone. There is a phone downstairs in the hall. But with that phone you expect to have to deal with the business of life. The phone in the bedroom catches you relaxed and unaware.
Ethel collects a few things, including a book and few ornaments. Where does she think she is going to put those for goodness sake? Once we return to the car and are on our way to the lighthouse, I notice how quiet Ethel is. Maybe she always was quiet except when she is demanding garden tools and interfering in other peoples lives. Despite the fact I may be a bit of time, Ethel stays in the car as I row over to the lighthouse. The Picayune looks at the TV Times I have brought him and moans about there being nothing on TV. Even on a bank holiday. Amongst the parcels is a replacement saucepan and a TV remote control. The remote that it is replacing works well except for the off switch. Nowadays TV is turned off a lot. Cass tells me that there doesn't seem to be any spring or autumn anymore, just winter and summer. I guess she has a point. A cup of tea later, I am sweating as I row my way back.
When we arrive back at my place Ethel reminds me of the state of the garden. I reflect that both Ethel and myself have our own spaces but want to move on to somewhere else. The last I see of Ethel today is her disappearing amongst the weeds in the back garden. I walk into the house and notice the answer machine flashing. Just for a moment I remember how Ethel felt about her phone in her bedroom. I put on the kettle and make a cup of tea.
Bad news, if indeed it is, can wait.
A VICTIM OF WASTED TIME?
Looking out from the lighthouse I can see great activity. I can see the boats and the people and all the fun loving things people do to each other. I can go on my computer and watch CCTV sites in some of the best places around the world. Zoos and pubs and lakes and countryside are all just a button press away. I can even see you if I wanted to. Thankfully for both of us I don't.
With the odd toilet break thrown in, I can sit here all day in one position and not move a muscle. I can entertain myself with films and shows and chat and even do a bit of work at the same time. I can sit here and eat and drink little or nothing all day. Life meanwhile is passing me by. So even that is a good thing. Now there is a down side to all this. My heart goes as flabby as by stomach. My interpersonal skills suffer and my muscles whither and die. I don't drink heavily and don't eat that much. Yes I need my drugs of choice sometimes, and chocolate and cheese and potatoes are easy to buy. But all in all I don't bother you and you don't bother me.
I know what you are going to say. If it wasn't for all the help I receive from Cosmic and Cass, I wouldn't be able to continue this sedentary lifestyle. You are right to point this out. Sometimes one just has to be honest with oneself. The problem is that you are falling into the trap of thinking I want to live the life I do. May be I am the victim here? If I wasn't surrounded by a lovely view and kind people then I would be forced to do something and become more active. So it's their fault really. For helping me to exist in my state of stagnation.
Now before you all go crazy and start to complain. Yes I mean you Cass and Cosmic. I better point out I don't believe any of that nonsense. However we live in world where everybody wants to be a victim. It is never our fault but their fault. When the Government want to save money it is the single mums or those who are too ill to work who are put under the microscope. Why are they receiving handouts? The idle throng of fat and drunk and mad people. They could all help themselves. After all if you are hooked on drugs why should I pay for you because you can't hold down a job? Are you too fat to go to work, then slim down and take some exercise. Too depressed? Cheer up and smell the roses. Unless you have a hay fever then best not.
When the people want to save money they blame the government for all the pointless tax and red tape that seems to be just invented for no good reason. When the fat and the drunks and the drug addled need to blame something they blame circumstance and life.
So let's stop blaming other people and stop feeling we are the victims. If we can all just remember one thing. If it wasn't for the cheating bankers none of us would ever be depressed again. On this of all holidays let's stop feeling self conscious for not doing what we should be doing. Let's take in the view without thinking it is wasted time.
CELEBRATIONS – A VIEW
A strange time really. I am not sure how I am supposed to react? It is Good Friday in the UK and we have had the usual remarks about how everybody has forgotten the Easter Message. That I think has become the Easter Message. It is as if people buy eggs and hot cross buns and then wonder why they bought them. Then you have the Church telling us what the message is. Which actually turns out not to be the message but a version of a message written in a book about the history of a people written a long time after the history happened. There are people who are digging up places in the Holy Land and using The Bible as a sort of map. This is where we should find the place David killed Goliath. This is where Jesus turned water into wine. All of which misses the point about faith. That seems to be what religion is good at. They forget that it isn't about where somebody killed somebody else or even if it actually happened. It is about faith. Faith can move mountains they say. Shame we keep fighting over which mountain should be moved and whether or not it has moved already.
In the UK it is St Georges Day. This is the day we are told St George wasn't English or a saint and really has nothing to do with us at all. It is also a day people would generally forget about if it wasn't for the pubs like The Smugglers Tavern putting up bunting and little red crosses everywhere. Although the only time we see these little flags is when we lose at football. So I suppose the red cross needs a little bit of faith behind it too. Not that we can feel too proud of our Country. Too many people blaming others. I used to love this country and travel around it and feel proud. Now I stay in the lighthouse and hope the country forgets about us. I hate more than I love. I loathe what others have done in my name. This isn't my country anymore. Somewhere along the line, smart, well dressed, well educated, gangs calling themselves 'New Labour' or Old Faithful or something equally tacky went and made everything dirty.
So that's religion and politics. So time for the Royal Family. Another wedding and another celebration when we are told what a waste of money it all is. Even though the whole wedding thing brings in more money than anything Governments ever seem to do. Although if you are of a certain age it all starts to look like a long running TV series bereft of ideas. What happens next? Tune in next week. Like an episode of a posh soap opera. It at least keeps the wheels turning.
All these celebrations may have ceased to become worth celebrating because I have seen it all before and am tired of all the reasons I am bombarded with not to celebrate them. Does that make sense? I suppose it is like Christmas or Birthdays or New Years. There were some you remember as being exciting and some you remember with sadness. But now you tend not to remember them at all. They all merge into one stale cake.
Enjoy the celebrations everybody.
(Beverley writes - As the recorder of The Picayunes internal monologue, I should point out that the above comments were written while The Picayune had noticed his stomachs were beginning to rub on his legs and he had run out of bread. Nobody had called in at the lighthouse on Good Friday. Hopefully when Cosmic brings some bread and listens with The Pic to the football on Saturday, all will be be well. Depending on the result.)
COSMIC AND CO
Well it shouldn't be there should it? I have never seen it there before. I only noticed it when I heard a slapping noise every time I took a step upstairs. Turned out to be my knee slapping my stomach. Well the bit of the leg between the thigh and the knee anyway. But I didn't put it there so what is it doing? I am explaining to Cosmic my dilemma. He has just helped Cass bring some shopping over. Cass looked like a pack horse, heaving everything up to the lighthouse from the boat. But Cosmic says he has given up trying to carry things for her. He once made the mistake of trying to help with a bag of cement, but Cass pushed him out of the way to reach it. Cosmic was left floundering like a fish out of water, flapping about trying to take a corner of the heavy bag. But Cass would have none of it.
We are listening to the football eating pizza and I am explaining to Cosmic about my slapping noisy stomach. He asks me how long I have had my trousers. I ask him why he wants to know. Apparently I don't want to know why he wants to know. So I tell him I have worn these trousers for years and years. So he says that proves that I couldn't have grown an extra stomach and that it has always been there. It may well have grown a little more but not enough to buy new trousers. I feel somewhat relieved by this and thank him. As we listen to the football we concede a goal. I swear and Cass says I need a haircut and so does she. We should cut our hair tomorrow. Cosmic giggles and says he always goes to the hairdresser once every few months or so. Cass and I both giggle. Neither of us have been to a hairdresser since we were kids.
Although the lighthouse is cool compared to outside, Cosmic asks if we can turn the ceiling fan on. Cass put the fan up years ago and it is still a wonderful air conditioner in the summer. We also have a proper air conditioner we bought for downstairs. But have never used it. There are a few desk fans flung about as well. So I turn on the fan. Now the thing is, we have been moving stuff about and rearranging furniture. The room hasn't seen a duster in over ten years. So the only chance the dust has of moving is every summer when the fan is switched on. After the game finishes Cosmic is up on his feet brushing away at his clothes, looking like a survivor from a collapsed building. Cosmic is cool but dusty. We have a cup of tea and Cosmic is on his way. So I return upstairs to discuss the match on line. As I am making my way upstairs I hear a slap,slap, slap.
Hi there, Cosmic here, the clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Maybe stay awhile and pop into The Smugglers Tavern for a cooling drink. The bar is packed solid. A few men are staring at a lone girl, making her feel as uncomfortable as she would be as an extra in a horror film. I find a space at the bar and ask for a Coke. The girl starts pulling at her blonde hair nervously. She is desperate not too make eye contact with the men. Eventually though she feels too intimidated and walks out the pub. The men's eyes do not follow her out but begin to squint. Then they order from the food menu that was on the wall behind the girl’s head.
I start to stare at a few of the people around me. There are men in shorts, women in shorts, men wearing next to nothing and women wearing next to nothing. Then there is the bloke with a phone camera who is smiling at himself and taking a picture of himself. Just for a moment I think of The Picayune and his flabby, slappy stomach. Then I think that he should see these people. All of them deserve to be self conscious about something . But none of them appear to care. I decide my next job will be to persuade The Picayune to come out again. Even if it is just back into my garage or garden. I vow to make him a project of mine
THE ART OF GRIEF MAINTENANCE
Somebody, somewhere has died. The shock is still there for those close to the deceased. As well as the awful realisation that people have to be told comes the mondaying reality. How to deal with the really unhelpful. First you deal with the funeral. People who do this sort of thing for a living are usually able to help and charge you huge amounts of money. But they usually do the job. Then comes the legal side. These people charge you huge amounts of money but they too are usually helpful. Then comes the stupid people.
You phone up USTC (Unhelpful Stupid Telephone Company).
'Good Morning USTC, please press 1 for a long wait, 2 for a shorter wait but only if you want to give us money,3 for a statement of what you owe us,......................press 9 if you actually want to talk to somebody'
'You have pressed 9............Good Morning USTC, please press one of you want to talk to somebody about life, press 2 if you are lonely, press 3 for a complaint and a really long wait........................Press 9 to talk to somebody else'
MUZAK FOR HOURS
"Good Afternoon, my name is Mohamed Misunderstood on a bad line, how may I be of help on this fine day?"
"Hello, you are very faint?" says the emotional yet relieved customer.
"I have not been sleeping well but I am better now thank you" replies Mohamed
"Sorry?"
"That's alright it isn't your fault, how may I be of service?"
"The bill owner has died and so I would like to change the name on the bill. Same number just a different name."
"I see by your number that you have another provider for your calls. We have a wonderful new Phone now pay later free at weekends except not really scheme. Would you be interested?"
"No thanks I just want to change the bill owners name. Well one initial is all it is really"
"How about our short term, call later pay now except on Tuesdays payment plan?"
"No thanks. Just one initial on the bill owners name"
"I will have to put you through to another department"
MUZAK FOR HOURS
"Good Evening, my name is Julie, what do you want?"
" Well the bill owner has died and I just want to change the name on the bill. Same number just a different initial really"
"We have a dedicated line for that. Please hold. I am putting you through"
MUZAK FOR DAYS
" Merry Christmas ,my name is Mohamed Misunderstood, how may I be of service on this wonderful festive time of year"
" Look I have missed the funeral of the bill owner by being on this bloody phone. I want to change the name of the bill owner because they are no longer with us. I have sent the certificates and the finger prints and the affidavits. I just want to change the one initial on the bill owners name"
"I see that you are with another company for your calls. Would you be ......."
"NO I JUST WANT TO CHANGE ONE INITIAL"
"Very well Sir or Madam, we will do that for you"
"Thank you, at last, I thought I would never manage to........Is there anybody there? The line has gone dead. Hello"
Sadly the line had been cut off completely. It took two weeks for them to say the line would work. Another two weeks for it actually to work. A further three weeks for the original number to be returned and the late lamented will still receive phone bills for six months after that.
Then you have to phone the bank. But that is even worse. So let's not go there yet.
SWEENEY PICAYUNE
When it says on the instructions that it takes two hours to cook. It usually means four hours. Cass had bought a piece of Gammon. So we both looked at it and decided that it would be a perfect Sunday meal with salad. But we like things very well done. Which means read the instructions for the cooking time, double it for normal cooking time and add a few hours on for us. This meant there was plenty of time to cut hair. So I pretended to cough up some flem, have a cold and complained of some strange sickness. None of which convinced Cass as she handed me some scissors and a comb.
Most of the hard stuff had been done. Cass is not stupid so she had cut her hair at the sides and in the front. All she wanted was a smartening up at the back. Now hair is hair. But for some reason to help me in my endeavours, Cass had wet hers to make it easier to cut. Why should wet hair be easier to cut? It bends at the ends and sticks up. So you have to straighten it to make it even. Then a snip here and a snip there. Then you have the odd stray hair. It is not easy. But after I am finished and step back to look proudly at my work. I am aware that Cass will wait for her hair to dry before she tries to prepare the damage I have done.
My hair on the other hand is easier to do. There isn't that much of it. Yet Cass manages to cut more of my hair than I have cut of hers. After she has finished, my hair looks fine. Now to me her hair looks like the result of years at hairdresser training school. But when I look at my hair and like it, is it the same as me looking at Cass hair and liking it? When Cass has to redo her hair, has she done my hair for me to redo? See where I am going with this? Anyway may be I am over thinking the hairdresser lark.
At least I didn't draw blood. This time.
Gammon is very nice. With a few potatoes and lettuce. Tomatoes and cucumber and cheese and pickle. Bread and crisps. Followed by ice cream and shreddies. Cass for some reason just had Gammon and potatoes. I wonder if I have found the reason behind the mystery of my slapping stomach. Then we both seem to drop off to sleep for a time. Are we ill and should I be worried? Nothing on television may be the reason. Well only people digging up something to look for something and finding rock. Limit how interesting they can make that. But I am awake for the rest of the evening and watch DVDs and a whodunit on TV. I am no nearer knowing why they did what they did after two hours and plenty of ad breaks. But it all seems to make sense to the people who did it. Nice line about it being hard work growing up hating things. I may well use that line in The Lighthouse Picayune Blog. Except I seem to have already just done so.
So a good day I guess. Tomorrow there is plenty to do. Or plenty I should be doing. So I may try and catch up with some reading. I must learn to pace myself.
THE WORLD ACCORDING TO CASS
Cass is busy. Cass is always busy. Except when she is asleep. She used to be confused why the world didn't think like she did when she was awake. Then she was confused why the people of the world didn't think like she did. So one day she stopped thinking. But so did the world. When people just wanted to carry on doing what they did, Cass wanted them to stop and think. So, when she started to think again, so did the world. However it never thought like Cass thought. It never would. What changed was that Cass now stopped making enemies of the world. At least she thought she had. Cass used to think too much.
'She's always a woman to me' is a Billy Joel song Cass had never really understood. There is a long running advert showing a little girl growing into a young woman and then a married woman. Eventually a grandmother is seen with the little grandchildren and the Billy Joel song is playing throughout. Now it is a wonderful song. A great song. A classic song. While it clearly is a love song about women and their faults and playful little foibles. It had always came over to Cass as a song about a nasty, conniving, woman who will plot and lie to make sure she has her own way in all things. The point is Cass would not use it in an advert. It is an insult to a particular kind of woman and not a song any decent person would want to be identified with. A great song but not a song to show the best of women. An odd choice for a song in an advert.
Guilt is so ingrained into Cass and her brother, The Picayune, that it has become the natural fall back position. There is guilt when things are waiting to be done. Guilt when things are being done. Guilt when things have been done. Yet without guilt things would never be done. Guilt is no guilty pleasure.
Having worked until evening. Cass then sends more information on the past to a distant relative. The Picayune can now go back 10 generations or more. People who stole, who had children out of wedlock, had hopes and dreams. It is fun tracing all these people. Cass has turned to distant relatives for information and sharing names. Like a mathematical puzzle that you have the answer for, but not the formulae of how the answer was found.
In the evening Cass fell asleep in front of the TV. Tomorrow work begins again and the phone calls will start. The answers will be there and the formulae for reaching the conclusions will be worked out. It is just whether or not Cass can be bothered to put the x and y into the pie chart of the day.
COSMIC HAS A POSTBOX PLAN
The clock on the wall shows it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. For a lyric that makes you a cynic and a tune that make you swoon. Hi Cosmic here, to report on a successful first part of a multi layered plan. The plan to actually make The Picayune brave the outside world. I have managed in the past to prize him away from his comfortable, safe little island, to a dirty, cobweb invested garage. My mistake was not following up on this with more excursions outside his comfort zone. So today I hatched the first part of my plan.
Knowing he had important post to put in the post box in Caustic Cove. I told The Picayune I had pulled a muscle and was unable to row over to collect the post. But I could take it from him at the jetty on the mainland. As expected he asked why Ethel or Bernie couldn't help? This I managed to find a way around by telling him that I was trying to avoid Ethel and Bernie. as they kept wanting to gain entry into the garage to collect gardening tools. The hot bank holiday had made things grow at an amazing rate. Ethel awoke this morning in the back garden and found herself trapped by the advancing thorny weeds and plants. Her cries for assistance meant that I sprained an ankle trying to save her. But now all Ethel wants to do is hack away. The truth is I would let Ethel do her stuff if it wasn't for the fact I like some of the things she has threatened to destroy. So I told The Picayune he would have to come across.
After I had called him, I waited in the car for him to come across in the boat. Despite his earlier practice he still seemed pretty slow and unsteady. When he reached the jetty I called from the car and told him my ankle was really painful and I could not put any weight on it. The Picayune was forced to clamber out of the boat and shuffle breathlessly to the car. As he had managed this far I asked him if he could manage to make the walk to the post box. He said there was no point. But I said I was unable to climb out of the car to post the letters, By the time he had managed to fit into the car and I had had to move seats. The Picayune could have reached the postbox and returned. He looked doubtful. As I encouraged him and told him it was a five minute round trip walk at best, he seemed to weaken. But then he said there is a hill on the way back. Now what The Picayune calls a hill is a small incline. It could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be called a hill. Then suddenly, like the moving of The Empire State Building in an episode of Gerry Anderson's Thunderbirds, The Picayune began to move . Slowly at first and then, step by step he made his way through the throng (a few people and a dog). Every time his foot moved in front of its neighbour, he closed the cavernous gap between himself and the postbox. Then as quickly as he had begun he had closed that distance and stood before the red beacon of hope. A brief glance at the times on the post box, to hide the fact he was resting and then he embarked on the return journey. Now this was the worrying part. Would he make it? Could his legs have enough muscle strength to close the gap. In a journey that had taken The Picayune six minutes for the round trip, he appeared by the car, chest heaving and lungs burning.
The next part of my master plan was to ask him to consider giving me a hand tomorrow, to clear the weeds growing out of the tarmac between my house and the garage. Nobody could see him and then he could help Bernie with the front garden or at least the drive. Just to begin with. To my amazement he didn't dismiss the idea out of hand. Had I managed to break the wild bucking horse of lethargy. No wait a minute, 'lethargy' would hardly be a horse. More a sloth. Right then had I tamed the wild sloth of lethargy, who could know? All I did know was when The Picayune nearly fell into the boat and swore. I may have seen some hope flash in his eyes. Either that or pain.
ETHEL BY NIGHT
There is a definite breeze tonight. Not a cold one but chilly. Ethel is in Cosmic’s back garden and wrapped up against the night. She is looking at the sky but the clouds are thicker than they have been for some time. This time last week she could see the stars and light from the moon. Even last night, everything looked clear. But tonight there is cloud moving up there. The breeze is rustling the weeds and moving the clouds along like an impatient old bus conductor.
Ethel has made sure she doesn't turn over in her sleep like last night. She managed to impale herself on a thorn that was able to penetrate several layers of protection. Amazing how quickly things grow once the warmth starts to entice the greedy thicket of sharp thorns. Ethel often hears a fox yelp at night. It wouldn't shock her to find a few foxes trapped in the thorns one morning when she wakes up. Will Cosmic ever give her the tools to cut this evil forest down? There used to be fountains and a stream and ponds up here. The lost gardens of Cosmic. But who knows what horrors await the innocent explorer now.
Not being able to see the stars makes Ethel feel claustrophobic. She never used to care before. But now she has experience of sleeping outside she enjoys it. Not that she could do this full time. Her heart goes out to all those who have no other choice. But Ethel feels free without the confines of a ceiling and four walls. Like a kid playing at camping. This reminds her of the time she was allowed to camp in the back garden of her parents’ house, when she was young. Or was she? Her fantasy life has become confused with reality. So she never knows what is really a memory and what is made up. It has been so long since she has seen her dad that the fantasy of him dead seems so real. Then her husband taking their child away and being killed in an accident. How much of that is real now? She had everything under control at one time. Pretend and real were put in little memory files never to be confused. Yet somehow the files have been dropped on the floor and just picked up and thrown into any memory space available.
Makes sense now really. Whenever the questions on drunken nights in ugly pubs turned to absolutes, Ethel would always become disorientated. You know the sort of thing. What is the best moment of you life? Best day, worst day, happiest birthday and so on. The only question Ethel could ever answer was the one about the worst day of her life. That one was easy. So easy that she pulls the layers of clothes tighter around her as if to smother the memory. Just the loss of someone. A real someone on a real day. The rest could well be fantasy. But not that day. Ethel wonders if what she is doing at this precise moment is real or not? Actually sleeping in Cosmic’s back garden. Is it madness or does it make sense? Ethel doesn't think about it for too long. She doesn't really want an answer.
Sleeping outside makes you wake up earlier. Mainly because you want to go to the toilet. It is a problem Ethel never really thought about. But chemical toilets, the sort you take on camping holidays help. Which means this is all real. Otherwise why would Ethel think about such practicalities? Ethel is not sure if these long days are helpful for her. Maybe she would be better off in her own home. The cold would soon drive her indoors. Involuntarily Ethel moves and is stung by something. She shuffles in her straight jacket of clothes away from the sting. Just for a second Ethel sees as clear as day her present predicament. Why she is here in the back garden of Cosmic’s house. What drove her to it, beside the short infatuation with Bernie Woodstain. For a blindingly obvious moment it all makes sense. As does her next move. Then she is awoken and the clarity disappears. Ethel wasn't aware she had dropped off. But she must have done. Soon be morning and she can ask Cosmic for some shears. After all one day they won’t be able to find her at all. She will be lost like that American series where people were lost on an island. But unlike the stars in that show Ethel wouldn't have a shampoo advert to go to. She would just cease to exist. Ethel smiles to herself at the prospect. She is asleep and dreaming of cutting away at the garden within moments.
Snip Snip Snip. Clearing away the weeds. What does Ethel see under the foliage? Why it is a young Ethel singing a Kate Bush song about not forgetting her. Ethel smiles at that prospect too. Wondering if forgetting yourself was a dream worth remembering.
THE PICAYUNE SEES THROUGH IT AND SEES IT THROUGH
I can tell when I am being manipulated. Cosmic says he needs help in his garden, but, with Ethel and Bernie only too willing to help, I can tell Cosmic has an ulterior motive. Either he wants me to help in his garage again and move all the rubbish to the dump. Although it is beyond me why he hasn't done this already. Or he wants to breach the subject of him moving in to the lighthouse. He has had envious eyes gazing at the lighthouse for some time. Despite a very nice house and a very natural garden, Cosmic seems to think that the lighthouse is his next move. But why should he? We have less room and if it wasn't for the fact the lighthouse is falling down, I would dismiss his money out of hand.
Have I noticed all the little ornaments and music paraphernalia that have suddenly turned up on shelves? Could I have possibly missed all the little wall signs that have suddenly appeared. All from Cosmic’s house and all a first strike to him putting his feet under the table. A table by the way that now has a centre piece of an urn with his mothers ashes in it. It is no good I shall just have to come out and tell him this is not on. Except if I do that will he stop helping out? We don't have a car since Cass killed hers. But that doesn't mean I can be blackmailed. No what I shall do is just tell him I can't help in his garden today as I have work to do. Except that I haven't collected the post yet and have post to go. I was rather hoping his ankle would have improved enough by today. Not that I think there is anything wrong with his ankle in the first place.
I don't really need Cosmic anyway. I was alright yesterday. I managed to climb the hill to the postbox. I can do that again. Even if people are there and tourists ask me if I am the lighthouse keeper and what's it like living in a lighthouse and the normal drivel I am not very good at answering. Cass says we should be proud people talk about the lighthouse. I just want to be left alone, hence living in a lighthouse. On an island. Away from people. Not sure why they bother me but they always do.
I have to go soon if I am going to catch the post. Walk down to the boat. Try and sit in the boat without falling over. Row over and then climb out onto the jetty and go up to the post box. No problem really. I will just fetch some dark glasses and a coat. Mind you I feel a bit light headed now. I bit gripey and sick. May be I have eaten something that didn't agree with me? Although I have only had a cup of tea today. No I am really feeling a bit off. Might just delay going to the post for a second.
No, come on I can do this. Just go and not think about it. My stomach is really acting up. I can ignore it. Come on one big effort. That is all it will take.
Right I am in the boat. Wasn't too bad. Have the oars in my hand. Forgot to untie the rope. So untie the rope and off we go. One stroke, fine two strokes, breathing heavily, miss the water with the oar, or to use the proper term, gosh that's annoying. Slowly row over to the jetty.
Wait and breath. Wait a bit longer and breath.
Nobody about so I climb up onto the jetty with the grace of a gazelle. NOBODY IS HERE TO SEE.
So I begin my walk up the h...up the hill, breath short, legs tired and ...puffing away. Reach box and post letters. Still ...nobody.....puff........puff ...about. Return journey, legs at breaking point.......must make one big.....effort.
Van pulls up at a house. I can ignore it, Just carry on. Old woman walks out of house and goes to van. Van moves slightly. Am almost approaching woman. Van man on other side. I have nowhere to go except passed them both. Woman standing right in the middle of the pavement. She is talking to the van man and says she is sorry to make him move, 'but this bleedin' slope is awful when I am trying to move the car from the drive'. My goodness Caustic Cove has gone downhill. It used to be a nice area. Now people are talking about 'bleedin slopes'. Still I a have reached the jetty. The boat looks a long way down. I make several attempts to sit on the jetty with my feet over the side. Fourth time lucky. I ease my way into the boat and nearly capsize. My stomach is the first bit of my body to make a lunge for safety. But I catch it before it escapes.
Now I steady myself and am rowing back. I am safe and I am very very tired. Then I am home. Up onto the jetty with ease, nobody to see how easy I am doing this part. Tie up the boat. Walk up to the lighthouse very slowly. Must....remember...gasp....to .....cut.....weeds from .......steps....or ....somebody could........My brain cannot finish the thought. I arrive at last in the lighthouse. My pulse is only one hundred and twenty. Must be becoming fitter. However just time to have a piece of toast.
Cass is there to welcome me home. She says I should have taken the rubbish over to save time. I think I shed a tear.
COSMIC REGRETS
The clock on the wall says it's time to call. so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Spin a disc, twist an ankle, Cosmic here with a tale as old as time. I guess the morale of this story is be careful what you wish for.
I had had a call from Cass asking if I could give her a lift to the shops, just for some bread and what have you. So I said fine, no problem.. She told me The Picayune had been across to the mainland to post a letter. I can tell you I felt pleased my plan had sort of come together. Alright, he hadn't actually come and helped with the garden but at least he had come out of the lighthouse on his own, without anybody prodding him with a stick. Yeah I felt proud. Before picking up Cass I had plenty of time to pop into The Smugglers Tavern for a soft drink. A sort of slap on the back for me to me.
Don't think I hadn't suffered to make my plan work. There was a football match on last night, so I would have gone to the lighthouse and shared the experience with The Pic. Besides he has a bigger TV. I could have watched the match being broadcast and listened to the other on the computer. I still did all that mind you, but it didn't feel quite such an occasion. Anyway I enjoyed it as everything came out right in the end. Both in the match and now I know The Pic actually walked to the post, with my plan.
So I worked out how much longer my pretend sprained ankle should last. There would be little point in making it last too long. Now we have a bank holiday and another match coming up Saturday, I wanted to make a recovery. Limp a little, be brave and make the odd grimace of pain. But I hoped I could persuade The Pic that he can now do little things like the post on his own, without me having to suffer anymore invented injuries.
Fortunately Ethel was trapped in the back garden and couldn't do anything but yell at me for assistance. I pretended I couldn't hear and managed to start up the car and be off before Bernie pointed to his trapped arm in the pampas grass. No idea why we now have pampas grass growing in the front garden, but that, as they say is for another day. If Bernie and Ethel were not out of the clutches of my garden by the time I came back, I would assist them. But until then it was up to them to come to terms with being unable to roam free.
The Smugglers Tavern had made an effort to put out a bit of bunting after all. A few flags. A token gesture but a gesture none the less. When I stepped into the pub I heard a band singing. They had a few fiddles and a base guitar and were singing Tom Petty's 'American Girl'. The band were Irish. So I gave them a wide berth. Ever since Bono took my thunder at the 'Free Water to Free Africa' concert, I have never been fond of Irish bands. Well when I say he stole my thunder, it was more like I was in the audience and he pointed at me. I was about to climb up on stage to introduce myself to the crowd, but a bouncer bloke stopped me. Despite efforts on my part to tell this bloke I was Cosmic Antidust, he pushed me back and said he didn't care whose auntie I was. Oh yeah, as if I hadn't heard that before. Which to be fair to him I hadn't. People respected me back in the day.
So I have a swift orange squash in The Smugglers Tavern. The Irish band are jigging about to 'Do you want to touch me' but before they could finish, the police storm through the door and arrest them all. Turns out 'Do you want to touch me' is on the banned list drawn up by the local Caustic Cove council. In fact it is on two banned lists. So the music comes to an abrupt end. I follow the police out and am rather enjoying the complaining and the swearing. The Irish band were none too happy either. A barrier had been put across the pavement with a big arrow pointing to the right with the word PEDESTRIANS on it. So I walked onto the grass verge to go to my car, when my right ankle found a hole. Suddenly I was over on it and just saved myself from falling. Doing what we all do, I pretended it didn't hurt in case anyone was watching and carried on towards the car. But the throbbing and the swelling was making sure my earlier petard had been well and truly hoisted. I really had now obtained a twisted ankle. Not a bad one I grant you. But bad enough to make the drive home uncomfortable.
Half way home I realised I was supposed to be picking up Cass so she could go shopping. So I turned the car around and waited for her at the jetty. When she eventually arrives my ankle is complaining it needs to be cooled down. It is around three o clock, so what bread she expected to still be in the shops is a mystery. Despite everything still being open on bank holidays, people still rush to fill up their trolley for a four day survival fight. When we arrive at the shop. the school kids are just about finished in there. Like locusts leaving a barren field, the little darlings move on to the next green pasture. The crossing lollipop man is about a hundred and two and smiles at everybody in that scary old man leer. He stops grown adults crossing as if independent thought would be a bad example to set for the children. Cass takes a bag and a list. This is no quick trip for a loaf of bread.
Before Cass can reach the front door of the shop, a delivery lorry pulls up. I don't know why Cass bothers to go into the shop. She might as well wait as they off load the goods from the lorry and let them put the goods straight into her bag. But she disappears from view and I am left waiting, cautiously moving my ankle so it doesn't cease up. People balancing on those little scooters pass the car. Then go into the shop and come out with some lollies. They stop and sit on a bit of greenery to eat them. A lovely picture of freedom that age sometimes makes you forget still exists. After an age Cass struggles out under a pile of bags. At least I think its her, but she is like some plastic bag monster, it is hard to see any human features. When she arrives at the car, the bags are put into the back seat. This becomes like a scene from some old Fred Karno silent comedy. The bags just keep on coming until finally I hear a deep breath and Cass is free.
I help unload the shopping into the rowing boat. I fear the weight will be too much for the little craft. I say help, but Cass is on one side of the car and takes all but one bag. She then tells me that there is one bag left. I am standing there, I know. Reminds me of the bag of concrete fiasco I have already mentioned before. So eventually she is all set and rows across to the lighthouse. After about ten minutes she has reached the other side and is struggling up the steps to the lighthouse. I wait to see if she makes it, she does. Then The Picayune comes out of the lighthouse and walks down to the boat. If a man could look grumpy walking, even from this distance then he is indeed the one. The Picayune picks up what looks like a packet of biscuits and struggles up the stairs.
Oh well I am on my home at last. A throbbing ankle and a day to rest it. There is no sign of Bernie in the front garden which is good. But as I approach the back door I can hear voices in the back garden. Ethel is telling Bernie not to pull at it. What 'it' is I shudder to think. Once my ankle is mended I must think about hacking back the garden. Still like Scarlet O Hara, I shall think about that tomorrow. After all tomorrow IS another day.
ETHEL HEADS FOR THE WEDDING
When it began to rain during the night, Ethel made a decision. She unpicked herself from the thorns that had grown six inches in the time it had taken her to find enough room to lie down. Cosmic’s back garden was becoming less and less a refuge and more a battle ground, with Ethel losing ground to several different enemy factions. She struggled to her feet, and carefully found a path towards safety. Bernie was trapped in the front garden by the encroaching weeds, but had put himself in a position so he could collect the post from the postman and throw them towards the door. The path to the front was now impassable. Ethel walked passed the car in the drive and reminded Bernie that there would be no post today as it was a holiday. So Bernie muttered to himself. Looking like a man trapped in a cleverly constructed man trap, Bernie asked Ethel where she was going? Ethel replied that she was off to Havenedge where they had a big screen on the beach, so she could watch the Royal Wedding in style. Bernie complained about the Royals costing money and listed the negatives of the day. But Ethel would have non of it and walked off long before Bernie had finished his list. She walked passed the rubbish bins that had been put out but not collected, all looking like a military escort, to Ethel's promenading Queen. Ethel headed to the coast to catch the first a bus to take her to Havenedge.
Ethel had to wait a few hours but the bus eventually arrived. Although Ethel had to convince the bus driver she had the money to pay for the journey, even though she did look bedraggled and a bit like a bag lady without the bags. she managed to make her way to the big screen at Havenedge. To her shock the crowds were already gathering. Ethel found a space not much bigger than the one she had in Cosmic’s back garden. But at least she was now amongst happy, smiling faces, all desperate to enjoy a day without worry. All ready to enjoy the day of pomp and ceremony. All ready to have a laugh.
From the moment the coverage started on the big screen, people were cheering and whooping. Every time somebody walked into the Abbey, the crowd roared at a volume to match their fame. Somebody offered a cup of tea to Ethel which she took with pleasure. Making sure she was in reach of a toilet. But the crowd around her lifted Ethel up in the simple pleasure of their enjoyment. The biggest cheer being saved for the bride.
In the lighthouse The Picayune sat in his pyjamas half watching the TV. Cass was dressed but had a Television on, making comments about what she saw. At Cosmic’s house, Cosmic watched the TV and shed a tear as he saw the bride but would never admit to it. While Bernie moaned to himself in the front garden.
Beverley, who writes The Picayune's internal monologue, took a few moments for herself and wasn't sure how she should react. Silas Straw stood in a field scaring off the crows while reading The Financial Times. While The Evil Dug Up Body That Barks bided his time.
THE PICAYUNE IS GIVEN A GIFT
Ready for a nice relaxing evening. I had managed to spend the day in ideal idle comfort. Not once did I venture forth from my desk. Shuffling papers this way and that. A plastic cup full of dice fell from the safety of that desk. It made the sound of broken glass when it hit the floor. But it was still just dice falling and spinning to give a result where none was needed. Despite my best efforts I was unable to find all the fallen cubes, half of them had just disappeared. Such things happen on the roll of a die.
The smell of bacon wafted through from the kitchen. So I ventured into the bathroom, changed from pyjamas to day wear and wandered to the chair in front of the television. Bacon sandwiches handed to me with a bottle of tomato sauce and a cup of tea and I was in seventh heaven.
After eating I must have fallen asleep. I still think I must have some illness. Isn't that part of an illness? Falling asleep in front of the television after eating? I look it up on the computer. I realised I have looked this up before and have been suffering with the same symptoms before. I wake Cass up and tell her we both have any number of problems. She tells me we have had this conversation before and decided death by slow illness was better than death by worry of death by slow illness. I feel better. I feel better that is until the lighthouse jetty bell goes. Nobody presses the lighthouse jetty bell. So Cass wearily goes to the door and looks out. She opens it and tells me somebody is walking up the stairs to the lighthouse. For a second it is hard to tell who it is but I hear Cass say something and her voice is relaxed. I relax a little too. Until Ethel appears at the door. She is holding a small parcel in one hand. She waves it in the air and asks us if we are doing anything in the next few hours. Cass and I appear to differ in our answer. But Ethel is not to be put off. She strides in and begins talking.
Ethel has had a great day in front of a big screen showing the Royal Wedding. While Ethel repeats her experiences of what she saw, who she met, what she ate. Cass beats me to the kitchen and puts on the kettle. So I am left alone, smiling weakly at all the information I don't want, now carpet bombing my brain. Oh did she? Did he do that? Oh how charming it all sounds. Then I am smiling at Ethel's enthusiasm. Maybe she is making her whole day up. Maybe she just stayed in Cosmic's back garden. Ethel likes a lie but she seems to be so into her day, that I am leaving my cynicism of her and the wedding, in a suitcase by the door. The label on the case reads 'happy and involved'. (Beverley, the writer of my internal monologue says I have over egged the whole suitcase thing and should move on). So Cass comes in with the tea and looks at me. I think she expects me to give her a secret sign that will give her the nod to phone help. But I don't. Well Ethel is in full flow and I can't help but be pleased she has bothered to come to me to throw up all the information.
A second cup of tea and a mini chocolate roll each later. Ethel has finally come to the end of her day’s autobiography. Then she picks up her parcel with a flourish and says when she saw it she thought of me. She hands it to me and asks if we could watch it now, together, all together, as long as we weren't going to watch something else. I say no we were not going to watch anything, before I have opened the parcel. Then I see what it is. Ethel tells me she remembers seeing the books on my shelves and the DVDs of the two earlier films. I nod my head and say they may not make another because of problems with money and the complications of putting them on film. We all agree that we hope they do make the rest of the films in the series. Then my mind goes back to childhood and the first time I read the books. My mum was a great reader and used to read books to me when I was ill or just too young to read myself. She read the first one and I devoured the rest. Then, in my twenties or thirties, I had an interest of reading them again. So the books were bought for me. I read them all in a few days over Christmas one year, while I was at work. When you are young you read books that make the most impact on you. You can re-read them and feel nothing. But I re-read these and I did feel the same about them. These were the few children's books I really loved and could read again and again and again.
So we settled down to watch 'The Voyage of The Dawn Treader' the film of the book by C S Lewis and the third in his Narnia Chronicles. I have no idea why Ethel thought of me or why she insisted we watch them together. Cass enjoyed the film as well and I pretended not feel a little pull of emotion, remembering the past and the hope and the story. Yes bits were different than the book and in a different order. But, if I wanted to read the book, I would have done so. The film was a delight. Not a classic but a classic for me. Ethel said I could have the DVD as a present as long as I remembered how I felt when I first read the books. I had no idea what she meant, but before I had time to ask her, Ethel was up and heading to the door. She said she would be on her way. She was proud that she had remembered to tow the other boat with her. So we would have a boat this end when she rowed the other back, I thanked her and she was off down the steps. It was becoming dark and suddenly a twisted fork of lightening lit up the sky and it began to rain. I asked if she was sure she would be alright to row back. She could stay at the lighthouse if she liked. But she insisted she was fine. So I walked down to the jetty with her and waved her off. I asked her to make sure she told Cosmic to give me a ring when she arrived at his back garden. But she said she would ring me from her house. The wet would drive her indoors for at least one night. As it began to pour down I made sure she was safe before turning back to the lighthouse. I felt like John Fowle's French Lieutenant's Woman but fought back the thought.
Ethel was as good as her word and rang to say she had arrived safely at her house. She had already told Cosmic she would be sleeping in a bed tonight so not to worry. She also re reminded me to remember how I felt when I first read C S Lewis as a kid. She added that I shouldn't feel bitter about the past or scared of the future like she had been. After today, one of the best days she could ever remember having, she would try and re-capture the feeling she had during the day, The feeling she had now. Ethel rang off by saying 'hope' doesn't have to be a dirty word. I shouldn't feel guilty about loving a children's film.
Now I never expected philosophy from Ethel and was pleased she had had a great day. But I was happy the way I was and didn't really want to relive the past. The good bits or the bad bits. The room suddenly lit up with lightening and there was a roar of thunder. Or may be it was Aslan reminding me to remember him in the way I once did.
Oh for goodness sake, don't you just hate it when people are happy and a kiddies film reminds you you were once a kid. Brrrrr, shake it off, shake it off. Become a cynical adult again. You know it is for the best.
DELETED SCENES
Sometimes things just don't look right. I had written a whole page of deleted scenes we could pretend were written but then were cancelled because of plot flow or absurd conclusions. Silas Straw had become a Detective for the day and solved a murder mystery while standing in a field. Ethel had been dragged underground by a fox and talked to the fox king. Meanwhile Cosmic had entered the Eurovision Song Contest and was busy finalising his entry when he heard it was too late to enter. But none of it seemed to work as deleted scenes. None of it flowed and it all seemed absurd.
So what happens when the deleted scenes themselves are deleted? What happens when the extras are only suitable for the Blu Ray because they look good? What happens when the part you had been praying would give you the big break, hits the cutting room floor? How much of life can we delete? How much do we delete?
Who remembers their third birthday? Or their eleventh birthday? Who remembers their first kiss? A few more than those who remember the birthdays. Why have some things been deleted and some not? I remember the bad stuff. I remember when I should have defended that kid on the underground train who was being bullied. But I didn't. I have always felt ashamed of that. What about the time I heard the old woman calling for help from outside the office I was in. I pretended not to hear. Or did I? Was that cut from the script. What about the person who actually thanked me for doing something wonderful or for being supportive. No those were cut because my character would not have believed them. What was my motivation? Too much has been cut. The time I asked that girl out when I was a lad was cut. The plot line involving the embarrassing incident with the girl who turned out to be charming but gay. Oh yes that was kept in. Even to the point where I thought she was making an excuse because she found me so repulsive. Hilarity and a few funny one liners were worth the empty chasm that opened up in my soul. Tell you what would be funny said my director. If you have your trouser flies open while your talking to the girl in the library who is sitting down at the desk. That would be funny. It wasn't for me, but they kept it in.
All the football games I went to. I remember bits of some of them. When I was a kid I went to the hospital to be injected with things that made me asthmatic. One of things that came up was dog fur. But there was no way I would ever want to stop having our dog. I remember everything about the day our dog died. Why didn't they delete that and let me remember some more of the football matches.
Why has everything speeded up in the last twenty years? Why were things so slow in the times of my youth. (Beverley, the writer of the internal monologue explains that as one experiences things for the first time, it makes more of an impact then experiencing them for the umpteenth time. Thus time seems to go quicker when you are older and reliving experiences you have seen before.)
I wonder what will be deleted from the last five minutes? I wonder if I will ever see the extras?
SILAS STRAW IN A FIELD
Bank Holidays mean little for a scarecrow. I stand or sometimes sit in the field whatever the day, come rain or shine, during the growing season. When I see a bird come near the crops I make a sudden movement and they tend to fly away. Sometimes I need to make a noise if they are on the edges of the field. Like every job, one soon learns the right way and wrong way of going about things. One must not be drawn out too much to one side of the field, otherwise the birds will just lure you there, while their mates have a good nosh. One learns not to fall into the traps the birds will set. The job also gives me time to think and plan my next investment. Most of the profit goes out to people and charity that need help. I don't have many overheads. So things seem to work out well enough.
I recently was part of a consortium that invested in The Smugglers Tavern. A difficult field for the entrepreneur. The selling of alcohol is a business that some say does harm. But then if we didn't make nicer places for people to drink in, would they just go and buy cheap drink and take it home? Well yes they would because that is what people are doing now. Drinking has become an expensive past time. If the drinking of alcohol is abused should we make everybody suffer by not having it? Well the banning of alcohol has been tried before without success. So I have come to terms with the idea that investment in a bar is a fair thing.
It is now too dark to see so the farmer allows me to bed down in his barn. I am very comfortable and sleep early and wake at day break. During the day I sometimes like to read a paper, mainly for the business news. I stroll or ride a bike down to a local newsagent and they always have my Financial Times ready. Since my photograph was shown in the local paper, people have asked me for advice. I tend to give them general tips. I am no expert after all. I just have little expense so any profit goes onto good causes or for re-investment. But I can see people look on me now in a different way than they used to. I have become less the wise man with a simple life and more the simply wise man who cannot be trusted anymore. As if by not telling everybody about my business acumen, I have somehow cheated people. Doesn't stop the odd chancer asking me for money though. I was even held up at knifepoint the other day by a young man who demanded I give him all my money. So I had to point out, I was a scarecrow, made mainly from straw and therefore had little room to hide money about my person. All my money was on paper. I then had to explain that that didn't mean I had lots of paper money, but that my money existed only inside a computer. That seemed to be the simplest way of explaining things to him. Although even then I had to spend several minutes telling him that pinching a computer off someone wasn't going to be much good for him.
Money is a funny thing really. We all need it but it is just an invented bit of stupid bartering. It is not even a bit of rare metal. It is just a bit of paper and a few coins. Then we invest the paper and coins into the rare metal. The price of which goes up and down depending on the whims of a bunch of spotty people who seem to know little about what cog there are supposed to be in the machine. Yet some of them seem to be very proud because they are selfish AND stupid. The system is just silly and yet we are all part of the machine. I stand in a field so crops will grow, These crops then are sold to a man in a van who sells them to a man in a bigger van. He then goes to a shop and sells the crops, so that the shop can sell the same crops to the consumer, usually having first flown the crops to somewhere else before bringing them back here again. Silly system, but we are all part of it.
A man is bringing some bees tomorrow to the upper field. There may not be enough natural free bees to actually help pollinate the fruit trees there. So the farmer brings in a man with some more bees to help the wild bees. If it's a warm winter the bees are really tired come the spring, because they have been out looking for things to pollinate. They catch diseases and die. So we are all part of a system that relies on money and the weather.
It is a silly system.
COSMIC HEARS A HORN
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here with sounds as old as time. Ready to name that tune and find that music in me. Although let's ban the horn section of the orchestra and I will tell you for why. I have been woken up by the sound of a horn. Could have been a car horn. Could have been a toy horn. Might have been Gabriel's horn for all I know. But it woke me up. A toot toot and then a sort of last breath tooting that died away. Now it was and is really windy in Caustic Cove today. Every time the wind blew I heard the noise. I even looked out to see that my car was still in the drive. But car horns don't really make the sound of someone blowing through them. So what was it? Don't think that by the end any of us will learn the answer. All I know is that I was disturbed by a horn I cannot find. This just added to the strangeness of the weekend.
I went over to the lighthouse to listen to the football. The Picayune was decidedly distant, even for him. My ankle, that I pretended was twisted then really became hurt, still throbbed a bit. So my acting ability on the day came from the Stanislavski system of acting. Except I didn't need to draw on the memory of real pain. Real pain drew on me. But The Picayune couldn't or didn't look me in the eye once. I felt I had been found out in the possession of a lie that had turned out to be a truth masquerading in a lie’s clothing. However that didn't make the fact any more comfortable to be around. Fortunately the football went well and so I had to spend very little time talking about anything else.
It was a relief to have a nice quiet Sunday at home. Ethel wasn't in the back garden as she had phoned me late Friday to say she was spending the weekend at her own place. I didn't open the door so have no idea what Bernie was doing. Which brings me to today and hearing a horn that I cannot find. So there is only one thing to do. Go out, make a start in the garden and find the source of the noise. Mind you I could leave all that for tomorrow. I mean it is windy and when I cut the weeds they will just go flying around the garden. Besides there is snooker on the television. I have never liked snooker but I can see why it is so popular. At least I can today. So when Ethel comes back tomorrow we can make a start. Whatever the weather, Yes that sounds like a plan. Maybe I can convince The Picayune to come around and help.
Wait a minute, isn't this all sounding painfully familiar.
The Picayune was right. Never keep a diary because you end up saying and doing the same things over and over again. Wait another minute. Did anybody here a horn tooting?
COSMIC FACES A DILEMMA
The clock on the wall says it's time call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Sit back and enjoy the songs of yesteryear and maybe we'll start with a goody but oldie.......listen there it is again. Toot, toot, toot. That's it, I am going to have to do something. I didn't hear it last night. But now the wind’s come up again. Quite a gale going on out there. I can hear that faint tooting. Once you start hearing it, you believe you can hear it all the time. Like a clock ticking. That clock that is always there and is always ticking but, once you allow that ticking to break into your awareness, you cannot rid yourself of it. Just like that damn tooting.
There is a bang on the back door and the bell is ringing. So I go downstairs and see the unmistakable shape of Ethel through the window. I unlock the door and welcome her back. However she doesn't respond to my heart felt gesture but asks if I can hear tooting. I say I can. Is it the radio in the garage I ask? It has just occurred to me that the tooting may well be music from the radio I can't find in the garage. The music can be heard only on the wind. Ethel looks at me and shakes her head in a weary, I wish I never came back, way. So Ethel asks me if I have been out at all this bank holiday. I tell her I went out to listen to the football with The Picayune in the lighthouse. Good game as well. Well actually a poor game but a good result. I am in the middle of telling her all about it when she interrupts me. Did I notice anything odd when I came back from the lighthouse? I didn't, so I tell her that I didn't. Then Ethel asks if I mind going into the front garden with her. I do mind as I don't want to be tricked into any weeding. The wind is blowing and would only blow the weeds about. That's the reason I didn't go out there yesterday, I tell Ethel. But she insists. So Ethel points to the far side of the garden. I see thorns overgrowing a spiky plant with berry type things on it. Ethel tells me I know nothing about what is in the garden do I? No, I agree with her, I don't. So we both cross over to the thorny bush overgrowing the spiky plant. Just past the berberus which is also rather spiky. I feel my garden has a theme to it.
Then we both hear a faint tooting. I look at Ethel and tell her I have been wondering where that was coming from. I turn to go back indoors as I am feeling cold and exposed so close to complaining neighbours. But Ethel stops me. She tells me to look closely at the bush. I bend down and peer in. A child's horn, the sort people use to celebrate birthdays and royal weddings is poking out from the thorns. I take it carefully. Further into the bush I see two eyes looking back at me. They appear to belong to a journalist. What is Bernie doing there?
Ethel seems angry at having to explain to me what has happened. As she warned and predicted, the garden has captured Bernie. He cannot move and appears to be held captive. The tooting thing had been blown to him by pure chance. Although why nobody reacted to him using its toot has angered Ethel. As I turn to go indoors because, as I said, I am cold and just a little wary of angry villagers coming at me with pitchforks for letting the garden become so overgrown, Ethel stops me and tells me to go into the garage and fetch some tools to free Bernie. Here we go, I think to myself, just a rouse, as I suspected, to make me start the weeding.
So I ask Ethel ‘has Bernie asked to be released?’ Again she looks at me with a pained expression on her face. She points to the obvious about Bernie being trapped. So I have to point out to Ethel that it may be Bernie's choice. It was his choice in the first place to stay in the front garden. It may well be his choice to allow nature to take its course. Literally as it happens. Why is it women are so good at giving those looks that can turn a man to stone. I turn to go indoors, as I have mentioned on a few occasions, I am now cold and want to escape any passing hysteria. Again my path inside is blocked. This time its the berberus which seems to have entered into an agreement with the thorns and weeds to keep me here. However I have not made the choice to stay and so force my way through the weeds. Despite the weeds retaliating by cutting and pricking me with their sharp anger. Ethel meanwhile tells me I can't leave. Clearly, as I make my point by leaving, she is mistaken.
Ethel then shouts after me that at least I could throw some tools at them so they can free themselves. But I didn't put them in that position and I see no reason why I should provide my tools to set them free. They are like those irritating peaceful people who go into the jungle and are captured and then expect others to come into the jungle and save them.
I go indoors and look out of the front door. The problem is the postman can only make his way to the house if he comes up the drive. The path is now almost blocked. So I will eventually have to go out and cut a path for the path anyway. But I really wasn't intending to do it today. So I sit down and have a cup of tea. I telephone The Picayune who is in the middle if filing, so he tells me. He asks what it is I want. I tell him not to ask and he hangs up. I ring back and explain my dilemma. He agrees that it is windy and that Cass has put some gammon onto cook. Besides he has some post to go and if I am not coming to do it he may wait until tomorrow when the mood takes him to do the post himself. Unless I am going to do it. I ask what any of this has to do with my dilemma. Well he says I have two choices. Either go out now or later to free Bernie and now Ethel. Will he help, I ask him? He tells me he doesn't like to plan things. We will see what tomorrow will hold, or bring.
Looking out on the windswept vista before me, I can just see Ethel waving at me. If she can wave, she must be alright for a day or two. I wave back and thank my stars they haven't that tooting thing still with them.
BERNIE AND ETHEL BACK TOGETHER AGAIN
It came as some surprise to Ethel to find herself in the dark, in the front garden, with Bernie somewhere by her side. She could hear him breath, but could no longer see any sign of him. Bernie had become, to all intents and purposes, a bush. Bernie no longer said anything or could say anything. The journalist had been silenced by the metaphor. Still Ethel hoped that Bernie felt some comfort with her by his side. She was sure he was aware of her. In years to come, they would laugh about the time they were trapped in a cruel, thorny bush. Bernie would thank her for helping him survive. Ethel imagined he would say that without her, he wouldn't have been able to make it. They would comfort each other and remember with a smile how close they had become. All because of the thorns.
When the daylight appeared from behind the darkness, Ethel moved and for the first time felt ill. Not just the pain when her skin was being pricked by something living and cruel. But a sickness that had somehow made it's way into her. She felt tired and on the verge of being defiled. A cruel poison had somehow dripped into her and was sucking the life from her. She wanted to scream but had no strength. Besides who would here her? Not to worry, Cosmic would be here soon. He wouldn't leave her or Bernie trapped here. They were all mates. Eventually Cosmic would come and start carefully hacking away at these damn weeds. Once he started it wouldn't take long. Ethel turned to Bernie. But if Bernie was there she couldn't see him at all. She was too weak to say anything. Movement was out of the question. Ethel did manage to shiver. She felt like a fly trapped in a web. A web of thorns. If this was a metaphor, it was a needlessly cruel one. One that made her feel sick and ill. One that made her feel scared and light headed. One that she would learn only anxiety from. Like Bernie before her, Ethel was becoming lost.
The Dustman couldn't see her and the postman made no effort to look over. Ethel tried to say something but her body just tensed in remembered pain. She became cross and thought how utterly ridiculous this was. She had had a fine long weekend and had visited the lighthouse before going home. She had managed to collect her thoughts and pull herself together. Now, after just a few seconds back at Cosmic’s, she had been trapped. Ethel had only been trying to help and now she was in this stupid position. Still Cosmic must come soon. When he did she would give him such a telling off. Ethel would insist that he hire a gardener or do something to cut back these weeds. Goodness knows what could happen to an animal or child if they were just passing by and were caught on the thorns. Well she did know. They would be trapped like her and Bernie. Still Cosmic must come soon.
When Ethel felt cold she realised the sun was dropping behind the houses at the back. She and Bernie had been out here all night and nearly all the next day. Her anger was building up again when she noticed a hand with a cup in it come towards her. Cosmic was saying something to her about the cup. It had tea in it and somewhere in the bushes and thorns was a cornish pasty. Cosmic had hoped the sustenance would help. But he couldn't find Bernie and had only just found Ethel. Cosmic had tried to come out earlier but something kept stopping him. But now he was here, he couldn't turn around. He appeared to be stuck. Ethel wanted to scream at him. How on earth could he be stuck in his own thorny problems. But then Cosmic was laughing. It reminded him, he said, of the Tony Hancock sketch in the plane. Where Hancock hears a knocking on the plane while he is the pilot flying it and it turns out to be Kenneth Williams. Did she remember it, he was asking? Ethel did remember it. She began to think of a lot of things. Things half remembered, half said, not said but should have been, moments that had happened and moments that had been made up. Perhaps this was a made up moment. Maybe Ethel had invented the whole scenario. That would make sense. She was telling somebody about the time she and Cosmic and Bernie were trapped in brambles. Somebody would say she was making it up as usual and that would be that. She stared at Cosmic. He was looking thoughtful. That last thing she remembered before passing out was Cosmic saying ," Do you know I think we and well and truly buggered".
THE PICAYUNE, POLLING DAY AND PARKING
There is still nobody answering at Cosmic’s. I suppose he must be on a rare shop opening. But Cass says she tried to phone last night and there was no answer. I suppose Cosmic could have the hump because I managed so well without him with the post and everything. Did I act too distant on Saturday when we listened to the football? I don't know and frankly don't really care. He tried to manipulate me into going over and working in the garden with him last week. As if I was a scared child who was unable to leave the lighthouse. I knew what he was up to. Well it didn't work and that is why he has the hump with me. But it’s a little unfair to take it out on Cass. After all it is the day she has to go out to work and needs a lift. Plus it's polling day for the local elections. Not that I care because I have already voted with my postal vote. But Cass, for some reason, still believes she should go to the polling station. On top of that we have to vote for the voting system. Despite attempts to over complicate it, most people must understand it by now. Although, the rubbish both sides talk, you do wonder if they understand it. Cass as usual is voting the complete opposite to me. I don't know why we bother really. Seeing as we cancel out each other’s vote.
We have had loads of election stuff through the door. One was from Labour telling us the cuts would destroy any chance of the paddling pool in Caustic Cove being filled with water. While the Conservative’s pamphlet informed us the paddling pool had remained empty under Labour. Both comments were true I guess. But hardly helpful. The Liberal Democrats just said 'We have a paddling pool?' All of which was no good to a once two car family when we are marooned in the lighthouse. Cass said there was nothing for it but for her to order a taxi. I saw no point in her going to work and passing on most of the money she received to the taxi company. There must be somebody who could help. Then it hit me. I picked up the large bit of plaster that had fallen from the lighthouse wall and doubled my efforts at finding a solution. Of course, why didn't I think of it before. Beverley, who writes my internal monologue, goes to work in the morning. Remember she used to work at a solicitors? You don't remember? Then may I suggest you pay more attention. Not that close obviously, what with the spelling and continuity problems. So I suggested to Cass she contact Beverley. At the very moment the phone rang. It was Beverley, who by chance had been recording my internal monologue. She asked Cass, who had answered the phone, when it had been established that she, Beverley, had, in actual fact, a car she could use to drive. She had been clearly established as an internal monologue recorder, everybody had one, who just happened to go to work in the mornings, and who used to go to work for a solicitors. I said I had made that very point, but that none of it could negate the fact that she could own a car. A car she did indeed own as I had just proven. Beverley asked what sort of car she owned. I said she owned an old mini monologue. As it was so small we never would consider asking Beverley for a lift. But on this occasion we had to.
Cass, armed with shopping bags, post, recycling bins and a polling card, set out in the rowing boat to be picked up by Beverley, once Beverley had left work. There was much effort and hilarity as Cass tried to make herself comfortable in the mini monologue. But at least Cass could manage it. Something that sadly The Picayune could not.
I spent my day looking in the fridge and trying to contact Cosmic. But the fridge proved the more fruitful in delivering up a satisfactory outcome. When Cass came home after work, she had her usual bags of shopping draped around her. Apparently Beverley's car suffered going up hill with all the extra weight. But at least they did come home via Cosmic's house. There was plenty of building work going on in other houses. Trucks and tractors and cranes were all busy. So there wasn't much chance of parking or stopping outside Cosmic’s. Cass couldn't even see his front door anyway for all the foliage and the weeds in the garden. So there was no way of knowing if Cosmic was at home. Although his car was in the drive. So I told her she should have at least tried the back door. She could have reached it via the drive. But Cass said there was only one chance of exiting the car in one piece and she saved that for this end of the journey.
So I will try to contact Cosmic again tomorrow. What is slightly annoying is that if the weeds have covered his path, how will the postman deliver the post? I have my magazines and maybe a DVD due. This really isn't good enough. If he doesn't pull his finger out I will have to arrange for our post to be delivered some other way. Maybe a lock up on the jetty. But it would still mean Cass having to row over to collect it. It is no good, one way or another, I will have to weed out Cosmic and find out what he is up to. More problems I could have done without.
THE LIE IN, THE DITCH AND THE DRAW ROPE
The first one to open his eyes was Bernie. He yawned and stretched and then became aware that he had stretched and so quickly drew his arms back to his sides. But he had stretched and had done so without being stung, cut, bitten or bruised. So he carefully did it again. He looked at his outstretched arms and realised there was space around him. Bernie settled himself to one side and looked around. He didn't yet feel like climbing to his feet. That would demand too much effort. So he just lay there, balanced on one elbow and had a look around. He seemed to be in some sort of large hole. He could see it stretching off either side of him. But Bernie could clearly see the sides of the hole. He seemed to be lying in some sort of ditch. He wasn't sure how he had managed to arrive here. But here he was. Bernie shifted slightly and looked at the sides of the ditch. They were climbable but looked slippery. It would take a few attempts to climb but was most likely achievable. This made Bernie feel less trapped. Although he didn't want to expel the energy it would take to start the climb just at this moment. No doubt he would slip back a few times and then have to start again. All that effort and he wasn't even sure what was at the top, once he climbed out of the ditch. He was fine where he was, at least for the moment.
When Ethel awoke, she did so with fear. She didn't even open her eyes in the beginning but kept them tightly shut. Slowly she explored the inches around her body with her hands, expecting to have to retreat them to safety at any moment. But as her hands became more and more adventurous, Ethel took a peak. She saw room to move. So she did so. Ethel began to take in her surroundings. She could see she was in some sort of ditch. She couldn't see either end of it as it appeared to bend around a corner. Each side looked earthy and looked as if one could dig ones feet and fingers into the soil to gain a hold. But Ethel couldn't see the top of the ditch. She didn't fancy covering herself in dirt and soil only to find the top of the ditch led her back to the weeds and thorns. There must be an easier way to find a way out. So Ethel started walking, Carefully and very slowly at first, Ethel began to make her way along the bottom of the ditch. As she approached a blind corner, she began to think of the first World War. The ditch was like a giant trench. She wondered why anybody would want such a large ditch? Or could dig such a large ditch? Ethel glanced around the corner of where the ditch took a slight turn and saw a figure lying on the floor.
Cosmic would have been quite happy to spend a few more minutes asleep, but this mad woman was shaking him and shouting at him. Ethel appeared to be very cross with him for leaving her in the weeds for so long. He was about to explain to her why he had done so, although ' I just felt something stopping me' wouldn't have helped very much’ when suddenly Ethel screamed and ran to the far side of the ditch. She pointed and was shaking. Her outstretched finger was pointing to the ground not that far behind where Cosmic was lying. He didn't really fancy looking behind him. Although, if he was in imminent danger, it perhaps would have been the wisest course to take. But instead Cosmic stared at Ethel to judge just how awful the problem was. But the fear in her eyes changed slightly to one of bewilderment. Ethel then cautiously took a step forward. This gave Cosmic all the encouragement he needed. He rose to his feet and looked in the direction Ethel was pointing. A large rope was slipping through the dirt. Ethel said she thought it looked like a snake at first. But she now could see that it wasn't. So what was it?
As if in answer to the questions, Bernie came running around the corner of the ditch. "Quick grab onto it" he yelled as he ran past them. Ethel was about to ask what was she grabbing and why, when she saw a large tube, as big as the ditch itself, moving towards them. Like a giant pipe it was blocking out any escape route they may have encountered. Besides the fear of this pipe, came the other fear of what was going to be put through the pipe. So Cosmic and Ethel followed Bernie, who was now flat on his stomach, holding onto the rope that was pulling the giant pipe. So Ethel and Cosmic did the same.
The rope began to speed up slightly and every so often Bernie could feel his knuckles scratch against a small stone or pebble as he was being pulled along. He was rather hoping he wouldn't break the skin on his hands, as with all this dirt around, any cut was bound to be infected. He was thinking this very thing when the rope suddenly stopped. Bernie was the first to see a fat yellow slug like man with filthy hands, eating a cornish pasty and drinking a cup of tea. This man looked at Bernie and then to Ethel and then to Cosmic. The slug like man opened his mouth slightly in bewilderment and a bit of pasty soaked in tea fell out onto the ground.
" You shouldn't be here" said the yellow slug like man. " I am Safety, who are you?"
THE PICAYUNE PUTS IT OFF
Still no contact with Cosmic. This is a real problem now because I am due a few DVDs and some magazines. As time goes by, the amount of post is building up somewhere. So I decide to wait until Cass needs something to arrive so she can sort it out. She can ring the post office up and we can arrange a different delivery. I must calm down as I am becoming very worried about this and keep having heart flutters. If Cosmic doesn't turn up on Monday for the next football match I shall ........ what can I do? I could go round to his house and ask Bernie if he knows anything. But if Cosmic has left to go somewhere, would Bernie still be there in the front garden? If the weeds are now blocking the path to the front door, what would the postman do? So what would be the point of me going round there? I feel a little relieved I have come to a decision to do nothing. Yet at the same time I feel worried that the situation needs clarification. Then Cass says we need a loaf of bread by Monday. So I am left to worry again. What to do when you have nobody to turn to? I switch on the TV and hear about somebody very well known who has sadly died. I bet he couldn't help himself worrying about silly things even when he knew he was so ill. I turn off the TV and read a bit and then feel tired. It has been an emotional morning.
The Summer is no friend to the lighthouse. The walls are beginning to flake and the weeds come through the steps. You start pulling on the weeds and the steps begin to move. I suppose there has to come a time when the well built wall becomes the shoddy wall. It is dull and windy today so there is no point in me going out at all. Cass is busy as usual. So I feel I ought to be busy with something. There is plenty to be busy with. I am just finding it hard to summon any enthusiasm. I am looking at a shelf that needs dusting and filling with the pile of books that are by it. That newsreader on TV is talking again. So I listen to her and yet don't hear a word. Then I notice a spider on the wall. I don't like Summer.
Cass has made me a cup of tea and so I break off from doing nothing. I still don't know what to do about Cosmic. I finish the tea and start to feel dizzy and begin to perspire. Things begin to spin and I feel sick. I have to retire to my mattress. I suddenly feel very ill. Cass asks how I am and I tell her. She washes up the tea cup. The day drifts by in a daze of nausea.
THE WEED WIZARD
Safety, the yellow slug, led Cosmic, Ethel and Bernie to the cafeteria. The only thing that they could eat, was the Cornish pasty and the tea that went with it. The rest of the menu didn't bare close inspection. Safety told them to wait while he went and sorted 'this' out. Despite Cosmic trying to explain why they were in the ditch and what they were doing there, the slug seemed unwilling to listen. Instead it just kept whistling and making la la noises. Ethel was the first to feel the heat. She began to feel faint before the first bite of the Cornish pasty was swallowed. She was glad she was sitting down. Despite everything, the cafeteria looked normal and the chairs seemed to fit the strangers nicely. Bernie said it was just the humidity and that Ethel should just hang in there. Cosmic then said had anyone else noticed that a slug had just escorted them to a cafeteria underground and shouldn't they be a trifle inquisitive? But Bernie seemed less concerned. He said that it was probably just poison from the thorns making them all 'trip out'. Then Cosmic remembered back in the day when such little chemical induced escapes were all the rage. So Cosmic excepted the whole thing as an hallucination and slumped back in his chair.
Ethel realised she had slid under the table in a dead faint, her two companions were giggling and slapping each other and calling each other 'man'. Ethel climbed back onto the chair and asked them what they were doing? Bernie was about to tell her when the Weed Wizard was introduced. Safety the Slug told the strangers to bow to the great Weed Wizard and so they did. Although the Weed Wizard looked pretty unimpressive as weeds go. A tall thorny body with pink buds about to flower, waved a leaf majestically and told the strangers to be seated. Then the Weed Wizard said in a rather effeminate weedy voice, what they all thought they were doing here? Cosmic began to talk, but both the Weed Wizard and Safety the Slug began to whistle and make la la noises. So Cosmic stopped and the whistling and la la ing ceased. But every time Cosmic or Bernie tried to speak, the Weed and the Slug whistled and la la la la lared all the way through. So Ethel tried to say something. This time her voice was greeted with silence. The Weed and Slug appeared to be listening intently. When Ethel stopped explaining about being trapped in the weeds and finding themselves transported to a ditch, the Weed Wizard shouted 'HA HA' and promptly bowed to Ethel. Safety the Slug asked Ethel to accompany them while Bernie and Cosmic could stay in the cafeteria. Cosmic and Bernie looked at each other, giggled and called each other man again.
Passing rooms that seemed full of activity, Ethel asked where she was being taken. Safety explained that she was being led to the Weed War Room. There was a cheer from one room they passed. The Slug said that they had trapped a fox and it was squealing in its pain. The Weed Wizard seemed to smile while Ethel shivered. Eventually Ethel reached a place she could sit down. Which was handy as she was feeling faint again. The Weed Wizard pointed to all the charts on the wall. He explained how there had been a truce between slugs and all the weeds in the garden. Now they were aiming for garden domination. Killing the stupid flowers who had been trained by man. Destroying bricks and mortar built by man. Strangling the life out of everything and anything that came within range. So Ethel said it was a bit like 'Day Of The Triffids' by John Wyndham, to which the Weed Wizard blustered about it being nothing like Day Of The Triffids. For instance the weeds in the real World don't move in the same way. Then Ethel said the book was better than the film although the original film was far better than anything that came after it. Safety said he had always liked Howard Keel's voice and the Weed Wizard had to interrupt them. The Weed Wizard went on to say that they had experimented with various poisons and now they had fallen upon one that could make humans trapped in there weedy traps small enough to....... It was at this point he broke off. Then he thought for a bit. Then he thought some more. Then he said 'HA HA' again. They were making humans small enough to be their slaves and help the weeds become cultivated. The humans that refused after being made really small would be fed to the slugs. Both Safety and Ethel said 'yuck' at this. The Weed Wizard admitted he hadn't really thought that bit through.
But Cosmic and Ethel and Bernie were the start of the War. The Weed Wizard said 'that nobody would believe that man was scrutinised like......’ but before he could finish Ethel said that that bit sounded like the beginning of War of The Worlds by H G Wells. Then while Safety the Slug talked about wanting to go and see the stage show of the Jeff Wayne musical concept album of War Of The Worlds, The Weed Wizard made a loud 'tutting’ noise and left.
PICAYUNE AND THE LOST WEEKEND
It wasn't a good weekend. What with worrying about where my post was, who was going to put in and then collect my medical prescriptions, who was going to take Cass to work this week and who was going to help with the shopping and dustbin day? Plus I hadn't eaten anything for forty eight hours because I felt ill. It had been pretty much a lost weekend. In fact I felt very much like Ray Milland's character from the film 'Lost Weekend'. I had gone to bed at about two in the morning. As you know. my bed is simply a mattress on the floor at the moment. But nevertheless I have found it fine for over a year now. But last night I began to feel uncomfortable and so moved the mattress up to the top of the lighthouse in the hope I could have a restful nights sleep. Now the logic of this doesn't really hold up to close analysis. After all, the early morning day light streams in on a clear day at about half past four. Being as the lighthouse is a lighthouse, that pretty much means there is no where to hide once you are in a room surrounded by windows. Now we do have blinds on these windows so I can close these and they sort of help keep out the worst part of the daylight, Little did I know, that, long before the daylight could do its worst and disturb me, I would twice have to climb off of the mattress to fight another foe.
I must have just began to drop off to sleep when I heard it. First there was the odd noise like the pitter patter of rain on the window. Then they was a 'ping' sound. Then sometime later another one. Then 'ping, pong, cling, clunk, as if somebody was attempting to use the sun blinds as a makeshift xylophone. I did my best to ignore it, but eventually I was driven to my feet and had to turn on the light to see what was happening. A moth the size of a bat was trying to practice the works of Beethoven on the blinds. But when he saw the light, literally on this occasion, so he changed his act altogether and decided to loop the loop and play silly devils. I swore and cursed and went to collect a thin tube that had a vacuum sucker at one end. I use this implement as a spider catcher and on the whole it is very efficient. Needless to say, by the time I puffed my way back up the lighthouse, the moth had completely disappeared and gone to bed. So swearing and sweating I retired back to my mattress. Half an hour later the moth resumed its party piece. Now I am a patient man (Beverley, the internal Monologue writer, begs to differ), but this time I had had enough. Without turning on the light this time I went towards the noise armed with my spider catcher. The moth must have seen me lollop towards him, because he pressed himself against the one door that could be opened easily. A sort of french door, if you like. So I unlocked the door and opened it, only for the moth to retreat back to the blinds. But with a little coaxing I at last vanquished the intruder.
When I eventually settled down, it was dawning on me. Yes I do mean it literally. Dawn was fast approaching. My feet began to burn as the sun hit my ailing body. Then the chorus of the builders and the machinery at Caustic Cove began to start up. So my weekend finished as it had almost begun. In a daze of tiredness and sickness. I eventually made my way downstairs and was hit by the wall of cigarette smoke from Cass. She had made me a cup of tea but I decided it was best to leave it, She also left several, do it yourself, wills to fill in. Just for the practice? Anyway, I went into my room, tried to contact Cosmic, who was still unavailable and set about planning my day. I can't remember when I fell asleep.
LOT OF THINGS HAPPEN
As Safety the slug escorted Ethel back to the cafeteria, they both sang snippets from Jeff Wayne's musical adaptation of War Of The Worlds. They also talked about the cover art of the album and Ethel asked how a slug knew so much about the music. Safety said that slugs absorb a lot of popular culture along their way. As they made their way back, Ethel was looking out for any escape routes or places to hide. By the time she reached the cafeteria and waved goodbye to Safety, she had a pretty good idea what she was going to do. Needless to say the humid conditions had begun to effect both Bernie and Cosmic. So as carefully as she could, Ethel explained what had happened while she was with the Weed Wizard and what they should do next. Although they couldn't escape the obvious conclusion that their survival needed out side help. But Ethel said they had to at least escape from here otherwise unpleasant things would befall them.
The Picayune meanwhile was busy worrying about how work and the post and his TV Times would be delivered if Cosmic had gone. He also worried why the pains in his back and side hurt every time he stood up, which fortunately wasn't often. Then there was the dream about the trail of cutlery that led away from the lighthouse only to then lead back into the lighthouse after an imagined break in, where nothing was taken. The cutlery path led over house roofs and fields and then returned bobbing on the sea as the path meandered home. Most odd and, if all that wasn't enough, a caller from 'Save The Paddling Pool At Caustic Cove' called and urged The Picayune to help with funds by going on the computer and applying to various companies and people. This The Picayune had done and was yet to hear from anybody. All this and no Cosmic to share the dreadful Football results of last night. So The Picayune worried and pondered what he should do. If he was not going to become a prisoner in the lighthouse he must find other forms of escape route. Cass handed him a cup of water and said she needed cigarettes.
When The Weed Wizard had finished explaining to Cosmic, Bernie and Ethel that they were to become the first in a line of subjects that the weeds were to experiment on, Cosmic said he thought that was against the European Convention of Human Rights or something. The Weed Wizard asked Cosmic what he thought he was talking about and Cosmic told him not to ask, which confused everybody. Then with a flourish of Panto villainy, The Weed Wizard told them to except their fate, as there was no escape. So they escaped.
Ethel led the band of explorers along the path they had come down originally and up into the tunnel of the cable. They then ran along the cable into the darkness until they couldn't see their hands in front of their faces. Then Ethel stopped and suggested they keep together by holding hands or tying something to each other so they didn't wander off. When she didn't receive a reply she realised it was too late. The boys had gone running on ahead and were lost. Still they were in a giant pipe. How lost could they be?
'We are completely lost' said Bernie and Cosmic agreed. Although he couldn't see anything, he was in no doubt that seeing nothing was preferable than seeing something nasty. He thought this because he heard a shuffling, slithering sound coming towards them. He wasn't sure which direction it was coming from or if it was even above them. So Cosmic froze and decided that this reminded him of that bit in Alien. When they tell the Captain to move because they see the Alien come towards him and he can't see it. Then somebody shouted. Both Bernie and Cosmic froze. Then somebody shouted again. It was Ethel from somewhere behind them. Safety, who was by the side of Bernie and Cosmic, shouted back to Ethel and told her to keep walking in the direction of his voice. Bernie and Cosmic decided they had two choices. Warn Ethel that it could be a trap. Or run away as quietly as they could. But when Safety told them to calm down, so they did.
After Ethel had rejoined the group, Safety led them out into some daylight. They were about to thank him when he gave them a dire warning. " I will not be able to help you next time. Unless the Weed Wizard is cut back from this part of the garden at least. All your World will be lost. Or at least this bit of it." With that chilling warning ringing in their ears, Safety returned to the cable and left them alone.
The Picayune didn't want to suggest it to Cass. But she was desperate. The lack of nicotine would soon turn her into a raving lunatic. The Picayune had seen it once before and it wasn't an experience he would want to repeat. He could call Beverley again, but her car simply wasn't big enough for what they needed. Last time Cass came back with the shopping having used Beverley's car, she had brought no treats or goodies. Besides tomorrow was a day Cass had to be taken to work again, while The Picayune had to have his prescription filled. No there was nothing for it but to call on an old adversary. It was time to call Dull But Honest.
DULL BUT HONEST BY THE PICAYUNE
It is not something I look forward to doing. But I cannot see any way around it. I have managed to delay it by at least a day. Cass has gone to work thanks to Beverley giving her a lift, travelling via the Doctors surgery to put in my repeat prescription. So that at least is today out of the way. She will pick up some work I have to do and the post on her way home. Cass called the post office, who have been holding our mail since all entry to Cosmic’s home became impossible. But I am now a little worried about Cosmic. It is not like him to keep silent for so long or not to tell everybody if he has received some good fortune. He wouldn't just vanish. So I am torn between going round there in a taxi that would cost the Earth. Or phoning Dull But Honest and reacquainting myself with the man that time forgot. He has a car, or at least did have one. The only car I can squeeze into happily, other than Cosmic's. I used to be great friends with DBH, as his friends used to call him. But we drifted apart. He went his way and I went mine. Oh who is kidding who? I fell out with him because he was just so damn dull. Dull but always honest. Honest as the day is long. Every day seemed very long in his company.
We go back some years, old DBH and me. Oh yes we used to hang out a fair bit. We used to go to the local football grounds to watch some football and have a drink and a laugh. Well a drink anyway. One didn't really laugh with DBH. One could have a joke but if he didn't find it funny, he would just not try to put on an act. I remember there was this really pretty girl he was going out with. Carol, I think her name was. A lovely long legged blonde. Full of fun and emotion. Then one day in a pub, she had had a bit to drink and was sitting on DBH's knee. We were all there. Carol says to DBH, "How much Dully, do oos love me?" We all thought it was cute and stupid and the sort of things young people probably said to each other. But old Dull But Honest answered her as only he could. "Well Carol" he said, "Love is simply an emotion that can be manipulated by everything from the chemicals in the body to the music in the pub. I can understand loyalty and even lust. But love is such a cover all word. I love my car, I love my scampi, I love my dog. But when it comes to loving another human being, I tend to put loyalty above anything else. So am I loyal to you? Would I lay down my life for you? Probably not but then who knows how far this relationship will go?" By the time the android had stopped speaking, Carol had already left the pub to catch her bus.
DBH had never married and to my knowledge never really understood the World. Which is why we became friends. We both saw in each other a kindred spirit. But as both of us disliked ourselves intently, the friendship was never going to last. The real falling out came when he took his usual dull but honest approach to the football club I love. He spoke the truth about the waste of emotional investment I gave to them. The time and money and relationships I wasted on them. But sometimes honesty is not the best policy. So we drifted apart. Except for the odd Christmas Card I never had any contact with him. So I knew I had to be careful when I phoned him. I couldn't just ask for a favour because he would be honest and say no. Somehow I had to flatter him into thinking he was needed because he was the only one who could help. He was unique. I had to convince him I wasn't just using him.
After Cass had returned home from work and made my dinner for me, I felt like Cornish Pasties for some reason, I decided it was now or never and phoned Dull But Honest. When he answered, I felt a tad disappointed. I asked him how he was and he told me. Twenty minutes later he asked me how I was and I said I was fine. He asked after Cass. I said she was fine. Then I began my clever subterfuge. I told him I hadn't heard from Cosmic for some time and was worried. Would he give me a lift over to Cosmic's house. He said I could take a taxi. I said I would like him to come with me because he was the only one I felt could help if the situation became 'out of the ordinary'. DBH asked me what I meant by that. So I said if Cosmic was ill or worse, DBH would know what to do in any situation. DBH would keep calm and wouldn't allow panic to set in as it would do if I went alone. So he said he could pick me up in a taxi on our way to Cosmic's. I knew this to be a double bluff and agreed. So he said on second thoughts, he would drive down himself and pick me up. I said thanks for helping out. So I asked when would it be convenient to pick me up and he said he would let me know. I said we didn't want to leave it too long. But DBH replied that if Cosmic was decomposing somewhere, the odd extra day wouldn't matter. Besides that's what comes of using him as a convenient plot device. Then he bid me a goodnight.
IT’S JUST NOT THE SAME BY SAFETY THE SLUG
Well it isn’t is it? One spends one’s entire life cycle doing what one is supposed to do. Then by some quirk of nature, everything changes, We suddenly find that we are given human attributes. We never had them before. If a human pats a dog on the head and the dog wags its tail, the dog isn’t saying, " thanks a lot for patting my head". No, the dog is saying "food, food, food, food, gimme food." So why should I, all of a sudden have the human trick of speech? I am a slug, we don’t talk much. Oh I know humans would like to humanise as all. But frankly people, what makes you think we even feel the things you feel? Our nervous systems are different. Besides we just don’t experience things emotionally like you do. For one thing we couldn’t stand the pain. If one of us dies, even if it’s a close friend, or a family member, I have to tell you guys, we simply don’t care. But if a complete stranger to your clan dies, half of you go all mushy and sad. As a slug I know what it is like to go mushy. Believe me the two types of mush are not the same. Still I have to admit it is nice to be a sort of hero in a story. Slugs tend to be portrayed as slimy and offensive creatures. That is usually because we are. Fortunately we have had our PR department on it and are beginning to see the fruition of a heavy positive slug campaign. Apparently it was based on human adverts for banks. Well if human banks can manage to put adverts out there that are not vilified by the human masses. We should have no trouble at all.
Anyway we seem to have come to the point of the story where Safety the Slug had led the travelling humans to safety. Now the script called for Safety, played by my good self, to return to The Weed Wizard and be tortured for committing this noble act. But we had to cut that bit out, The Weeds objected, saying it put them in a poor light. Although casting the British as the evil bad men in all the big American movies didn’t do the British any harm. But the Weeds just will not be sold on the idea. So you have to imagine that good old Safety the Slug went back and somehow managed to convince the weeds and other slugs that the humans just escaped. The story is then rejoined with the three humans moaning and complaining and being scared. They are strangers in a strange world. Where each and every step could bring them nearer danger and destruction. They see things that they have never seen before. Little knowing of the world beneath their feet, hidden in the undergrowth. What can they eat without being poisoned? There has been no rain for days. Will they die of thirst? Oh yes indeed. A whole boxset of extras could have been had on this bit alone. Then one could have added a section on the real world of the slugs and flowers. However being as the humans were in charge of marketing, we are just going to have to wait for the Extra Special Golden Edition 3D Blu Ray. As a slug I have no idea what any of that means and care even less.
Anyway this story is soon to come to a really big exciting ending. I think there was still hope that we would be picked up by the networks. As a slug I have to say ‘being picked up by the networks’ sounds like a euphemism if there ever was one. However I have a feeling, due to financial constraints and the lack of a big star, we are going to be cancelled. Still I am expecting a backlash aimed at the networks. I think that is another euphemism. So who knows what will happen. We may have a chance to make a film in a few years, based on the story. Just so we can fill in the back-story and flesh out the smaller parts. That has to be a euphemism doesn’t it? Not so sure how the musical episode will go down though. Although I have written a moving little ditty called ‘Slug Song’. For now, if you could just imagine a long, well thought out, episodic piece, featuring the three humans as they battle the wild life and treat it as an analogy for human life as you know it, that will be just great. Solves a few problems too.
AND SO TO COSMIC’S
The metaphorical corner I was being backed into looked dusty and full of cobwebs. Cass had just announced that she had emptied a room in the lighthouse of all the furniture she was going to move. Except for the chest of drawers by the picture. The drawers she thought would go on the landing. The drawers were already full of light bulbs and batteries and things for the lighthouse. Or as Cass put it ' the communal drawers' should be in the centre of the lighthouse. So it was time for me to start thinking and sorting out stuff in my room. To be fair I am more your planner type of person. I like to plan what I am going to do and then plan some more. I am less of a 'do' person and more a 'plan' person. Besides it was Cup Final day and I had to watch the final. Cass reminded me that I had spent most of the week moaning that the Final had been cheapened this year. It is usual for the final to be the celebration at the end of the season. But this year we are still playing games in the league and having to move our big game for some stupid European Final between our richest club and Spain's richest club. However I pointed out that it was also Eurovison song contest day. Her counter argument was that that wasn't until tonight. My last effort at an excuse was a desperate one. In a few minutes the 'Glee' episode featuring songs from Lady Ga Ga was about to start. Yes it was hopeless but I had to try. Cass just pointed out that I had no idea what Lady Ga Ga sang. Plus a man living with his sister in a lighthouse, using Glee and the Eurovision Song Contest as an excuse not to do something was, let us just say, open to interpretation. For Cass it was invitingly blackmailable. So I resigned my-self to a day of hell and sulked for a few minutes. Then the phone rang.
It has been established that as a rule, I don't answer phones but this call was an opportunity. It could be Cosmic ringing and telling me about his adventures wherever he had been. Or it might be a friendly person trying to sell me cheap gas and or electricity. I dived to the phone to answer it. But my heart sank as I heard Dull But Honest's dull tones. 'Hello, it is DBH here' he said. Fully aware of my metaphorical yawning corner, I answered with a laugh in my voice, as if I was so pleased to hear from him. Then he announced he had been doing some research and would pick me up in an hours time by the jetty at Caustic Cove. But it is Saturday and it is Cup Final Day and I realised the horse I was flogging was long dead. DBH said it wouldn't take long, but bring some garden implement that had a good cutting edge. So, rather reluctantly, I agreed. It would at least release me from one frying pan.
The sun was out and the sea was calm. I struggled out of the boat at Caustic Cove and fell onto the jetty from the boat. I pretended that I was examining the wooden structure for faults, in case anybody was watching. A few people were about, all going about their business as if it was at all important. Ten minutes later DBH arrived. His first words were that he had put the car seat back as far as it would go, he had adjusted the back support so it was tilted to allow me room to climb in with moderate ease. Although a partial struggle, the car was entered with surprising efficiency. Dull But Honest then set the car in motion and told me about all the terrible drivers he had encountered on the way to pick me up. All the bad drivers, every last one of them. In minute detail, down to the colour of the driver's eyes. Everything I ever wanted to know about bad drivers I learned on that trip to Cosmic's. It was a relief when we arrived.
DBH parked the car in the drive behind Cosmic's car. Although sticking out over the pavement, DBH assured me we wouldn't be long. I looked at the thick foliage and questioned his assumption. But he reiterated that he had been doing some research and we would be no longer than half an hour. Bring my cutting tool. First Dull But Honest went to the garage. I could still hear the faint sound of music coming from inside. I explained the amusing story of how the radio was lost in all the clearing up and....before I could finish DBH was around by the back door of the house. He tried the door and it opened. I was shocked that it was open and feared a brake in. I whispered to DBH about my concerns. He answered in a normal voice that I had every right to be concerned but there wasn't an actual break in as such. The door had been left unlocked when Cosmic left, assuming he wouldn't be long. But nevertheless I should be on the look out for intruders. He then asked me if I had a key for the side door of the garage, I didn't but I knew where Cosmic kept it. Having retrieved it and given it to DBH, he entered the garage and looked around. I must admit that I was a little disappointed. Despite all our hard work, the place still looked a mess. But DBH seemed less bothered. Then he bent down by the wall and the music stopped. How had he managed to find it so easily? He hadn't, he informed me. The state of the garage and the cobwebs and the spiders crawling around, proved that Cosmic and myself had done our 'clearing up' some weeks ago. The radio still being on meant tit was clearly powered by mains electricity. So the garage must have a socket to plug the radio in and Dull But Honest expected it to be not far from the garage door. DBH smiled as a person would smile at a child. '"Now shall we go into the house?" he asked.
We entered each room and DBH carefully looked around. Occasionally he would say things like "interesting" and "as I expected" before moving on to the next room. We went upstairs and DBH entered what looked to be Cosmic's room. On the wall was a plaque of a silver disc commemorating his big hit. There were a few signed photos from big stars when stars were really big. But they were all but forgotten now. Suddenly, in a very loud voice Dull But Honest said " Mr Milverton I presume". At first I thought he was going mad. It didn't surprise me. I had been expecting it for years. Nobody could be that honest and dull for so long without finally flipping out. To my slight embarrassment DBH spoke again. "Now now Mr Milverton, let's not be silly"
The wardrobe door began to slowly open. I made an involuntary noise. Out from the wardrobe stepped a middle aged, very sun-tanned man. He looked as if he could handle himself in a fight. I stood behind DBH. However DBH seemed unimpressed. DBH announced that a community constable was just outside and between the three of us, Milverton would be unable to resist the punishment coming to him. Milverton sneered and looked ready to pounce. But, at that moment, a young fourteen year old community constable appeared at the door. In a broken voice he told Milverton the game was up. With that the constable held Milverton and escorted him from the premises.
" I shall hang on while you cut Cosmic and his pals free, then give you a lift home" announced DBH looking smug.
"Yes alright smuggypants, what was all that about?" I asked as calmly as I could.
"Oh I see. You still don't understand what has happened? Well sit down and let me explain. You see Mr Milverton is a gardener. Not a very good one by all accounts. He was easily found after a few minutes research on the computer. He used to work for Cosmic many years ago. As you know Cosmic sacked him for fraud and for being a very poor gardener. Spreading weeds and thorns around after shredding them. However Mr Milverton was also a close friend of the local butcher. You still don't understand it? Very well I shall go on. The butcher was losing money as nobody was going to the butcher anymore. Instead they were going to the local supermarket. Realising he would have to come up with a way of increasing his sales, the butcher decided to aim his efforts at the children. So like the banks giving away pigs to young investors, the butcher decided to give away a plastic bit of a model animal. Every time a parent came in for a joint of meat, the butcher would give them a plastic bit of an animal, that would eventually go to make a whole animal. The big prize after making the cow and the sheep and the chicken was going to be a golden bull. This is where Mr Milverton comes in. He suggests that, instead of giving away the bull, they should hang on to it and then sell it, years later, as a collectors item. Milverton would bury the bull in an unsuspecting customers garden and would later retrieve it and they would make a killing. To cover up the spot where he had buried the bull, Milverton spread the weeds and the thorns. He fully expected to be called back within a year to clear the weeds, But Milverton didn't bargain on Cosmic's vindictive personality. So Milverton never received that call from Cosmic and the weeds were allowed to spread. Milverton thought he had a backup plan and marked the location of the bull on the back of an advertising leaflet that he had given to Cosmic. That's why he was still in the house. He was looking for that leaflet."
"But where are Cosmic and the others now?" I asked, waiting for the chance to use a pun.
"Unable to enter the garden to search for the bull because a journalist was living in the front and Ethel in the back garden. Milverton had to resort to drugs, He knew that the weed with the pink flower had an hallucinogenic quality to humans when injected directly into the blood stream. Milverton placed the drug on the ends of the thorns in the front garden. His plan was just to knock out Bernie. But the bonus came when all three of your friends were knocked out. You will find them in the front garden. A nice cup of tea and a bun should see them alright."
So the mystery is at last solved. Cosmic, Bernie and Ethel did indeed recover with surprisingly few mental scares or waking up in the middle of the night screaming. Bernie was able to write a piece for the local paper which was misposted in the lost dogs section. Milverton himself was punished by the full weight of the law and let out of prison that same night with a warning. As for me, I was able to wave goodbye to DBH with a pun. I told him it all sounded like a load of old bull to me. He didn't react at all.
DESPITE APPEARANCES
After Dull But Honest and The Picayune had left Cosmic's house, the three victims of Milverton the gardener spent the night talking over their shared experience. They could remember some of the same incidents in their hallucinogenic trip. But other moments were lost in the yawning chasm of their collective memory. While Ethel and Bernie clung to each other like survivors on a sinking raft, Cosmic felt adrift and alone in his own loneliness. The first to recover was Bernie, who given the opportunity, wouldn't have minded sleeping in the front garden so soon after the incident. But Ethel had no intention of retiring to the back garden and was too tired to go home. So she persuaded Bernie to stay with her, while she talked herself out. Cosmic went to bed, feeling annoyed that his space was being intruded upon, yet scared to be left alone. He felt so lonely, yet aggravated at his companions. Even in bed he could hear them wittering on about the last few days. Yet all Cosmic could feel was aggrieved. Why did Milverton pick his garden to bury the bull? How long had Milverton been in his home, in his things? Why did Dull But Honest and The Picayune turn up, like some sort of latter day Holmes and Watson to save the day? Cosmic began to resent everybody connected with the last few days. When at last Bernie and Ethel fell silent downstairs, Cosmic made an effort to sleep. But it wouldn't come easily. Every time he closed his eyes, shadows shaped themselves like actors on stage, hidden behind the curtain, while the waiting audience remained oblivious to the stage craft. . A face there, a slug here and everywhere weeds and bovine silhouettes. All this reminded Cosmic of other moments in his life when the night had been no friend to him. The times he spent all night talking with the band, in a haze of drugs and drink, realising that the band was breaking up, but talking nonstop in the hope the day wouldn't bring the conclusion to their story. The time members of family or friends died, always seemed to coincide with a long nights discussion. Fear for the day was why Cosmic hated the night.
Downstairs Bernie slept and snored. Ethel slept fitfully and kept waking up, frantically waving insects, both real and imagined, away from her. All the victims had planned how they were to face their lives in the morning. Cosmic promised himself that he would attack the garden as soon as he could. Ethel promised that she would concentrate on living a normal life. While Bernie promised himself a book deal and was wondering which TV gardener's show he should appear on. But promises made to oneself in the dead of night are usually broken in the life and light of day.
The following day was spent nursing the wounds. Bernie and Ethel occupied downstairs like some invading force, while Cosmic hid upstairs, only venturing down to be fed and watered. A phone call from Cass, asking how they all were, allowed Cosmic some respite. Especially when she finished her conversation with him and asked if he could give her a lift to work the following morning. Cosmic felt relieved that normality would be arriving by the next train of thought. So he agreed. Ethel used the opportunity to beg a lift to her house while Bernie went along for the ride. When Cosmic dropped them off, he knew they would stay in the safety of Ethel's house for the time being and Cosmic would be left alone. So he planned to engineer the chance to spend the night at the lighthouse. A simple matter once he had picked up Cass and taken her back to the lighthouse.
That night, Ethel and Bernie did indeed stay in Ethel's house. The Picayune slept on a mattress upstairs in the lighthouse and Cass slept in her room in a bed. Cosmic spent his night downstairs in the lighthouse in a sleeping bag. Waving away bugs and insects, both real and imagined.
ODD DAY WITH A STEP INTO THE PAST
Odd day at the lighthouse today. I was sleeping upstairs on my mattress when the phone rung. As it was still early, well alright the time was passed nine, I ignored it. Then the phone rung again and I was forced to go to it. I knew it couldn't be Cosmic as he was downstairs in a sleeping bag. Our phone only seems to bother us when somebody has died or somebody wants to con us into buying something we don't want. But this time a message on the answer phone proved that our normal callers were absent. A neighbour from when we were kids was in the Country and in the area. They had phoned a few weeks ago, I think I mentioned it, just to say they may be around. So Cass said she would like to meet up with them and arranged a time and place. I actually was busy and really Cass had arranged to go out to work, But she changed her arrangements and Cosmic said he didn't mind giving her a lift. After all a lift to work or to a reunion, it was all the same to him.
When Cosmic had delivered Cass, I was somewhat surprised to see him return to the lighthouse. He had a piece of toast and I told him about the old days when we lived in another part of Caustic Cove. Before we moved out of the area and then when we returned. Cosmic pretended to listen and nodded in all the right places, but I could tell he wasn't totally engrossed in the conversation. So I continued to work and worry about money, while Cosmic spent his day messing about watching the DVD.
After Cass phoned and Cosmic had gone to collect her I was left alone at last. Although I began to worry as the time ticked by. But when they did come home, yes Cosmic arrived as well, they talked about driving around to the old house and taking photos of where everybody used to live. Then they drove into Havenedge and spent time there. Cosmic said it was interesting to see the place through the eyes of somebody who hadn't been back for a while. Some things and places didn't seem to have changed at all, while others were completely alien. Which gave us all a chance to reminisce. Cosmic said they had walked down to the beach at one point. The promenade at Havenedge looked sad and decaying. Nobody seemed to want to give the ailing patient a pick me up. Although Cosmic did shiver when he said that there were bits of greenery and tufts of grass actually growing on the beach. As if nowhere was safe from the creeping weed. But live in any place long enough and one forgets the beauty and only sees what the ugly stains.
The next morning Cosmic still was in no hurry to go home. He had a dream set in medieval times. About a moving pestilence devouring the World in the shape of giant plants. Whenever something or somebody was pricked by the weed they became that weed. Like a moving army invading the local fiefdoms. Well it didn't take a trained analyst to work out where all this was coming from. So Cosmic stayed in the lighthouse, only too happy to help with the recycling and the chores that Cass would normally do. I wonder if Cosmic will ever go home?
PLAY MISTY FOR ME
An unusual sight of late has been the crystal clear nights. The moon has been bright and the lighthouse has stood out like a shy debutante at a coming of age ball. Except that they probably don't have them anymore and the lighthouse is looking her age. But this morning we are shrouded in mist. It is clearing slightly now and we can see Caustic Cove reappearing from the gloom. More's the pity. Cosmic, who again has graced us with his presence overnight, seems happier this morning. It appears that the less he can see of the world, the more comfortable he feels. Since the postman cannot reach his front door, all his and our post are being left at the jetty, in a lockup box. The postman seems not to be thrown into any confusion by this. In fact I think we are well served by the postman. Considering the rubbish they have to carry. With all this talk of less post, people still use it. With all the advertising and free leaflets that are delivered, well the postmen have their work cut out. Although I have less sympathy for the way the Post Office is run. I have also just ordered something by post which will be too big to go into the lockup. So expect problems with that come the day of its arrival.
There are moments when I forget that the lighthouse has a visitor. Every so often Cosmic appears like a stalker, whistling to himself. This morning, in deference to the weather, he was whistling 'Misty'. Now I am no Clint Eastwood and he is no Jessica Walter, but for the moment I did have a little scare. Great film and I have it on video somewhere. I wonder if I can buy it on DVD? Now here is the problem. There is very little on TV so I have ended up buying loads of DVDs. Cosmic has spent his time watching them. Since he sold most of his record collection, he appears to want to delve into all the latest televisual apparatus. He keeps telling me how cheap all these gadgets I don't want are. Seeing as we cannot pick up a decent TV signal anyway, and I am not dishing out good money for a satellite dish or cable. All the new equipment in the world wouldn't help us. I still use my video and have lots of DVDs. I will wait until I have to upgrade. I really don't care how a Director directed a bit of action. Or how the actors all loved each other on a 'tough shoot'. I want to watch the film. Which is why I have ordered some great old black and white American Film Noir movies. I made the mistake of mentioning this and while Cass couldn't care less, Cosmic seemed to be excited about watching them. I felt like asking him how long he thought he was staying?
Still I look on DVDs as a great source of entertainment. I put on something nobody has watched. Cass drops off to sleep within minutes. Cosmic is glued to the TV and keeps pointing to actors and saying that they were in such and such TV series or that film with the buffalo. So after the DVD has finished I tend to watch it later, alone, without the incessant interruptions. While Cass puts the DVD on her computer to catch up while she is doing something else. Then forgets she is supposed to be watching the DVD and is none the wiser when the credits come up. So she has to watch it again. Usually with the same outcome. I remember when DVDs brought us together as a family. Now we have no family and those that there are all have there own way of enjoying watching the DVDs. So one DVD has at least 4 plays per viewing.
Not a good month for finances for various reasons. But the dreaded shopping order will soon have to be put in. The problem of where to deliver it also raises its ugly head. Cosmic seems not to be bothered by the problem and is making a list of things he wants. Occupation of the lighthouse by stealth.
Oh well it seems to be becoming mistier and Cosmic is whistling again. Cass is washing bits and baubles in her room and looking at me to start sorting out my stuff. While I have work to do. I look out of the window and Caustic Cove has gone. Mist in Channel, Caustic Cove cut off. Play Misty for me.
THE PLANNING STAGE
When Cosmic returned to the lighthouse this evening he seemed in better spirits. He had gone to see Ethel and Bernie during the day and even passed his own house on the way. We had even talked about going around there next week, to start the attack on the weeds. But it was not so much the cutting down of the weeds that was the problem, but more what to do with them once they are down. I suggested a bonfire which is fine as long as it is done within the rules of the community bylaws or something. Then we would have to have two piles of garden waste. Then there was the problem of finding the tools after we had cleaned up the garage. So before we became too bogged down in the detail, I was the one who said let's just start in the front and work our way to the back. We would use whatever tools we could find and try and not make a big chore out of it. Cosmic calmed himself again and hopefully any talk of gardening can be forgotten for the time being. Mind you Cosmic said that his roses in the front garden look huge. One of the advantages of not pruning them?
By all accounts Ethel and Bernie were in good spirits. I didn't like to enquire too closely about their relationship. It had been on and then off and then it looks like being on again. Were they over their ordeal of last week I asked? It seems so, although one never really knows what is going on below the surface. Bernie had just sent a piece off to the paper that had received some good feedback. Ethel was planning things to do in her house. Moving furniture and putting things back the way they were originally, calling it progress, that sort of thing.
I had been busy too, I told Cosmic. Planning things and what to do with certain bits of furniture. It had been that sort of day. Would any of us see our plans reach fruition? I doubt it, but then that is half, if not all, the fun. We have our shopping order tomorrow, which means Cosmic collecting it in from the jetty and rowing it over. So he is saved the job of driving from his house with the car full of groceries. Bad time money wise at this time of year so I bought some more DVDs to cheer myself up.
So a day of planning and doing little else. This evening I watched Television and Cosmic watched a Thunderbirds DVD. While Cass made dinner and then dropped off for the rest of the night. Back to proper work tomorrow. At least proper work means I can stop planning.
VIOLIN TAYLOR
The Picayune family can be traced back ten generations. So maybe it is a good thing that this branch of the family tree will come to an end with our demise. We seem to have seen and done it all and become bored with the good life. Or scared of it, never sure which. Anyway we were talking last night about family trees because Cass is into all that sort of thing. When she went to bed, Cosmic began to talk about his family and the people he knew. We talked about the colourful characters he had met back in the day. When pop stars were real stars. Some of them were rather drug addled and died early, but most of them left behind something to remember them by. More than I will do. Then the conversation turned to women we have known in the past. Now most of us have fallen in and out of love in our lives. So I talked about my early days of losing hearts and in my case mind as well. Putting women on pedestals and seeing them topple off. The conversation was one of those that you look back on the next morning and squirm at what one has revealed about oneself. Especially as I thought I had heard all of Cosmic's stories of his conquests and debauchery. But Cosmic suddenly talked about a girl he met back in the Seventies, he had never mentioned before. At least I don't recall him doing so. I hope he wont mind but I will try and recall what he said now.
Her name was Violin Taylor. She dressed in long flowing taffeta with a bright head scarf wrapped around her head and face. Almost like a veil. Her parents came from some exotic country that Cosmic can't remember. She wore her style because she wanted to. Not for any religion. Which is just as well because nowadays she would no doubt have insulted both sides of the religious divide. But in those days there wasn't such surface rumbles of discontent about what people wore. Or was there, and we were all too stupid to notice?
Cosmic had met her at some theatre review. He was a guest at some college and the theatre was an intimate dark, rather depressing place. As far as Cosmic can remember, the entertainment was the standard college fair. Lots of kids trying to be funny and musical and sometimes hitting the heights but mostly not. At the end of the performance, Cosmic, who was at the back of the theatre, was talking to the people who had invited him. He must have dropped something because he had bent down to pick it up and clashed heads with somebody who was doing the same thing. He looked up and rubbing his head apologised to this person. Who was of course this rather pretty vision in flowing dress. They both turned and the heads came together again. For some reason Cosmic flung his arms around this girl and hugged her. He doesn't know why he did it but he wasn't in the habit of hugging girls who he had just met. Some of them didn't like it and it was all women's lib then. One had to be careful which stranger was into hugging and who wasn't. Anyway this girl said it was fine and her scarf slipped away from her face. Her smile was bright enough to light the darkest of moods. Then after they had broken off the clinch, the girl returned the hug and said she was happy to bash heads with anybody if it meant finishing with such an apology. Her gaze met Cosmic's and her eyes warmed his very soul. Then she was gone, up some stairs and away. Cosmic turned to his companions who were all smiling. They said he seemed to have made an impression on Miss Violin. Although Cosmic at first mistook the name to be Violet. But they repeated it. Her name was Violin Taylor.
Cosmic found out the address of Violin and was going to just bump into her, by accident. Except the address turned out to be a confusing, bewildering block of flats. He remembers walking up and down stairs and suddenly coming across doors that seemed to be hiding in the building. The layout had quite defeated him and he gave up his quest to find the lovely Violin Taylor. So he went down to the river and sat on a bench. All he knew was that the girl was an artist of some kind. The sort of artist that people look at the work and say, what does it mean? Paintings with holes in the canvas representing the critics attack on beauty. Or something like that. Or piles of concrete, representing the collapse of society. You know the sort of thing? Apparently Violin was a budding artist, tipped to do great things. So Cosmic sat and sulked on a bench by the river and thought about going to the pub and becoming another sort of artist. Until somebody sat next to him. He wasn't sure if she had floated down as there was hardly any change in the air around him. But there Violin sat.
Violin Taylor asked Cosmic if that was all the effort he was going to make to find her? He replied that he was visiting great aunt Matilda and had no idea Violin lived nearby. Besides Matilda, the poor dear, was not long for this world, so he would often bring her her favourite cheese and honey. Well you had to be there I guess, but Violin and Cosmic laughed and then walked in slow motion by the river. No doubt the theme from a shampoo advert accompanying them as they went. They spent many hours in each others company after that. Cosmic went to Violin's first exhibition in Soho. A grand success by all accounts. She went with him to some of his concerts and was his biggest fan. The band rejected her, but then it was what bands did in those days. So everything seemed to be going wonderfully well.
At this point Cosmic's mind seemed to go on a little meander somewhere. So I had to pull it back. He couldn't leave the story like that. What happened to the lovely artist Violin? Did she die of some awful illness or did she have to look after her ailing parents. Cosmic looked at me bewildered. "No nothing like that," he said. One day Cosmic and Violin were laughing and almost crying with joy in each others company. Then almost simultaneously they looked at each other and realised they would never be as happy as they were at that moment. No matter how they tried, they would always be coming down the mountain, looking back. So life took over and they just drifted apart. Work began to take over and that was it. Violin married her agent and had three kids. Cosmic didn't know about what happened to her after that.
Well I thought it was an anti climax. I was quite miffed at the casual way he lost the love of his life. But Cosmic said he was contented about the whole thing. People who are happy together spend too much time trying to remain happy. Best to leave when one is at the top. At the peak of happiness.
I went to bed wondering what it must be like to know you have reached the day when things can only become worse. Maybe I have been there and just didn't know it. I hoped Violin Taylor found another peak. I am not sure Cosmic ever did.
ETHEL AND BERNIE HAVE A NIGHT OF ENTERTAINMENT
Good evening , I am Bernie Woodstain reporting live from Ethel's front room. I can reveal, live and exclusive, that this evening we have been watching a few films and eating lots of sweets. After our ordeal last week we have managed to find normality in the shape of things that are normal. We tread a fine line between danger and deceit and safety and honesty. Which is why our choice of films was most apt tonight.
Our first film was the classic Marx Brother's film, 'Night at the opera.' Now it is fair to say that Ethel wasn't as amused as I was. Being the more worldly and travelled of us, I understood the underlying hypocrisy of mans desire to pretend to be something they are not. Each of the Marx Brothers is talented yet hides behind the veneer, nay facade, of humour and slapstick. Always misdirecting the viewer from their true talent. A clown crying yet wanting only to laugh at himself and the world around him. The greasepaint stained with the tears of sorrow pretending to be tears of joy. A classic reminder of our own frailty.
The second film we saw was 'Catfish'. I film that puts up to the mirror of our reflections, reflecting back to us in a way we want to believe in the reflection being real. Or to put another way, a film that we see a shadow of a distorted reflection once modified into a true representation of what we want to believe is true. I cannot think of anything clearer than that as a homily to modern life.
The final piece of entertainment was the last two episodes of 'Terminator. The Sarah Connor Chronicles'. A shame this piece of entertainment was terminated. It left us wanting more and wanting explanations. Not the first and it won’t be the last time the powers that be, terminated a series before the terminal. I have left Ethel downstairs watching some romantic rubbish. Still these women do need their rom coms.
Hello, Ethel here, enjoying a Thunderbirds episode from way back when. The one where the bad guys stick the detonator on the wrists of innocent people who have to travel to some place to find the key and escape before the detonators blow the place up. It was a story line they used in Stingray I think. I love Gerry Anderson's stuff. My Dad brought me up on all his stuff and The Picayune has DVDs of most of them. Did you know that the beginning of 'Four Feather Falls' is similar to the much later Captain Scarlett. The Picayune pointed that out to me. Anyway, I only put this episode on once Bernie went to bed. He does talk so much rubbish when a film is on.
I also had to sit through a Marx Brother's comedy. Too much singing and not enough comedy for my liking. Then we saw the excellent 'Catfish'. Oh it was good. So sad as well when you think about it. I won’t spoil it except to say it is well worth seeing. I could identify to so much of it.
Then we saw the TV series of The Terminator, the last two episodes. Very exciting and very sad they haven't made another one. Still it gives me the chance to make up my own ending. But don't tell Bernie. We women are not supposed to like science fiction or whatever the 'in' word for it is now. I am supposed to only like romantic comedy or love stories. Actually those sort of films make me want to throw up. Still each to ones own I guess.
Bernie told me the world was supposed to end today according to somebody. Well the world probably did end for some people. But today it wasn't us. I have had a good day myself.
COSMIC HAS A DAY OUT
Early this morning Cosmic left the lighthouse. He left a note that just said he had to do something. By the time I read it, he had been gone for four hours.
My day was full of struggle and woe. So a normal working day really. The papers I needed were incomplete and so I couldn't finish what I started. Therefore I didn't start what I could have started to finish ready to start the other stuff I couldn't finish. Now as a direct result of this and as we had had a shopping delivery last week, I finished the chocolate I promised myself I would ration. Well once it is gone it is gone. But I expect to have problems tonight. I am very weak. Actually I ate some crisps as well. Oh I am even weaker than I thought. Cass found some very old audio cassette tapes and spent the day playing them. Some of them are classics apparently. But after hearing Marti Webb singing 'Take that look off your face' in a shaky distorted, stretched audio tape way. The term 'classic' takes on a whole new meaning. I still find listening to music something I cannot do over a long period now. I have mentioned it before but wish I could pay for somebody to tell me why. Although I do actually know the reason why. So I really need to pay someone to explain to me why I need to have something explained to me that I already know the answer to. A conundrum wrapped up in a strained song lyric.
By the time Cosmic had come back to the lighthouse, I’d already had my fish fingers and baked beans. It was dark outside and I was settling down to watch some TV. Cass was pretending not to be asleep and kept waking herself up and talking nonsense before dropping off again. I had half expected Cosmic to return to his own place, but he turned up looking slightly flushed. He said nothing and sat down to watch the TV as if he had just come back from the kitchen. I asked him how his day had been? He told me I didn't want to know. I should have realised. For some reason he seemed fascinated by what was showing on the television. His gaze never faltered. Now, don't mistake my lack if interest in Alan Titchmarsh walking around a garden as more than complete disinterest. After all that is what it is. Mr Titchmarsh was showing the Queen around some gardens and then we saw several famous TV actors and sports stars saying how much they loved The Chelsea Flower Show. Good for them I thought. Then another man, who was also a gardener, showed us water dripping down a mirror. Just like last year and the year before. Somebody else had built a garden and hung it on a crane. This man hoped to win a prize at Chelsea this year. Nobody thought he was mad and thought he had a good chance of achieving his aim.
It was at this point that Cosmic muttered something about a Police State and how the news had been censored. I asked him what he meant? Cosmic replied that I didn't want to know. Sadly he told me anyway. He pointed out that he had gone up to The Chelsea Flower Show and could be seen just behind Alex Kingston, the actress. Although it may not have been Cosmic, but a funny reflection in the mirror with the water dripping down it. Cosmic apparently had caused a disturbance by shouting a warning about the evil of plants. They were going to take over the world and were in league with the weeds. The weeds were just flowers growing in the wrong place, he shouted. Although he stole this from Cass who had said the same thing many, many times before. Cosmic was telling the world about this invasion, when a member of the police force arrested him for breach of the peace or causing a disturbance. Cosmic was bundled into a van and hauled away. Now I have to say I doubt his rather colourful explanation of what happened next. The severe beating that he claims took place is somewhat unlikely as he claims the reason there are no marks is that he is a quick healer. Besides they wrapped him up in a carpet and kicked him. It was only when the custody sergeant recognised him as the famous ex pop star, that the beatings stopped and he was released on his own reconnaissance.
Cosmic expected it to be front page news and all over the TV and radio by now. Instead, the news was full of somebody who had spent money on a privacy order being outed for doing something rather dull. Something we all knew about last week. But couldn't be reported until now because of the privacy order. So I told Cosmic the only way he would be in the news for disrupting The Chelsea Flower Show was if he took out a Privacy Order. But he told me he didn't have that sort of money. Damn this Police State.
What a world we live in when the only way for somebody to know what you did is for you to take out a privacy order, denying them the right of releasing your name. Cosmic went to bed a frustrated but free man. Meanwhile the weeds still grew and laughed at man's foolishness.
THE BIT ABOVE THE FIREPLACE
When Cosmic took Cass to work, he must have gone home for a while. When he returned to the lighthouse a few hours later, he had in his possession, two African figures. They were a matching pair, each about a foot tall. One of a beautiful African woman and the other her daughter. He handed them to me, one at a time. They were very heavy and I spent time admiring the superb workmanship that had gone onto carving them. Cosmic pointed to the bit in the lighthouse above the fireplace and announced he thought they would look good each side of the shelf. To my knowledge, the ornaments that were already in situ, had been there for many, many years. I don't like change as I think has become apparent, yet I didn't dismiss his suggestion out of hand. But I did change the subject.
I asked how Cosmic was feeling after his brush with the law the day before? I even asked how he felt leaving his car by the jetty in Caustic Cove? Wasn't he worried it could be damaged or stolen? Each of my enquiries received the same, now familiar response. "You don't want to know" he said and nothing more. However he did say that while he was at his house he felt less threatened then he had been. I took this to be a good sign and was half expecting Cosmic to announce he would be moving back home, now he was over the shock of his ordeal. But he offered up no further hope. Instead he poured himself a cup of water and then made himself a sandwich. He ate and drank in silence.
Suddenly, with the flourish of a mad interior designer, Cosmic leaped to his feet and took one African figure from my arms. He asked if I minded and before I had time to reply, he had placed the figure on one side of the shelf above the fireplace and then placed the other figure on the other side. The Chinese fisherman and the China man playing a board game were evicted from their usual place on the mantelpiece. What must they have thought? Along with a large ornate shiny horse. Cosmic then went towards a book shelf and took off an African head bookend. I have to admit to forgetting we had it. It dated from when my family went to Africa during the early fifties. No doubt a story for another time. This bookend, not unsurprisingly, had a mate. Cosmic found it and placed them, along with a couple of smaller horses on the mantelpiece. He then took an ornament of an Oriental fire god type thing, from the front of the Television and placed it as the centre piece on the bit above the fireplace. All the time Cosmic had been placing and moving stuff and then standing back and moving stuff again. I just watched is mute fascination. When he finally sat down and asked me what I thought of his arrangement to the bit above the fireplace, I took time to answer. First of all, how dare he move some of my late parents’ ornaments. Secondly, my Mum had put that stuff there and, I may have mentioned, I don't like change. Thirdly, we don't want anymore stuff brought into the lighthouse, it is cluttered enough.
So after I had collected my thoughts and pondered on the correct response. I announced that it would take time for me to assess the changes. But my first thoughts were that I rather liked it. What did I just say out loud? The contrast between the light of the fire god thing and the dark wood of the African figures and ornate bookends, set against the shiny horses that brought in the rest of the fireplace, were enchanting. Shut up for goodness sake, could I hear myself? Cosmic smiled and said he was pleased. I wanted to say so much more. I needed to tell him that this didn't mean he was going to stay in the lighthouse, or that bringing more of his personal stuff over helped in any way to keep the lighthouse tidy. But I didn't say any of it. A change had been made. A simple moving of a few ornaments. The world hadn't come to an end.
When Cass came home, Cosmic asked what she thought of the new arrangement on the bit above the fireplace. She liked it and asked his opinion on some other interior design problems. She waited a few hours before changing a few minor things above the fireplace. Then Cass said to me that Cosmic was right about buying some new furniture, that would just fit in place of the bookshelf either side of the fireplace. The new darker wood furniture would bring in the dark wood of the African figures. Now you could have the tall cabinet with the adjustable shelves, or and as well as, one could have glass doors cut to fit the dark wood furniture we haven't bought yet. I began to panic a bit. I have only just accepted two new African women into my life. I was not ready for more change just yet. I retired to my room and said I would sleep on it.
THE OUTSIDER
I have escaped to my room early this evening. I could sense it was all going to come to a head. The bit above the fireplace has become a battle ground. First of all Cass took two items away from the shelf and added two. classier crystal shapes. Every time Cosmic passed the bit above the fireplace, he stopped and looked and shook his head. He then would rub his chin, stand back and move things about. Go away and come back and move them back to where they were before When Cass passed she would arrange them in exactly the way they were when she changed things. Even if it meant moving her classier crystal shapes, half a dust mite. This evening they found themselves together, next to the bit above the fireplace.
I was eating a ready meal of stew and mash potato, minding my own business, when the gunfight started. I felt like an innocent Mexican rancher, caught up in some gringo land grab. First of all, Cass said the Cosmic didn't like her classier crystal shapes did he? Cosmic said he liked them well enough, but they didn't stand out. Cass said they stood out to her. Cosmic said fine, if they stood out to her, that was just fine. So peace broke out and everybody sat down. But the simmering resentment was bubbling up. Cosmic suddenly said, the bit above the fireplace. needed more colour. So Cass gave a deep sigh and said she wondered if some mushrooms would help. Now I am not sure if Cosmic thought he was about to relive the Sixties experience, but he seemed disappointed when Cass reappeared with some pottery mushrooms which didn't really go with anything. Cosmic muttered something and they both sat down again. Cass was the one who decided to suddenly take her classy crystal shapes, her pottery mushrooms and her toys off the bit above the fire place. Cosmic said that looked better. Which was the moment I decided to run for the hills.
By the time I had reached my room, I could hear the distant sound of battle. The platoon of 'you don't even live here' was outflanking the corp of it looked great last night'. For my part, I had been asked in passing what I thought, but loyalty and confusion clashed, so I ran. As mentioned before, I used to be able to listen to music to drown out the outside world. As a young man, I would retire to the safety of my room and stick on some ear phones and turn up the volume. I could sit there and identify with every lyric and every note. But now the music just makes me feel deeply upset. Like suffering from a hangover. Remembering the joy of last night and having to suffer the consequences. So I turn to reading as a form of escape. Again, as already mentioned, I read old news magazines and DVD and film periodicals. They all tend to be about two years old. I also like to reread the odd book. So I reached up to my bookshelf above the computer, and pulled out a book of short stories by H P Lovecraft. I started to read 'The Outsider' but found it a bit depressing after a few pages. I then reached up to pull out another book. I was shocked to find that I now began reading 'The Outsider' by Albert Camus. As it starts off with the death of his Mother. this too strangely depressed me. When I looked up, The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks was spinning and dancing and having a whale of a time. So I closed that book and settled down to reading an Alien comic graphic novel. This I found more appealing.
Stomping up the stairs I heard Cass go to her room. Then a few seconds later Cosmic shouted something from downstairs. Cass returned downstairs. Fearing blood would be spilt I wearily left the safety of my room and ventured into the battlefield. Only to find Cosmic pointing at the bit above the fire place, which now had the addition of two crystal shape trees. Cass was saying that that works fine and how clever it was. I have never been able to be convinced when Cass turns nice. Was she really liking what she saw? Cass then asked Cosmic to give her advice about a shelf and a few posters and paintings in her room. So they went upstairs and Cosmic could be heard sagely giving out his interior design expertise. Poor sap, I thought, he is being played like a fish on a hook. But when he came back down again, he just looked at the bit above the fireplace and said that it looked good didn't it. I smiled and bid him a goodnight.
Popping my head into the now industrious room of Cass. I could see her holding a painting against the wall. It was a painting of herself as a young woman. With the other hand, she was trying to manoeuvre a poster of Rudyard Kipling's 'If'', under the painting. Cass said Cosmic said he thought they looked better this way round. For some reason I was reminded of Edgar Allan Poe's 'Fall of the House of Usher'. I said I agreed with them both and returned to my room.
That night there came a tapping on my bedroom door. 'Who is it?' I asked. Quoth Cosmic, 'Tea or Coffee?' Oh nevermore I replied and went back to sleep.
COSMIC AND THE PICAYUNE DO SOMETHING
The clock on the wall says it's time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Be bop, be bop, until you drop. Cosmic here with sounds of the City. That's right, drills and horns and swearing. Welcome back to insanity.
Yeah I know, I can see the irony from here. Who was it who had a plan to persuade The Picayune to leave the lighthouse more often? Who ended up running to the lighthouse for sanctuary? Well the best laid plans of mice and weed. Should have listened to the man. Never plan anything for tomorrow, since tomorrow doesn't even exist yet. So this morning I shook off the shackles that were binding me to the lighthouse and said to The Picayune, you and me man, how about a trip? Well not that sort of trip because frankly I have been on them all. I mean a little adventure back to my house. May be a bit of clearing the path between the garage and the house? Plenty of wall to lean on, plenty of time to relax. You know what The Picayune said? You don't want to know what he said. Oh alright you do. He said fine, take me there. So I did.
I guess I was expecting more of a reaction from my nerves, but I felt fine when we arrived at the house. The Picayune went to fetch the key to the garage and look around. I could have done it without any trouble, but he offered so hey ho. Then we opened up the garage, not as bad as I thought inside. Then we found some tools and set about clearing the path. The Picayune leaned on the wall and I scraped and pulled at the little weeds that were coming out of the tarmac. I felt fine, I have said that right? After we swept up, we relaxed inside the house, with a nice cup of tea. Not that The Picayune drank his. Too busy psychoanalysing me and asking me how it felt to be back. I said it was all just fine. Although I am not sure how ready I am to stay here alone yet. It will come soon. After all I have been back since the trouble and messed about here on my own. But staying the night. Well let's just see how it goes. Besides, the more The Picayune can come back and help clear the smallest of weeds, the more I will feel like returning. I guess, helping him to help me, helps him and helps me. I knew my plan would eventually work.
When we returned to the lighthouse I felt a bit awkward. I forgot we had another bank holiday coming up. I must have ate and drunk too much because I dropped off to sleep. When I awoke, Cass was asleep in her chair and The Picayune was watching a DVD. I didn't recognise it, so I asked him what it was? Turns out it is the first in a series called 'Flash Forward'. About the world all blacking out at the same time and flashing forward to the same time in the future, before all waking up again. The Picayune said Cass and me were always asleep and wouldn't know if we had flashed anywhere. I seem to remember The Picayune sleeping too, during the day. So not sure how smug he should be.
Oh well, another day over. I will be back to normal after the weekend. Feel more together than I have done for some time. We did after all do something today. That has to be good, right?
A GIFT IN THE KNOWING
It was about five in the afternoon. I had eaten some toast and had done little else. Cosmic appeared at the door of my room and looked at the top of some drawers. They were covered by the debris of ten years of life. I had said I would start to clear it up about 2 years ago. I had to start sometime, but I never thought it would be today. So he asked me what I was doing? Looking at some TV on the computer I replied. Would it be alright if he started to clear the top of the drawers? Cosmic asked. I said I wasn't sure. So Cosmic started to pick up stuff and sort through it. Any private envelopes or letters with my name on he handed to me. Piles of music cassettes and old computer games were placed on a shelf. In no time the top of the drawers were clear, save or a computer connection box. Cosmic placed any office trays he found in another room to be sorted later and smiled. He said that hadn't taken so long and wasn't so bad and I bet I was pleased it had been done, Then he went back downstairs.
Unfortunately, the computer screen I had been happily watching, was no longer visible. Cosmic's idea of cleaning up,was to hand me the piles of envelopes and papers and let me sort them out. The pile now covered the screen. My deep felt annoyance at his trespass into my untidy life soon gave way to panic. I began to go through the envelopes and papers. Some were dated six years ago. Some had book catalogues I hadn't belonged to for many years. All were rubbish. So I piled them high into another tray, separating my address and name to be shredded at a later date. Over an hour later, I had to fetch a vacuum as disintegrating bags and paper covered the floor. Having tidied that up I was left with another tray piled high with paper and rubbish that I would have to take downstairs and separate into the correct recyclable bins. That was a job for tomorrow.
By the time I had had a shower, it was gone eight in the evening. But at least I had a clean drawer top. Then Cass handed me a small bronze figure she had found in her room. I recognised it as something that had hung around for years. It was a tiny door knocker in the shape of a hung devil, with the words 'hang evil' or 'hang the devil 'on it. She asked if I would like it? Then when I muttered something, she drilled a hole on my door and hung the hung devil , It fitted well but was another unexpected happening to the day. As was the fact that whenever the door was passed, the knocker was tapped.
When I eventually went downstairs, Cosmic said we would have to go and buy some bread tomorrow. He then asked if I would like some of those bite size Cornish Pasty things for tea. So he popped them in the oven. Cass came down and put on her meal and we settled down to watch some television. Cass and I must have dropped off because Cosmic woke us up around midnight. He said we might want to watch the first part of the documentary on the band Queen. There would be a concluding part tomorrow. Oh and by the way, he had also watched the second episode of the DVD we had been watching yesterday. So we may want to catch up on that. Off we went to bed and left Cosmic downstairs.
Was there a time when I knew that my life would be controlled by an ageing old pop star? How did my saving him from the killer weed mean he could save me from myself? Just as I was pondering the answer to these and other questions, Cosmic called up. He had an idea about that shelf in Cass's room, There were some nice old white pots he had at his house. We would remember them because we had given them to him. They would look good on that shelf. With that, everybody seemed contented. A very odd day.
THE UNSEEN CASUALTY
Sitting with Cosmic in the front room of his house was pleasant enough. A nice cup of tea and some Simon and Garfunkel on the stereo. Cosmic had invited me to come along with him to pick up the pot and dish that he thought Cass might like on her shelf. We had all piled into the boat from the lighthouse. Cass was on her way to work and so Cosmic was going to kill two birds with one stone. Drop off Cass and collect the ornaments. The boat from the lighthouse had never been so low in the water. Fortunately it was a calm day, but even so there was plenty of sea in the bottom of the boat when we climbed out. Cass was the only one to foresee this possibility and had worn over trousers to protect her clothes. Cosmic just put up with a wet patch on his trousers, as did I. Still we made it safely enough and I was now content and warm, sitting in Cosmic's lounge.
There was a ring at his front door. The fact that somebody had hacked their way through to reach it, meant they had gone to a real effort. Cosmic, I thought was upstairs, but he suddenly appeared from the kitchen. He put his finger to his lips and indicated that I should keep as still and quiet as I could. The bell rung again. Still Cosmic froze and continued with his instructions for me to keep silent. After about five minutes, Cosmic crept to the window. He then instantly appeared to relax and said he would fetch 'that stuff for Cass'.
I was about to say something but he just told me not to ask. So I didn't.
Cosmic reappeared with a couple of pots in his hand and asked me if a recognised them? I didn't, but the label on the bottom showed that they were biscuit containers. One had once had short bread in. But they were nice looking, proper pot and dish. None of the tin rubbish. I agreed that they might look really nice as ornaments. I had drunk my tea and was ready to move, but Cosmic said we had better wait until the police had moved on a bit.
"The Police?" I replied, somewhat taken aback. I reminded Cosmic that it would have taken some Herculean effort to even reach the front door. Let alone battle back the way they came. It must have been important. They must need to contact him. Or even contact me. Something could have happened to the lighthouse or even Cass? She was no spring chicken and frankly, we were all in our prime years to be struck down. Cosmic told me to calm down. There was no police car visible, there was another policewoman across the road and besides nobody knew we would be here. The police were going door to door. I was still not satisfied. Suppose the police were looking for a missing child or were warning us that a gunman was in the area? Deliberately picking out ageing, fat people. I would be a prime target. I crouched down behind a chair. But Cosmic was unmoved. He just said we didn't see anything, so couldn't help with their enquiries. Missing children would mean searching the garden, good luck with that. A gunman in the area would mean road blocks. We would soon find out.
On our way home we saw no road blocks. Just the same policeman and woman going from door to door. I still didn't understand why Cosmic had refused to become involved. After all the police had always treated him well enough when he had need of their assistance. But Cosmic continued not to care. He had no interest in what they wanted. It wouldn't be to his advantage and would most likely cause him to be inconvenienced. I don't mind telling you I was shocked. On our way over to the lighthouse, Cosmic said he was pleased with the ornaments he brought over from his house, The incident with the police had gone from his mind, while still uppermost in mine. So I broached the subject once more. Why had he not answered the door to the police? Cosmic took a deep breath and said that I really didn't want to know. He would only say that the whoever had been at the door would have been ignored. Then he said that I of all people should understand. Sometimes, one just didn't want to become involved in the workings of life outside the self. Good job we didn't all think like that, I thought.
The biscuit containers looked very good when placed on the shelf. They used to make really, nice ornate biscuit containers. Shame they seemed to have stopped making those. Mind you, who could afford that sort of luxury container now? Like Cosmic, the biscuit container had just become a casualty of life.
TENNIS, FOOTBALL RUMOURS AND FELLING ILL
Last night was full of tension and anxiety. The Internet went down. Well it may not have disappeared for everybody, but it did for me. Right in the middle of doing something or looking something up. Oh I remember now what it was. Cass has to go to work in a new place. So she worked out the best way to approach it. This required hours of complicated route descriptions and distant swear words. Discovering a place where you have lived all your life has become pedestrian friendly, is very upsetting. Havenedge has made it almost impossible to travel into, without first completing an assault course, an IQ exam and a wall of death circus stunt. But having found the area where Cass now needs to travel is no longer the docks but a film studio, I feel certain that she can manage to be ready for her close up, once the time comes. Cosmic, who after all will be doing the driving, seems to dislike turning right. So he has found an alternative route that takes him out of Havenedge altogether. This would mean Cass would have to set off about now to reach her destination. I was in the middle of explaining this when the Internet packed up.
Cass is the expert in all things computer. I say expert insofar as she towers over me in her expertise. Cosmic has one rule concerning most computers. If they go wrong, leave the room and come back later. If they still seem to be doing something wrong, repeat this process over and over again. I, needless to say, think that this requires far too much effort and just go for the tried and tested, turn off, turn on procedure. By the time Cosmic had exhausted his method and I had nearly fused my options, Cass was left to discover the problem. First of all she realised one of our telephone lines was buzzing. So she proceeded to correct the fault. However she became confused over which phone was attached to which line and kept ringing herself and finding herself engaged. Cass soon realised her mistake and set about to correct it. Having lost the phones she had been testing, this took longer than one may think. I on the other hand, was very helpful. I kept on shouting questions that needed answers, but helped little in solving the problem. Eventually Cass unplugged the cables in the modem and replaced them again. She did this twice. The Internet now came back on line. So turning off and turning on again then.
Having gone to bed tired I woke up this morning tired. Then I moved and discovered I felt sick. The Sun was beating down on my mattress and I was sweating. It was light when I went to bed around four o clock. Now it was just hot. Plus I could see a building crane through my window that had not been there before. Caustic Cove remains in the blight of the builders. However, I was able to climb out of my mattress and head for the computer in my room. This made me feel even more sick and tired. I turned on the Internet to discover that my football club was losing their manager to a club no better than themselves. I phoned Dull But Honest and asked him what the rumours where? He replied in his best condescending voice and said he had no idea but saw no advantage bar money for our manager to leave. So same as the last one then. I then watched the tennis and the pretty Russian lost. So I felt a touch more sick and tired.
By the time I had returned to the rumours of the football, it was all possible rubbish. But then again sources said it wasn't, while experts said it was. By now I had forgotten what the rumours were at the start. So I just felt sick and tired. I must have dropped off because the day had gone. Rumours were, statements would be made at a later date. But other rumours said that it was all done and dusted. While even some said the dust had never been blown from the first rumour and it was all a lie from the beginning.
Sometimes the Internet is just is too big. It holds all possible outcomes. Just enough to make you feel sick and tired.
DISJOINTED THOUGHTS
Well it all seems clear now. There is thick cloud and it is warm. So it is clear why nothing is clear. I still feel a little sick and light headed. Cass, who is supposed to go out today to work is feeling a little off too. While Cosmic, who cleared stuff and was busy yesterday in the lighthouse, is equally reluctant to start anything. Although, considering the amount of work we have all managed to do this week, none of us should feel we have let anybody down. There seems to be lots of coughs and sneezes about and so we are all run down.
The news yesterday was not good concerning football. All the effort and time one puts in to supporting a football club seems wasted, when the club keeps on doing what it should do only to be let down. Another manager walked for no apparent reason. No doubt, accusations and recriminations will dribble out in the fullness of time. Meanwhile the fans are left feeling betrayed and used. No change there then. Still when one is feeling down, bad news is not what one needs to encourage an upturn. Even Dullbuthonest phoned me up and we spent time moaning and arguing.
But everybody seems to feel put upon just now. Cass was on the phone to somebody at the Tax Office. They were spluttering and stuttering and sounded harassed. Then the person on the other end of the phone asked her if they could call her Cass. So she told them that as that was indeed her name they should go for it. No doubt somebody had given them a hard time about calling them by their Christian name, then insisted on the correct title. We make life needlessly awkward sometimes.
Later in the day we did go out. I felt better and Cosmic wanted to play in the wind. The sea was nice and choppy so we all were nicely soaked and caked in salt. Cass did some shopping and I stayed in the car and Cosmic stood outside the car. The wind was like a hot fan. When Cass returned from her quick shopping trip, seven bags full of food to cheer us up, we had to drop off some work and then we returned to the lighthouse. I finished our accounts and played with a new program and then we ate pizza and watched television.
Cass noticed that she could see her blood vessels in her arms. So we all looked and realised we could all see our blood vessels in our arms. Then we pondered on the colour of them being blue instead of red. Skin refracts light apparently, thus making blood vessels appear blue. With that Cass dropped off to sleep, I put on an old DVD and Cosmic went about with one eye closed. This was because I had mentioned how if you shut one eye, and look at one's nose with the open other. It makes you feel how the body is just carrying the real us. Cosmic said he wished he knew me back in the day, he wouldn't have needed drugs. Funnily enough he isn't the first to say that. I once made a drug addict very nervous when I talk about looking into the wall of the room we were sitting in. He had no idea what I was talking about.
Imagination is a wonderful thing. Having disjointed thoughts help as well.
BEYOND THE FOURTH WALL
Daylight floods into the lamp room at the top of the lighthouse before four in the morning. When I sleep up there, I close the sun blinds to keep out the day. But sometimes, on a clear night, I like to keep the blinds open and stare at the nights sky. Last night was not clear but I still had the blinds open before closing them for the day. One can see the lights of Caustic Cove reflected in the blinds. Sometimes the lights move as traffic passes through the town. Last night I saw a blue flashing light that came closer to the coast and then stopped. I didn't bother to climb from my mattress to see. Blue lights at night always remind me of sadness. They blue flashers come anytime, but I only fear them at night.
It was only as I was about to start the day that my heart started to jump. I mention this to Cosmic in case I need the blue lights to help. But Cosmic asks if he can have my DVD collection. He is only half joking. But it is only at moments like this I realise that I must write a will. Cass reminds that I felt odd a few days ago. So it may be just a cold or flu. Cosmic says it could be far worse than that. He is only half joking. An hour later I am thinking of thinking about toast. I realise my heart has calmed down. Cass asks if I want a glass of water. I say I do while Cosmic reminds me that the DVD collection can still be his. He also reminds me I ate a whole tub of ice cream yesterday. The world is a circle.
Alienation can be a ........................
"Alright, everybody can we stop it there". Guy Bolton stands up and is smiling. He announces that he and his fellow script writer Tori Gibson are to be married next Fall. They met while they were in a drug rehabilitation centre in Bridlington. "Sorry just couldn't keep it quiet any longer. Come on Tori, get out here, don't keep me hanging". Guy holds out his hand and a slender, if not emaciated woman, with hollow eyes, glides to his side. There is whooping and hollering and complete strangers appear from nowhere and clap the couple on their backs in congratulations.
Beverley, who writes The Picayune's internal monologue, says it is no good looking at her. She has no idea where this is going.
Meanwhile, everybody is looking to The Producer to say a few words. A grey man with a colourful past he can only remember in black and white, steps out. He mentions that the show has lost viewers and the studio seems to be looking for cuts. Still well done to Guy and Tori. Everybody cheers, and sausage rolls appear from nowhere.
Alienation can be a welcome place to be. I have never felt so alienated than when I was in a crowd of people I was supposed to know. People thrown together because of circumstance. It is like being in a war or on a package holiday. We must keep in touch. In those days we could leave our doors open because we trusted each other. Did we really? A story put about by the Eloi. A story propagated by the Morlocks. It is raining and I do nothing all day. I remind Cass that some drawers in my room are full of alien stuff. She clears it out and washes the drawers. Then she arrives at the drawers that have papers and books and goodness knows what in them. These are my burden and haven't been seen for years. Strange having something so close and yet closing it off from sight. Yet another metaphor in case anyone is counting.
Tori makes her way to the toilet and sits in a cubicle. She has no idea how she became part of a couple? She has no idea why people should congratulate her? Everything is an illusion.
"Right everybody can we stop there". The Picayune stands up smiling. He has no idea who is real but he doesn't care. All he knows is that his audience is sitting there for free. They wanted tickets for 'A Question Of Sport' but that has been all sold out for years. So they were stuck with this. The Picayune does a closing monologue to the camera and the card says applause. Nobody bothers and the audience collect their coats and leave. The announcer announces, "you have been watching The P..P..Picayune". But they haven't really.
After the worry over cancellation the actors are asking for their bit parts to be bigger. Cosmic sniggers at this.
Beverley, who writes The Picayune's internal monologue, says it is no good looking at her. She has no idea where this went.
WHEN THE PAST IS NO LONGER WORTH HOLDING ON TO
After an early shower I felt relaxed. Didn't feel tired either. So I started to attack some more of the mess in my room. I didn't even mind Cosmic hanging around. First drawer that I opened had more of my late Mums stuff in it. I felt sure we had sorted all of her clothes out. Well except for the stuff in the wardrobe and then there is that other stuff at the top of the lighthouse. Still I felt sure we were coming to the end of it. Then I opened another drawer and another. Anyway it is all done now and Cass cleaned and mended the drawers that had just given up hope.
So I came to the drawers I knew only had contents that I had put in them. There were folders of papers all to do with me buying a house. This was years ago but here the papers still were. Communications back and forward to solicitors and estate agents and banks. Cosmic asked if the solicitors I dealt with were any good. I must admit the person that dealt with all my problems, believe me there were plenty of them, was very good. So Cosmic looked up her name. Cass found a photo of her on the Internet. Was that her? Cass expected me to say yes or no. How would I remember. This was fifteen years or so ago. We all change in that time. Nevertheless, Cosmic made a note of her name and said it would come in handy when he moved. When he moved? I was under the impression he already had.
Back to my drawers. I found papers and diaries going back to the Eighties. Now I remembered why I kept putting off going through all this flotsam. There were memories of things I simply couldn't remember having a memory of. There were entries in the diaries that suddenly burst out into an emotional echo. I came across drawers of spare paper with the odd comment or idea written on them. Half a novel badly written, two novels well written but badly plotted and several other moments of genius and madness. Cosmic looked and some of the more puerile, self loathing pieces and said that they would have made good lyrics for his songs. Little did he know that I remembered what some of the lyrics to his music were like, so his comments were not necessarily complimentary.
Having put all the waste paper in one pile, well several really as one pile would just fall over. All the legal documents I had kept for some reason plus kept for idle curiosity in another pile for burning. I was left with the important pile. The pile I wasn't sure of. Should I keep or throw? But like music and books before it. I had lost heart in the memories. I remembered why I kept them but couldn't rekindle the thought process that made me arrive at the same conclusion. So that pile was thrown away too. Oh I kept a few things. But the drawers are all empty now and I am down to just two sides of the room to clear.
So my past is mostly empty drawers. The present is full of sorting out the past. While the future is something that I tend to look at through gaps in my fingers, as my hands cover my eyes. I am not sure I will ever arrive there. If I do, it will be far from any place I am likely to want to be. But on the off chance it is livable. I might as well clean up the present.
WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?
I used to be up with popular culture. When a band came on the radio, or an actor appeared on television, if they were any good, I would predict that they would go far. They nearly always did. Now, with the advent of the Internet, I have no idea what is going on. Pure opinion turns out fact and fiction in equal measure. Suddenly some strange idea will take shape, and instead of discussion, all we see are nodding heads. We have spawned a Nation, no, a World of 'yes men'. When the doctor tells you to do something, we are supposed to believe they are advising us for our own good. Well they know what they are doing so lets not argue. When did we become so easy to manipulate? When did we stop asking questions? Go to war and bleed our kids dry? Sure, no problem. Why are we going to war? We don't know but we are told it is a fair and just war, so off we go. When did we gang up on the differing opinion? When did we become so bovine? Put a hook in our nose and lead us where you like. If it is to the slaughter house, then we are becoming too stupid to notice. Prisoners of our own self neglect. There is a line uttered by William Foster, played by Michael Douglas, in the film 'Falling Down'. A good film I never tire of seeing when it is on Television for the umpteenth time. William Foster says near the end of the film, "I am the bad guy? When did that happen?" The older I become the more I understand.
I deliberately waited until it was late to start on my further attempts at clearing up. Parts of my room haven't been touched since, goodness knows how long. I have bought a house and sold it and still this room remains full of bags and mounds of rubbish. Cosmic is doing his best not to face his own home. Doesn't he have things to do at his home? Since his post is delivered here now, or at least at the quayside, he seems to have forgotten his own abode. I don't want to push him. Or at least didn't until today. The irony is I thought he may be suffering with the strain of what happened with Milverton and the poison weeds. Suffering mentally, as if he needed a councillor or something. But today he was helping move boxes and bags. We came across a bag on the floor, full of open envelopes. They all had my name on them and they were with a bunch of old cardboard files full of copies of old invoices. So Cosmic turns to me and asks if I think I had been suffering from some nervous disorder when I hoarded this stuff away. I don't know what I was suffering with but I do know something. Two recycle skips are now full of the last two days of clearing. Still it keeps on coming. I came across a load of old photographs taken on my favourite holiday. Well one of my favourite holidays. Why did I hoard the photos away in a bag and lose them under a whole lot of used envelopes? May never know the answer. May never again go on holiday.
I never used to dream of my Dad. When he died, it was a sudden death, like my Mum. I used to have the normal dreams soon after his death. Of him turning up and me trying to explain to him that he was dead. After the first six months or so after his death, those went. Now since my Mum died I have had very few dreams of her at all. Good old brain trying to protect the old subconscious. But over a year after she went, my Dad keeps turning up as a character in my dreams. I no longer think that he thinks he is alive. He is just there. Last night, I was in a passenger plane and there were few passengers about. The plane was stuck on the runway. The passengers were told to relax, so I spread out on a row of seats. Suddenly the plane started to lift off and struggle to gain height. I wasn't scared but aware we kept hitting pylons and trees. Then we were on a road and I had no idea where we were going. Yeah the road dream again. Very odd. Still I knew that cleaning up and disturbing my memory would cause some upheaval. That is why I put off doing all this for so long.
So the answer to Cosmic's question about whether or not I had a nervous melt down when I was hoarding all my envelopes. The answer is probably no. But I seem to be having a breakdown now I am cleaning them all up.
NOT ALONE FOR LONG AT THE LIGHTHOUSE
It had been sometime since I was alone in the lighthouse. Cass was out at work. Cosmic was out giving her a lift and then said he would go for a drive. I declined the offer of joining him. Cass asked what I was going to do today? I declined to give her an answer, because I was unsure myself. Perhaps I would continue to tidy my room. Or more likely catch up on a few television programmes I had missed. Better still, I would while away the time as only I can. I would end up doing nothing and no doubt regret it. Still regret is a small price to pay for idleness.
Sadly none of my none plans came to fruition. Cosmic arrived back at the lighthouse within the hour, explaining that the Police were stopping people going into his road. He was going to pop home and just see what the old place looked like. But he was stopped. Turns out the policewoman who barred his entry said she wasn't at liberty to explain why the road was closed off. Cosmic tried to explain he lived there. But all she would say was that he wouldn't be able to see the wood for the trees. So Cosmic was turned back. Still he did manage to pick up the post from our post box at the quayside. He was glad he did. Apparently, his electrical company have upgraded his account. They will no longer estimate his bills. Instead he will have to provide the figures because they will no longer sent anybody around either. Cosmic wasn't quite sure in what way this meant his account had been upgraded. He was now doing all the work for them. What was even more interesting was how Cosmic was going to manage to fight his way to his home, let alone read the metre.
Cass was picked up at work. This time I did go along for the ride. Looking tired after a hard day, she asked Cosmic and myself what we had been up to. So Cosmic told her about the problems with his house. Good job I had gone along for the ride, because I was able to remind her that we had run out of bread. Wearily she asked why nobody had bought any then? After the day we'd had, what time had we left? Anyway as she was going to the shops we decided she might as well fetch some fish and chips as well. Typical woman, took an age and then brought back far more than we needed. Good time to shop, this time of day, because they were chucking out some fresh food and some other food nearing its sell by date. So she had bought for pennies some Apple Pie and bread rolls.
After the meal, Cass dropped off. She began to wheeze again. I was reminded of the Edgar Allen Poe story, 'The Tell Tale Heart'. Except this was the tell tale wheeze. On top of that she missed the big news. Cosmic's road had made the local bulletin on television. The local area around Cosmic's house has been closed. Several people had not been seen since travelling into the area. Now cars cannot make it down the road as huge thorns and weeds were blanketing the place. Cosmic looked at me and I returned the gesture. Then we both said the name at the same time.
"Milverton, the gardener!"
THE CALL COMES
When the man from the ministry called, I was still in my night attire. He stood there at the door, in full business suit and white pumps. He handed me a card and said nothing. On the card was printed his name and where he came from. On the back, were printed the words 'say nothing'. So I didn't and invited him in.
" I cannot tell you my name for security reasons," he said as he touched his nose with his finger. I pointed to the name on the card he had given me. "Mix up at the printers, say nothing". The man from the ministry then asked if the 'others' could join us. So both Cass and Cosmic were called and came downstairs. Cass sat, I sat and Cosmic leaned on a door. The man from the ministry eyed the only other chair available. It was covered and had been covered with clothes for nearly two years. As he wouldn't be staying long, I decided not to disturb them.
" As you know, Caustic Cove is slowly being ripped off by a plot device, taken from at least two well known novels." The man from the ministry said.
" I think you'll find that's just coincidental," I quickly interrupted.
"That be as it may. Your arch enemy, Milverton the gardener, has injected the whole of the area around Mr Cosmic's house with the same poison he injected into the weeds in Cosmic's garden. This was done, as you know, to find the buried golden bull. Although why I am explaining this to you is beyond me." The man from the ministry looked at the chair again. Cass had to explain why the man from the ministry had to explain everything. The figures for this blog had dropped and so in a pathetic attempt to gain a bigger A and B audience share, we had to make sure everybody was included in the past plot lines. The man from the ministry told us we would have to meet at some secret location to receive instructions as to how to combat this creeping menace. Turned out the secret location was very near to where Cass had to go to collect work the next day. So we could kill two birds with one stone.
Driving through Havenedge is no fun at the best of times. But having to go to the secret location via the 'wall of death' is just being foolhardy. Cosmic had to cross two lanes of traffic to turn right and then two lanes to turn left and then reverse the process on the way back. All while cars and builders vans decided to park on double yellow lines, causing us to overtake into oncoming traffic and take our life by the scruff of the neck and shake. All this while shouting at life, "How much do you want to live!?"
The secret location was an old abandoned church. Cosmic parked and we decided to let Cass go in and collect the instructions. No point in putting us all at risk. Cass came out, half an hour later saying the man who was supposed to give us instructions wasn't there, but a note marked 'secret' was. The note just said 'Stop the weeds and stop Milverton'. So we went back home, via the wall of death and via McDonalds. Cass bought us the meals while Cosmic and I discussed weed strategy. We hadn't thought of any by the time Cass returned behind a mound of fast food bags. The fate of the world was in our hands, yet we ate burgers and watched the tame sparrows try to steal food from us.
After Cass had put the food bags in a handily placed bin, we drove off. As I looked back, could I see the birds converse with the hedge we had been parked by? Or was it just a trick of the light? Only time would tell?
Actually now I think about it, it was just a bird in a hedge. Nothing to see really.
IS IT THE SAME AS IT WAS?
No it isn't the same as it was. What sort of stupid pointless question was that? Nothing stays the same. Well some things stay the same. There are always people who do things that upset other people. Like inject poison into weeds and make them spread and take over the world. Well that may not be a comparison many can identify with. Not until the thorns started knocking on your window in the dead of night, as the wind encourages the menace to tap out their fateful warning. But it’s neglect that really changes things. We neglect each other, we neglect ourselves and we neglect things when we think they will never change. I was watching the film 'Gnomeo and Juliet' tonight. Some would say I may have read more into it than there was. Some may say I didn't read enough into it. Others just wish there was less of Elton John's music in it. But it was about gardens and neglect and Gnomes and regret. It filled the space between the final and the results show of 'So you think you can dance.' This is yet another take on the 'New Faces' format that everybody rips off. Except this show has young talented people dancing. So nobody watches it. Instead they prefer to watch and talk and spew out opinions concerning the 'Pop Idol' and 'Britain’s got talent' type of show. Which shows mostly talentless people on both sides of the judges panel. I did watch one or two in the beginning, I must admit. But I really don't 'get it'. Pointless and a waste of air time. But people love it. I feel so alone.
Somebody else who feels alone is Ethel. She called around to the lighthouse today. Alone and looking far from happy. I had imagined she was in a blissful state of companionship with Bernie, ever since they moved out of Cosmic's. Nothing could be further from the truth. Her days of living alone and feeling lonely, longing to be half of a couple have taken their toll. Now Ethel is part of a couple, she feels alone and lonely. However, she can no longer wallow in her inner turmoil. Some idiot keeps taking the duvet, or being in the kitchen when she wants to cook something, or watching the television on the other side of what Ethel wants to watch. Being alone is wonderful, she's speaking I believe. It's not easy trying to tell him, that she'll shortly have to leave. A line the Monkees should have used instead of the one they did. A vague reference that few will understand. But being obscure shows depth when you are as shallow as I am.
On the other hand Cosmic is ready for battle. Armed with his shield and sword. Astride his loyal steed. He is ready to fight the sharp thorns of deceit and decay. Cosmic is ready to join the battle. Except I have managed to convince him to wait a bit. I will help him once I have sorted out my room and things. Well, we must have learned something about war. Going off to do battle, half equipped and ill prepared. On the word of a liar and a conman. All seems oddly familiar. So let us wait a while. At least until it stops raining. Yes I know the blood is up and the kids are just dying to go to war. But let them take a deep breath and enjoy life for a little while longer. Actually it didn't take much to persuade Cosmic to cool his hot blooded spurt of revenge. A nice piece of toasted tea cake did the trick.
Meanwhile, in some dark recess of the mind. Tori Gibson, one half of the now married script writing team, rocked herself to sleep. Her knees drawn tightly to her lack of womanly chest. She mourned the loss of her ambition. It had all changed. It wasn't the same as it was. To the outside world, Tori was a young married, successful writer. But scratch away at the facade and she saw the blemish and dry skin of reality. Her husband was in the other room. Over smoking and drinking, keyboard on hand, hammering out another failed idea in two thousand words or less. Guy Bolton just knew this would be the one to make it out of the pointless show he found himself writing for. If he could just have a chance and pitch it to the big studio. Problem was there wasn't any big studio any more. The big studio had been taken over by a smaller studio. But the smaller studio had the money now. They had a show that was just unmissable. A bunch of failed celebrities sat and judged a bunch of failed human beings. Until they found an old or young human being that the audience went for in a good way. The funny old woman could sing. The young little boy could juggle. What a show, what an audience taker.
Tori rocked herself some more. Did she really want to be here? Did she really want to be in a business that boasted a pantomime as its biggest success? The hammering outside stopped. Guy shouted to her that he had "got it". Tori knew he hadn't.
A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING ?
Well at least most of the messy bit is done. Don't look at what still has to be done. Just be happy at what has been achieved. Right, I will take my own advice and try and be happy. Except there is an endless list of things that come skipping into my head, wherever I glance. More desks to be dismantled, whole units to be transferred to other rooms. Don't even ask how we are supposed to move THAT out of the room ands down the stairs. How did we manage to bring all this stuff in. I guess in those days, boats were hired and men were there to help. Good lord, after thirty five years everybody seems to have gone. I have moved out and moved back in again. Cosmic seems to have been a visitor who now wants to change his status to permanent resident. I would like to say he has been handy with helping to move things. But he was downstairs most of the weekend keeping well out of it. Pondering his up and coming battle with Milverton, the gardener and his weedy and thorny henchmen.
I was left to my own devices. Which meant I had no intention of doing anything. Until I absent mindedly moved something. which created space for something else. Then before I knew what was happening, I was knee deep in dust and spiders and papers and filth. Then there comes a time when there is no turning back. So I didn't, and with sneezing and swearing in equal measure, I cleared a three shelf cupboard. While I was chucking out the rubbish, Cass dismantled it. This morning I have filled the last recycle bin. If they are all taken oven in the rowing boat at once I bet it sinks. No, well may be not. But three recycling skips full, plenty of broken wood to put into Cosmic's car to dump. Still so much to do. But let us enjoy what has been done.
Whenever any big moving and clearing job is done. There are always bits and bobs that have been left behind. Are they worth keeping for use or memory? I have statements and insurance forms going back eleven years. Came across my hospital discharge form. Why had I kept that so long? The memory of that near death experience hardly fills me full of joyful reminiscences. That's another problem with clearing up. It reminds you of the past too much. Have I mentioned I hate clearing up? What am I doing it for? We will all be dead before we can complete this. Settle down, settle down, enjoy what you have achieved. Think how long it has taken you to come to this point. Think how quickly it was achieved once you set your shoulder to the wheel. Think, why you are now talking to yourself in the third person?
Must have a shower today and a change of clothes. Was too tired yesterday. Then think about paying bills. Oh no here we go again. Must learn to relax, enjoy the moment. A place for everything and everything in its place.
DEBRIS
After the grand clear out of my room, Cass decided to take down the curtains. She then took down the pelmet. I am now curtain less. As the windows still have blinds, it bothers me not at all. Even though I never actually touched the curtains since the day they were put up. I still feel decidedly naked without them. Meanwhile the floor is covered in bits of paper. Too large to vacuum up. It is if the paper has been hiding under desks and furniture, only now joining the spiders and the insects in seeing daylight. I keep slipping on the paper and then having to pick them up. Unscrewing the folded secrets, only to find another victim of the three piles. 'Rubbish,' 'file 'or 'burn', with the file pile in denial. Anyway, I have work to do so I just need to uncover my computer. Or rather, find my computer, uncover it and start work.
Today is recycling day. We have three skips full of papers and other materials to be recycled. Cosmic wants me to help him. We also need bread and Cass has to go to Havenedge to deliver work. So despite my hectic schedule, I am forced to drop everything and assist. So I carry a skip down to the boat. Then walk back to collect the other, while Cosmic carries the third. Cass follows with bags and boxes of work. After we load the boat with the skips we look at each other. This problem requires some thought. Cass suggests Cosmic rows over to the quay, collects the other boat and rows it back to the lighthouse. Cass and my good self will climb in the spare boat, row over to the quay, followed by Cosmic and the recycle skips. We will climb out first, collect the skips from Cosmic's boat and then we can be on our way. With that simple logic delivered, we all hear a noise. A slight rumble and then creek. We look at each other. I say the noise came from beyond the lighthouse, somewhere out at sea. Cosmic thinks it came from the opposite direction. Cass walks back to the lighthouse and opens the door. She doesn't go in but turns back after relocking the door. She tells us part of the ceiling board has come down. There is not much we can do without panicking and moaning about the worry and expense. So we all climb into our respective rowing boats and go on our way. On the row over I panic and moan about the worry and expense.
Despite my best efforts, I manage to nearly drown everybody, twice over. The first time I try and struggle onto the quay and hit Cass in the face with my foot. She is about to be toppled into the sea, but Cosmic is close enough to steady the boat. Then, after helping Cass out of the boat, I then manage to clatter Cosmic as he is passing a skip up to me. Suffice to say, we are all relieved when we make it, safe and sound to the car. Cosmic comments that there is a tree growing a few yards from the car. Although fairly thin, it is the height of a man. It wasn't there before. We all agree to think of a way to fight this weed war.
We stop off at the shops for bread and Cosmic has letters to post. I am asked to put some clothes that are in the boot of the car, into the Salvation Army recycle bin. This means I have to climb out of the car, go around to the boot of the car, collect six bags of clothes, then walk a few metres to the bin. Yeah me too. Still I do it in the best mood I can. I am still worrying about the collapsed ceiling in the lighthouse. Needless to say I am faced with yet more immediate problems. First of all the Salvation Army bin is the type you put clothes in a tip up drawer. You then close the drawer and the clothes are supposed to slide effortlessly into the bin. When I open the drawer there is a black bag of clothes already in there. I close the drawer and open it again. The black bag of clothes is still there. So I reach in and try to open the back bit of the bin. This is stiff but does open. Then snaps again on my hand. I curse and try and pull my hand out. So a fat man has one arm thrust into a Salvation Recycle bin swearing and cursing. While carrying loads of bags in the other. People passed by and shook their heads and tutted. But nobody came to my aid. Or tried to arrest me. Eventually I prized my hand out, pushed the black bag through and closed the drawer. I then opened it and put my bags into the tipping drawer and closed it. When I opened it again the clothes were still there. So I was again forced to thrust my hand into the bin and force the bags down. By the time I returned to the car, my hands were bloodied and scraped. But did I receive any sympathy when the others returned? Did I recycle bin.
The drive over to Havenedge was also fraught with danger. The Havenedge races were on so we had to face delays and drive over the course to reach the wall of death which would lead us to our destination. The temporary surface they put down on the road is like a carpet. Fine for horses, but like an ice ring for cars. Still all in all we managed to deliver, fight through the traffic and return all in one piece.
Once back at the lighthouse, Cass made us some bacon sandwiches and we sat under the falling roof and pondered our next move. Cosmic talked about the looming weed war. Cass talked about never asking to be born. I was calm and laid back and considered in my opinion. No not really, I continued to moan about the worry and expense. At times like these, it is nice to go outside and look at the clear night sky. It is good to see things greater than all our pointless worry. But we didn't go out. Instead we watched a television program about assisted suicide. It made us all realise that there are things more important than our pointless worry.
THE OLD KEY
It has been a busy day, what with one thing and another. Cass went to work and Cosmic drove her. Cosmic went onto to his house but still found the road blocked. Apparently, the council keep sending men in with chain saws to control the ever growing growth. The men however do not return. Only the chain saws are found. Which means that somebody would have had to have gone in to the weeds and returned. Otherwise how would we know about the chain saws being found? Yet another urban myth slaughtered at birth. Although Cosmic still believes there is something more to it. Men skiving off work is all that is at the bottom of this.
Having had his way barred, Cosmic went onto see Bernie and Ethel. Bernie was working on the next great English novel, but was happy to stop and have a cup of tea. Ethel, according to Cosmic, looked weary. Well I for one never thought it would last. Which meant that I was left to work, rest and play without the need of any planetary confectionery. One for the kids there. Paperwork just kept on coming and I kept on trying to process it. Needless to say, after a few hours of hard slog, I retired downstairs to the kitchen and some toast. I have been working upstairs because I don't want to stare at the ceiling board coming down. The lighthouse is pretty solid and made of sterner stuff. But outside is a balcony, that was glassed in to make another room. This would have been about thirty five years ago. In that time, the balcony has consistently leaked water in the rain. Despite the best efforts of a number of builders and handy men in the early days, nobody could ever fix the problem. They still charged for making the effort though.
Up until eighteen months ago, the balcony was fine. Then things began to go wrong. The ceiling in then balcony began to crack, washing machines broke down and the front door lock jammed. Meaning we needed a new lock. With so many things going wrong, we sort of lost track of time. Now the ceiling board crack is growing longer and larger and it is a case of, how much would a simple job be, if it turns out to be a complicated, jaw scratching job? No doubt we will soon find out the damage, one way or another.
When Cosmic returned, he informed me that our solicitors had moved. So instead of a nice simple trip out, it will be a long half an hour journey. No good for us at all. May have to move solicitors. Reminds me that I still haven't written a Will. Then comes the rather odd thing. I had been up and down stairs at least twice. Cosmic the same and Cass as many times again. So when Cosmic is coming up the stairs, he suddenly tells me a key is lying on the stairs. In full view, in the middle and in plain site. He brings it up and I recognise it as the key belonging to the old front door. The one the broke just after my Mother died. Now there is a simple enough explanation. It is just I cant think of one at the moment. Where did it come from? I have been taking stuff down after clearing out my room, but that was days ago. Somebody would have spotted it before now.
So the key and its sudden appearance must remain a mystery. I could think of some supernatural possibility. But the only ghosts in the lighthouse are our family. Who frankly would have better things to do than drop keys. Are they telling us to keep better care of the lighthouse? Are they telling us they prefer the old lock? Or are they telling us to unlock the prison our lives have become? No they are not. It must have been put into my pocket when the new lock was put in and become stuck in my trousers. For about eighteen months. No that seems just as unlikely. Oh well we may never know. Meanwhile I have some paperwork I should be trying to carry on with. Weird though, isn't it?
DOWN CAME THE RAIN
The ceiling board split a bit more. But then it would do with all the rain coming in. Wind and rain smashing into the lighthouse like it's mid winter. Cosmic found a torch and shone into the split of the ceiling board. He said he couldn't see much. Which was good. It meant there was no debris falling. Cosmic did see a wooden joist. It didn't seem to be sagging. He then saw another wooden joist. That wasn't sagging either. The large window that was put in thirty years ago wasn't showing any signs of cracking. So far it seemed all good news. But like an open festering wound, Cosmic didn't want to touch the ceiling board. He felt that would be tempting fate. So what happens now I thought? Cosmic also thought for a moment. "We have to find somebody who can repair it". 'We' do, do we? Actually that is good isn't it? May be he will sort it out. I relaxed and went back to work.
The last black bag was looked into. My room has uncovered it's last secret. No, I doubt it too. But guess what was in the black bag? Cardboard and paper and envelopes. I will rid myself of the bag today and so will be left with only the demons I know about that still hide away. It is ridiculous, when one considers the size of the room, just how much rubbish we are shifting out. Cass said the lighthouse has visibly grown a few inches after having all the extra weight removed.
The rain continues to fall in heavy showery bursts. We are closing in on the longest day of the year. So despite the cloud, I could see Caustic Cove very clearly at ten to three this morning. I didn't feel like sleep so just looked at the clouds rush by. I prefer the dark myself. Or at least a fairer share between night and day. Daylight is a bit too cocky for my liking.. "Look at me, look at me in my new dress", you can imagine it swishing the dress about. Day is definitely a woman who wears clothes too young for her to wear. Has the odd piercing in the side of the nose that one mistakes for a pimple. Plus jewellery better suited for the younger person. On the other hand, Night is clearly a man. Tired and straining to keep up with his younger bride. Night is often mistaken for Day's dad. But in fact they are married. Very ugly relationship, because Night can only be pushed so far before retaliating and putting Day in her place. They have nothing in common but need each other. Without Night, Day would be just another over the hill, stage struck performer. She would still think she has a chance of making the big time. But Night tries his best to protect his naive bride. They both shed the odd tear when they think the other isn't looking.
While Cass was working upstairs and Cosmic was watching a 'Supercar' DVD. I asked Cosmic what was his biggest regret was from his days in the limelight. After telling me I didn't want to ask, he decided it was his lack of musical capability in the instrument department. Especially the steel guitar. He liked the twang and the fact one could play Country and The Blues on it. Somehow I expected a little more depth to come out from his answer. But that was it. So we both ended up watching 'Supercar'. Then Cass came down, very pleased with the work she had done. She asked us what it was we were watching? So at around midnight, we all were watching Mike Mercury in 'Supercar'.
The rain began to fall again.
HABIT
Harry Warren and Al Dubin wrote a song called 'You're getting to be a habit with me'. It was written in the early thirties and I first heard it in the film '42nd street'. I liked the film and even have or had the DVD. While the song is a playful and warm and fuzzy. The word 'habit' has taken on a negative meaning. Everything from a 'drug habit' to 'I can't break the habit', has conjured up the vision of people hopelessly devoted to things they shouldn't be devoted to. Habits are easy to fall into. Especially the bad ones.
I used to have the habit for music and collecting music. I now have fallen into the habit of disliking music. As someone who used to listen to music all day, I now can't listen to music for more than say ten minutes. If I do, I soon have a visit from The evil wicked dug up body that barks. I liked listening, it is a habit I miss. Laziness and over eating and feeling sorry for yourself is a habit worth avoiding. But then some of us can't break the habit of a lifetime. It is habitual after all.
Habits start as a way to cheer us up. One starts off feeling fed up or under appreciated. We turn to things that will cheer us up and make us feel better. Food, drink, sex, people and even exercise. Everything can turn into a habit. I have the habit of turning the computer on first thing in the morning. I look at the various message boards I frequent, play for a bit and then decide what to do. Except that in reality I turn on the computer, look at the message boards, and end up writing reasons why I didn't write the things they said I wrote. But it has become a habit. But like most habits there is a tipping point. When one suddenly decides not to have that extra slice of cake, that extra hour on the computer. That habit of having too much time on one's hands. When there is just too much to do.
There are habits that one sees in others that one is glad one doesn't have oneself. I can over hear Cass talking on the phone. She is eating and talking . Then she will light up a cigarette and continue to talk on the phone. I am glad I am in the habit of talking and not eating. I am glad I don't smoke. Cosmic has a habit of coming out with the same set phrases. I used to when I talked to people. But as I don't actually talk to that many people anymore, I have a bigger vocabulary.
Still I must try and break a few habits. Always looking on the things that need to be done and not on the things that have been done. Thinking that watching television is a community experience. The times I ask other people what they want to watch out of the many things I want to watch. If they are not asleep, they are disinterested and always reply that I can put on what I want. But what do I want? I must stop listening to others and taking what they say as a personal attack. I am sure the continual rising of the pension age isn't just a pointless attack just on me. I must start looking forward to things and not expecting things I am looking forward to not to happen.
I must stop listening to Cass talking on the phone pretending she wants to micro manage our financial outgoings. Seeing as I am the one who stops her spending on pointless things. She has just spent money on something for the fridge to stop things falling out when one opens the door. I NEVER have things falling out when I open the door. May I suggest she stops flinging the door open and break neck speed.
I must fall into the habit of relaxing when I relax.
THE LONGEST DAY
There are an awful lot of people in the World. The Earth we live on is comparatively small, when you think about it. But there are still undiscovered places and peoples in it, that modern man has never encountered. New species of insects and animals are being discovered every day. Even if we are killing off just as many old species. So it is no wonder that most of us actually don't care because we are far too busy living life. So with this in mind. I would like to introduce you to The Picayune World of Wonder.
First let us travel (via the pages of the January edition of National Geographic), to Vietnam. What could we find in this once war torn part of the World that is undiscovered? Well I will tell you. There are caves so huge and deep, that one could put buildings 40 floors high in them. A 747 could use one as its hanger. As some of the roof of the caves have fallen in, jungles and vines have grown, like something out of Land of The Giants. People are still finding new caves and new parts they have not yet managed to go to.
Or let us travel to The Mississippi river in The United States. Huge mounds of ancient worlds were discovered. A hundred or so, where a city of one hundred and fifty thousand people once lived. Now this being the United States, the soil from the mounds were used as building material for various projects. A bit like the Egyptians using The Pyramids for a bit of building sand. But now people are trying to find out about the ancient civilisation around The Mississippi. We may find out about another people we knew nothing about.
So it is with this in mind that I decided to use the longest bit of daylight of the year to discover my own new Worlds. I first went to the post box. My first discovery is that I need to fool myself before I can take any exercise. I decided to cook up an elaborate plan to take Cosmic's car keys. and drive his car to the post box. The thought of walking up the hill was just too much. So I managed to take the keys and row over to his car. But when I arrived there, with keys in hand, I walked on by. Walked to the post box and posted my DVDs and returned to the boat. At this point I was losing enough oxygen to cause hallucinations. The fledgling tree, that Cosmic had mentioned was near his car last time we went shopping, had grown into a thick trunked tree, sprouting leaves and thorns. There was no doubt about it, something would have to be done. When I managed to row back to the lighthouse, I began to wonder if the size of the tree had not become exaggerated in my mind due to the lack of air. But somehow I doubted it.
When I returned to my room I noticed that both the carpet rugs had been taken up. Apparently several vacuums were needed and the washing machine required vacuuming as well after the washes. Whole new life forms had been lost in the washing of the ancient, dusty rugs. On each day I lose a bit of my dusty past and grow nearer to moving old things out and bringing new things in.
While I was out, there had been a phone call from Dull But Honest. He had commented on the jungle that was closing in around Caustic Cove. He had a plan. So Cosmic said we would get back to him.
PAPER, PAPER EVERYWHERE
Paper, paper everywhere, nor any page to print. Paper to the left of me, paper to the right. Paper to process, paper to throw, paper under foot and under bottom. Paper under desk and chair and nerves. Trying to balance banks and balance on a high wire. Life has gone on without me, while I have been digging myself out from under an avalanche of paper. Although. other than the loss of a carpet or two, I have not missed much or been missed. The tennis has kept me interested. Without Wimbledon, I may well have fallen off the wire or drowned under the waves of figures.
Beverley (she who writes the internal monologue of The Picayune) decides at this point to stop recording. She believes that The Picayune is ever so slightly being over dramatic and melodramatic. He is after all talking about paper. Paper as rubbish and paper as accounts. So with this in mind, Beverley turns her attention to the last few days in the life of Cosmic and co. As you know, she doesn't record the internal thoughts of anybody but The Picayune, but she is on good terms of the internal recorders of others. So it is with good authority we leave the ramblings about paper and move instead to the World of Weeds at the battle for Caustic Cove.
It all started on a Thursday. Well no, it actually started long before that. It really started when the fool of a gardener decided to hide some prize winning painted bulls under the ground at Cosmic's. If you missed the story or want to be reminded of it then please refer to 'The Story So Far'. Anyway this part of the weed story started on a Thursday. Cosmic was on his way to give Cass a lift to work when he noticed a bit of paper stuck under the windscreen wiper of his car. The note simply said he must go to the church where he would receive further instructions. Cosmic would normally ignore notes like this. He has after all been involved in the pop music world and frankly there were all sort of notes passed then that were best avoided. But when Cass saw the note, she too knew it meant something important. So much so, that Cass was willing to forgo the day at work and join Cosmic in his adventure.
Cosmic had to drive into Havensedge, over the racecourse and around the wall of death. Then turn right at the 'Nothing to see here' sign. Down the slope over the speed bumps. Turn third right at the 'Go away, there really is nothing to see' sign. Although badly vandalised, it actually reads 'G way. there really is see'. But one understands the point the original sign was supposed to convey. Then Cosmic drove over more speed bumps and then left into a hidden drive that leads to a slope and a tight turn and a car park full of cars. The car park sits alongside a run down church. Cosmic somehow manages to find a place to park and waits. Cass asks him why he doesn't actually go into the church. Cosmic explains that the note said nothing about going into the church. Cass tuts and as she climbs out of the car and walks towards the church, the rain begins to fall. Cosmic puts on his windscreen wipers and it is then he discovers the squeaky windscreen wipers have been made squeakier by sticking a note under them.
Cass heads towards the stairs that are in front of the church. She is wearing bifocals and the steps are wet. Cass walks up the slippery steps, like a mountaineer climbing the north face of the Eiger. When she reaches the door, she pushes it and goes in. There is a lady sitting at the desk. She greets Cass.
" We have been expecting you Mr. Antidust". The woman at reception says.
" No I am not he of whom you speak. I am a friend and wish do gather the instructions a note said he should collect", Cass replies. (Beverley would like to point out that she doesn't take any responsibility for the accuracy of some of the dialogue. Not all internal thought recorders are as vigilant as she is).
So Cass is shown into a corridor and follows some more steps and has to climb them. Her back is playing her up and she is puffing away. Cass reaches a door marked ' You have been misinformed'. The door is locked. Cass makes her way down the stairs. The lady at the reception makes a phone call on receiving the news that the door is locked.
" Oh is he? Right then, so he will not be back at all. Shall I just give Mr Antidust the key then? Right oh" The lady gives Cass a key. Cass finds the return journey much easier up the stairs this time. Good to know. So Cass tries the key in the door. It doesn't fit. So Cass returns to the reception. The lady at reception makes another phone call. " Oh is he? Right then, so it is all right to tell Mr Antidust the combination.". Cass is given some numbers and returns to the office via the stairs. Her back is feeling nice and loose at this point. So Cass reaches the door to the office. She puts her key in the lock and under the mat she is standing on, a number pad is revealed. Cass presses the numbers of the combination. A bell is heard from inside the office. A girl comes to the door and opens it. Cass explains why she is here. " Right then", says the girl. " You must be Mr Antidust". Cass says she isn't. The girl hands her a note. The note says ' Sorry you have called while I am out. Join Mr Straw and Mr Dull But Honest at the lighthouse tomorrow. All will be revealed'.
Cass returns to the reception and then heads down the steps. The steps are now very wet and she hangs on to the railings as she descends. She is as cautious as a mine sweeper without a mine sweeping machine. Cass climbs back into the car. Cosmic has the radio on. " Raining at Wimbledon" he informs her.
Once back at the lighthouse, The Picayune continues to talk about paper.
So we return to The Picayune's closing statement.
Where was I? Oh yes I know. Did anybody leave at any point in the last few seconds? I felt I was talking to myself. Anyway all this paper, hear me roar, too loud to ignore, for I am ......actually now you come to mention it, something else strange did happen. Cosmic and Cass arrived home talking about Dull But Honest and Silas Straw turning up. I said I know. Then they ask me how did I know? Well because they rang and told me. It is all to do with the War of the Weeds. It is going to be very hot next week. Perfect fighting weed weather.
Now back to the real story of the paper.
THE GATHERING
A thick sea fret hung over the lighthouse for most of the day. Whether by design or just luck, the mist did enough to hide the gathering that was taking place. The plan was not to take the normal route to the lighthouse. The Caustic Cove quay side was already being watched over by the ever growing, ever increasing weeds. The weeds and thorns were everywhere now. Children had been told to keep indoors. Pets had been lost. Now the emergency services were keeping a low profile. They wouldn't admit but too many men and women had been lost in the forest of disdain. So when the first boat arrived at the lighthouse, it had come from along the coast. In the hope that secrecy could be kept for just a little bit longer. The crow faced scarecrow Silas Straw was the first to arrive. He knew the surrounding countryside like no other. He had worked long hours in the fields and was only too aware of the impending disaster. The raised voices of Bernie Woodstain and Ethel arrived long before their owners stepped in through the front door. Nobody had been expecting them. They had nevertheless been informed or more honestly instructed to attend. The last to arrive was Dull But Honest. A man nobody considered a friend, but to whom Cosmic, Ethel and Bernie owed their lives. So the gathering seemed complete. But, just as Cass was about to relax after making tea and coffee for everyone, another knock on the door silenced the assembled group. Cass went to the door. A man and a young girl stood there. The man introduced himself.
There were not enough seats to satisfy everybody, even if the piles of clothes had been removed from some of chairs. Cass apologised for the hanging down ceiling and asked everybody to make themselves as comfortable as possible. Suddenly there was a crashing noise from upstairs. Cosmic was the first to reach the reason for the disturbance. When he returned to the group, he informed them that The Picayune had dropped off while sitting at the computer and was dreaming. He had kicked his desk across the room and some speakers and papers had been scattered. The Picayune arrived seconds later and complained that he couldn't find anything important since he had tidied up.
The stranger with the daughter was the first to speak sense. " My name is Legion, Henry Legion and this is my daughter Lexxy. Say hello to everybody Lexxy" The man pulled at the girls hand and she just made a noise, not unlike a female tennis player serving an ace. Various members of the gathering dived for cover in fear. This allowed The Picayune to sit down in his usual chair. Legion smiled, and continued.
" You see lady and gentleman, I know why we are here. Lexxy's mother has been a victim of the weed. She is missing and the authorities do not believe any of us. They cannot see the threat the weeds pose. I want you to know that we are only too aware of the danger we are all in. All of you have skills that will become useful as the war goes on. Well not all of you have skills obviously, but we had to meet somewhere. So without further ado I would like to introduce the leader of our justice league of Caustic Cove. Mr Dull But Honest". With that, the man named Legion stepped back into a trinket laden shelf and spent the next half an hour apologising and picking things up off the floor. While he did this, Dull But Honest informed the gathering that the war against the weeds would not be a quick nor easy one. It would have to be conducted by stealth, hit and run and grab and cut tactics. The gathering couldn't use chain saws. That is what attracted the weeds to attack and capture the people who had gone in to cut the weeds in the first place. No, the gathering must use silent cutting. Attack different areas at different times. Never go alone and always be careful of cuts and scrapes.
So it was on this day that it began. Well the planning bit anyway. The war of the weeds was declared. The gathering silently dispersed from the lighthouse. There was silence before the dawn. Especially for The Picayune who had dropped off again and was dreaming of kicking something.
BREAKING THE ROUTINE
When you have done something for years, it comes as a shock when you find the thing you need to do it is not there. It should be there, because I put it there. I have a failsafe system that I check every so often. But the failsafe also failed. So a routine thing now has to be more complicated. It means communication with people. That means I shall have to put if off until the very last minute. I hate routine, but I hate it even more when that routine I hate is broken through no fault of my own.
The lighthouse has instruments for the tide and the temperature and the wind direction. In the early days we used to check on them every few hours. As it no longer had any connection to work, watching the changes was fun. But after a while the routine becomes pointless, until that is, we have a slight change in the weather. Mention our two day heatwave to people who live in the hotter parts of the World, and all you receive is a guffaw or a snobbish comment. But if someone living on the North Pole spoke of 12 degree changes, everybody would panic and want to know more. But we are just laughed at. Problem with the lighthouse is it has different temperatures for different places within the lighthouse. The battery operated LED thermometer, that measures the heat out and in , on the north east part of the lighthouse. Is announcing thirty one and a half degrees in and over thirty out. Clearly this is wrong. I am standing there looking at it, knowing that, even in a dry heat, it isn't that warm. The display on the first floor says it is about twenty two degrees inside. While the big brass, old fashioned tide clock and gauge, situated at the front and in the full glare of the early morning sun, announces to those that care that it is twenty six degrees. Now this gauge is situated in a glassed in spot that is like a greenhouse. If we wanted the hottest place in the lighthouse to warm ourselves that would be it. So while it is no doubt becoming warmer. The fact is that, right now, we are mid to high twenties,
As I worked really hard last week, I feel doubly cheated that things still go wrong. I am also making sure that I will join the weed war when it is cooler. Frankly I care little for cutting down thorns and weeds. But as Cosmic tells me his house was mentioned as the start of the infestation. People being people have shown their sympathy by muttering obscenities behind his back, while throwing fruit and dairy products at him. This is a good thing in a way and has saved on shopping for said items. So to show support, I will join in the cutting and the weeding. But when it is cooler and at a time that best suits us all. Or suits me really.
Cass wants to deliver some work in Havenedge today. I shall have to decide if it will be cooler in a car or on the lighthouse. Otherwise I am stuck with the filing and yet more rubbish. No break in the routine there then.
WATCHING
Watching the early weather report on television. I see that on the satellite picture, we have thunderstorms in and around Havenedge. As a child, I would have thought it impossible that we would be able to see satellite pictures and see what weather we are having at the moment. In those days we would have just looked out of the window. I look out of the window. It is still hot and sunny. Everybody in the lighthouse is up early because of the heat. We await the storms.
Watching the early news report on television. I see that the public service workers in Havenedge are striking. They will march through the city with posters and placards, denouncing the Government. Apparently they will now have to pay more and work longer for the same pension. So they have now caught up with most of the rest of us. I wonder where these people have been for the last few years? Or am I the only one who has suffered from diminishing pension forecasts for the last five years? I wasn't the only one? So where have the public service workers been?
Watching the early report from Wimbledon Tennis, I am aware I only know one name in the Women's quarter finals. But it doesn't matter. Every other big sport event has suffered from lack of interest over the years. The FA Cup final is no longer the big event it used to be. Cricket test matches can come and go without a ripple on the consciousness. Boxing World Champions are not the events they used to be. So while tennis lacks the characters of ten, twenty, thirty years ago. Wimbledon remains an event.
Watching the rain and thunder in the afternoon I am aware that there is activity in Caustic Cove. I can hear people talking. The atmosphere must be making the acoustics clearer than usual. Cosmic waits until it has settled down before putting the recycling out. The more Cosmic stays at the lighthouse the more he takes on my dislike of the outside world. He is aware people know his house is the epicentre of the weed problem. People are not quiet in blaming him nor backward in expressing their opinion. As somebody who was once a popular figure, he doesn't understand how quickly the public can turn. Or how easily lies can take on the veneer of fact.
Watching The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, standing in the rain, grinning. I am reminded that for no apparent reason he can turn up. Still I have cleared another desk today. In my room it is just the shelves to tidy and the top of the television and stereo cabinet to sort out. We are slowly but shortly managing to sort things out.
SELF HELP
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks was sitting at the table. I say sitting, but he was perched somewhat uncomfortably, on a few carpets that had been put in a bag and put on the chair, that he was a attempting to sit on. He beckoned me over with a bony finger. On the table, amongst the growing debris of existence, lay a few books. They were self help books. They had titles like 'What to do when The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body Comes A Calling'. 'Just say no to the bark' and ' A thousand and one ways to clean the guttering'. The last book I think was a mistake but appeared the most useful.
Gesturing towards the books, The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks encouraged me to pick one up. So I reached for the nearest one. Self help books tend to be like books about astrology. We know it isn't true and no explanation quite fits perfectly anyway. 'You are on the cusp of Aries and it is all your Mothers fault for leaving you to cry as a baby'. That sort of thing. With books about The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, one finds that they all say how strong those that see The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks are. Then the books try and tell you why you see The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks. They give you several alternatives. None however completely fit. So you end up with a sort of mix and match affair. None however come up with the simplest explanation. People who see The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, simply don't like themselves or other people very much. They look at The World and see the weakness and decay in everything. It is all a chemical reaction. Nothing one can do about it except take drugs and think happy thoughts. I walk away from the table and when I glance back, The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks has gone.
Bernie Woodstain has been covering the marching strikers in Havensedge. But he wasn't impressed. Try as he might he couldn't coax out a decent quote. What was worse apparently, was that he ended up arguing with the protesters. They were talking about increased contributions for their pensions and falling pensions and no wage increase in two years. Bernie said he hadn't had a wage increase in five years and his pension was falling. So a young teacher of English poked him in the chest with a banner and told him that they actually had to pay for their pension. So Bernie said he did as well. "But", said the teacher," We actually have to pay for our pensions". So Bernie repeated " so does the private sector". So there was a row and nobody really understood what the other side were saying. Then somebody shouted " down with the posh oiks in Government", then someone else mentioned Socialism. Bernie said Socialism never worked because under the Socialist Governments the divide between rich and poor widen. Then somebody else cried out 'down with Socialism and the posh oiks in opposition'. Then there was a chant 'you'll never take the station', which was aimed at the Police and referred to the railway station. Then things became confusing. Bernie tried to write a piece for the local paper but he gave up. Which is the reason he ended up sitting in the lighthouse nursing a Stella Lager. Don't they have somewhere else to go? Like the pub for instance? Bernie said the pub was full of drinking teachers.
Cosmic found a good stream for watching football via the Internet. Yes football starts before the tennis ends. Great picture and much debate. But my heart isn't in it. One side can't name a the full compliment of substitutes, while the other wants to still be on holiday. Still the fans like it. Good crowd and Cosmic shouts at the screen in frustration from time to time. It is as if it football has never been away. Oh it hasn't has it?
Cass is keeping quiet about her birthday. We never really celebrate birthdays. Cass always has a Wimbledon birthday and in the past that would mean watching tennis. Mine usually falls on a bank holiday. So we revert to just cake and bread as a celebration. Cosmic decides to talk about all the wild parties he had in the good old rock and roll days. I ask what they were like. He tells me I don't want to know. At least that little ruse on my part worked. Cake and bread it is.
NO MORE EXCUSES
Well that is it then. Only two more reasons not to go to war with the weed wizard. Then I will run out of excuses. Yes Wimbledon is over soon. Watched the men's semi finals with great enthusiasm. Until that is, in the second semi final, the British player stopped playing. It was weird, but as the British player was a set up and a point from nearly being two breaks up. He made a mistake and missed an easy winner. At that moment I turned to Cosmic and said that it was over and Murray would now just go to pieces. Which is what happened. Like most things in life. It is not about the losing, but the way of the loss. Being beaten by the better player is not shameful. But stopping playing is. Anyway we all have our views and nobody really cares what people think. That's why football clubs can change their colours so they can flog more strips to the fans who happily spend out the money. Nobody cares that they’re being conned. Or that a hundred years of tradition has just been ignored. Who cares after all? It is just a pair of shorts.
Talking of football, I left Cosmic to watch the tennis when Andy Murray had confirmed my fears he was going on a walkabout. Ah that reminds me of Evonne Goolagong. Who became Evonne Cawley. Proper players in those days. Stan Smith, Arthur Ashe, Jimmy Connors. Anyway where was I? Oh yes, leaving Cosmic downstairs, I went up to the computer to watch the Women England team play in the World Cup. Losing to New Zealand, they rallied to win. Still playing poorly but a win nonetheless.
So with Murray losing and Cosmic watching and swearing in one room. I was watching England Women's team struggle and was venting forth in another. Cass decided to leave the sport and do things. There was a crash in a third room and the noise of vacuum cleaners and swearing in another. I have no idea what she was doing and hoped I wouldn't care. But she appeared, suddenly framed in my doorway, wearing a strange gold lame top, with an old anorak over it. She then demanded my lower shelf as she had need of it. My shelf had books on it and I was in no hurry to clear it. So I said I would clear it tomorrow. Cass then went away and made noises and uttered rude words.
I decided to microwave a shepherd's pie as there was nobody else who seemed to heading into the kitchen to feed me. I am no stranger to the microwave. I know my way around one. So I defrosted the pie and then cooked it as per instructions. I sat down just as Cosmic was leaving the room. The lighthouse isn't that big but it is odd how often people leave a room when I enter it. So I began to eat my feast. Problem is it had turned into a gloop of charcoal. I don't know why? But I persevered and chipped away and crunched my way through it. Then ate the last bag of Malteser chocolate as a prize for myself for eating such a vile meal.
Come Monday, there will be no more excuses. I will have to return my mind to helping fight the weed war. Sorting out a missing prescription. Trying to clear my room. Helping Cosmic return to his own home. Oh well, never mind.
Wait a moment though. I wonder what Cass will buy me for her birthday treat? Those Maltesers went down very well.
THE ANTIQUE SOUL SHOW
A very thin woman, but attractive, in a would look good in high heels and leather sort of way. Is talking to The Picayune. She is asking him how long he has had it. The Picayune thinks for a moment. The reply is that he has had it for as long as he can remember. " Well why do you want get rid of it now?" she asks. The Picayune says that it has been put away in a drawer for so long, he never uses it anymore, so it would be good if it could go to a good home. The woman tells him it is about to go to auction and wishes him good luck.
" Lot 75, fat soul with no outstanding achievements. Selling to free space up. I will start at twenty pounds. Twenty pounds anybody? Twenty pounds anywhere? How about we start at Fifteen pounds? Anybody at fifteen pounds? Ten anybody? Twenty one grams anywhere? No, nobody wants it? Right then it goes unsold" Man slams hammer on desk.
The very thin woman tells The Picayune he will have to take it home with him. Does he mind? No not really The Picayune lies. So he leaves, taking his soul with him. A drunk man is crying on the steps leading to the auction house. He pleads to The Picayune to go back in and bid for a Trans receiver 30ps. The Picayune says he has no money. So the drunk reaches into his pocket and gives The Picayune a handful of change. So returning to the auction house, The Picayune starts bidding. He fails to buy the 30ps trans receiver. He has nowhere near enough money. But the drunk is mortified when told of the failure.
" I only have that much. It is always the same. I can never afford it. You will have to help me." the drunk says "We need to gather more money. We must buy the Trans receiver 30ps. I can set it up once we have it. Then we can stop it. We can show people"
A blond woman is looking at an old room with plain curtains and carpets. Nice enough room but it doesn't look lived in. She has a gang of people knock down walls and create a gaudy, technicolour, vile and over done mess. The woman announces that it looks "really really nice". But it doesn't. The blond woman says that any tired, old soul can be made over for the price of thirty or even twenty pieces of silver. Nobody looks convinced.
Outside the house where the soul is being 'made over'. A bloke is putting stuff away in a van. Packing up after the shoot, as they say. The bloke is talking to his mate.
" So I says to them. You can't keep building new souls. It says in the handbook. Original sin is not on. So what do they do? They arrest you and make you guilty for buying the bricks but congratulate you for building the house. But it is clear in the handbook. It's the begetting that's the sin. The original sin is having more souls. The sin is wanting immortality like whatsit and begetting kids. It is clear as day in the bloody handbook. We are the problem. We are the germ. Stop original sin it says. So what do we do, we change what original sin is........Pass the ladder over will you mate, we can then be on our way."
Helena Sukova, the once tennis star is looking at an odd looking tube with a small top. She scratches her chin and announces in a broad Yorkshire accent, that the thing she is looking at is not a toilet. It doesn't serve the function it has been invented for. It doesn't work. It shouldn't be here.
Later that morning, Cass talks about her take on something, someone said on the television. Being Sunday, it has something to do with sin. The Picayune remembers a dream he had.
IN THE CENTRE OF IMMENSITIES
The card from the dentists came today. Reminding us that we have a routine checkup to arrange. I have to also arrange a prescription replacement. Then there is the posting of the DVD. A few bookshelves to rearrange. When one is in the lighthouse, the hope is always that the outside world will slip away without me noticing it. But it doesn't. Then the phone calls start, yes we will drop in tomorrow, yes we can do that, no we can't do that. Without the outside world the lighthouse would be meaningless. It is just annoying that with the world poking and nudging me all the time, I find the meaning of it all confusing.
Take the dentists for instance. I hate dentists, but the one we go to is fine. Many years ago, I was in pain with a toothache. I hadn't been to a dentist in fifteen years. So I had to go to an emergency private dentist to sort out a temporary filling. Then arrange to go and see an NHS dentist. I wasn't living in the lighthouse. So I dealt with the problem without a fuss. It was a bit of life that was mine. I kept on going to my new NHS dentist. Even though the waiting room chairs were too small for me to sit in, or too low for me to climb out of. But the dentist was mine. Then last year, just after I came back to the lighthouse. Just before Christmas if the truth be told. Cass complained of a toothache. She likes dentists as much as I do. She no longer had trust in hers and so I suggested mine. So she now goes to mine. Now we go together. Now we even are asked to go into the Dentist's surgery at the same time. It is no longer my dentist. But our dentist. I have the same fear and annoyance about going. But it is no longer my fear alone.
Cosmic hopes it will rain. Otherwise he will have to take a sponge over to his car. The birds have decorated his windscreen. We are not allowed to kill seagulls, or rid the lighthouse of their nests. Nor are we allowed to chuck water at them. Apparently they are endangered and so are protected. I see no sign here of the demise of the pests. But the law is the law. So we must just keep cleaning and putting up with them. I just wish they would nest in the perfectly good cliff face down the road.
Another protected species are the thorn bushes that are amongst the weeds that are about to throttle the life out of Caustic Cove. The thorns are the flowering kind and attract butterflies. As so many people have concrete as a garden and a foreign thorn that doesn't flower has invaded our shores. It turns out our flowering thorn bushes need to be protected. People go missing and are attacked on a daily basis. But we now have to arrange to attack the thorn bushes, even more in secret. Hasn't stopped people throwing things at Cosmic because they still blame him for the weed infestation. As it was his house the weeds allegedly began their invasion.
So I stand in the crumbling lighthouse looking out at all this confusion. Then comes the report of a mid air plane crash along the coast. One plane made it, one didn't. We hear little buzzing planes go over all the time, heading for the small airport. The reports suggest the dead pilot crashed the plane in an open playground area, fighting to control the plane. He managed to clear the houses and by some miracle, nobody was out walking the dog, or playing in the playground. Fighting to protect others even as he knew he was about to die. Fighting to protect his specie. Not sure I would care enough to be that brave.
A helicopter has been up around us all day. There was a security van heist in Caustic Cove. Pictures of suspects have been sent to us all via the net. I feel for the security guards. I did their job once.
In the lighthouse we can't forget the outside world. It keeps telling us to stop doing things and to start doing something else. But I prefer to be here, looking out. I may have to visit it on the odd occasion. But I wouldn't want to live in the outside world. Not for any length of time.
I PUT THIS MOMENT HERE
A day when what had to be done was done. But nothing was done to chip away at what has to be done. Odd then that Cosmic feels contented. Contented that what had to be done was done. But I remind him of all the things that have to be done. Cosmic remarks that, there lies the difference between us. He looks at yesterday and remarks that we remain on course. On course for what? Doesn't seem to matter to Cosmic. We are just on course. Where as I complain that tomorrow we could sink. Sink from what or whom doesn't seem to matter to me. We could just sink. Cosmic reminds me that it is all finite. He also reminds me it is rubbish day and we need to order the shopping.
One thing I did do was organise my prescription. The receptionist was very nice and although they don't do reorders for lost prescriptions over the phone. On this rare occasion she would do it for me. I thank her and the post arrives with an NHS questionnaire about service. Are the two connected? Cass calls me a lucky so and so. Here was me thinking it was just my nice demeanour. Cosmic says if it was him on the phone reordering a prescription he would still think it was his calm demeanour. That, he says is the difference between us. Why all the reminders of the differences we share?
I have been receiving emails by my 'spy in the know', Deep Dull tells me the latest gossip concerning the weed war and football, Who signed for who and why. Who’s been cutting what thorn off what plant. Dull But Honest fools nobody but he has so many different aliases I forget it is the same person. He may be very clever but Dull But Honest doesn't like being himself. We live in a time and space that was made for him. I make this point to Cosmic, who just looks at me in a condescending manner. What could he mean?
We order the shopping and arrange the whole two boat ferry system. We make sure the delivery van knows where to stop and everything is in place. We make sure Cass and Cosmic and myself are all available for the delivery. On the morning of the delivery an automated phone call from the credit card company tells us there may have been an unauthorised use of our card. We check, there isn't. Sighs all round. Then Cass has a thought. She used the card for an order or two in the Internet. I used it to buy Cosmic some petrol and we used it for the shopping. We check the email from the supermarket. Everything seems OK. Delivery time, confirmation of arrangements. But Cass insists on ringing them up. I tell her the supermarket would have told us before now, via the many means of communication available to them, if there had been a problem. After all, it is now just three hours before the delivery time. But Cass being a belt and braces sort of person, rings up anyway. Yes the order has been cancelled by the credit card company. For no reason except the card has been used twice that day. No checks and no confirmation other than an automated phone call which was half an hour ago. Security just a little heavy handed. So we have to re arrange everything again. An extra charge for a delivery time, twenty four hours after the original delivery time appears instantly on an email. So we have an email confirming our original order and one giving us another order time with an extra payment charge. Still no cancellation email.
Modern life can be very odd. Cass is busy complaining by email about the lack of email from the supermarket. We tend to feel the credit card company were at least doing the job of security. Even if they couldn't spare the expense of asking us, other than with an automated call that came too late to save our shopping.
Cosmic says it is raining. It will at least clean the muck from the car windscreen.
MIRROR UNIVERSE
Keeping my head down today and Cosmic has retreated to a safe part of the lighthouse. But I cannot avoid the fallout. Cass is still up in arms about the shopping cancellation. Everything would have been fine but the supermarket replied to her complaint. They sent two emails. One was to a Mrs Higginthorpe and one was to Cass. Not a good start. Both emails explained that after the order for the shopping had been cancelled, the supermarket sent a text to our home phone number, but received no reply. If we didn't receive a text then we should contact our telephone provider. Cass is livid. She writes back an email explaining there were no missed calls, our main phone doesn't take texts and we are still charged extra delivery. However the email cannot be sent to the address provided and comes back undelivered. So Cass sends it to another address within the Supermarket email system. For some reason, the normally calm Cass is hopping mad and continues to complain to me and the passing seagulls, I tell her to calm down. What sort of strange alternate universe have I woken up in?
Talking of hopping mad people, Cass says she should go to the doctor as her back is stopping her walk any distance or madly hop. The pain starts after a few steps and then catches her. As a family we have always suffered from sciatica. Mine has been eased of late by sleeping with a cushion between my knees. Cass at last tries this remedy, but complains the next morning of the knees clapping the cushion so tightly it caused tension in her back. I am no doctor but I think that may be where part of her problem lies. She cannot relax when she is relaxing. I find myself explaining this and wonder what strange part I have been given in the days proceedings. I am the one with tension and moan and Cass tells me to chill. So why the reversal? Still I suggest that she make an appointment to the doctors if she thinks it will help. But they will only tell her to stop smoking and lose weight and take exercise. Cass says she can't take exercise because of her back. Isn't that what I have said is my problem? Anyway, Cass bends down and lifts and moves shelves and shows that there is little wrong with her back. If it is only walking that brings on the really bad pain (the pain is always there), try strengthening the legs with bending and standing and thigh work. Release the tension. Although I have a feeling Cass will turn to her cancer stick and wine to release the tension. But I can but advice.
I always have a pain in my back as well. I am not one to complain. But now the pain is moving down. Now I know why.
Cosmic says there are weeds growing around the quayside where the shopping will be delivered. I cannot stand anymore tension and tell him to stop it. When did I become the one people moan to. I am the moaner not the moaned at.
Today is Friday, and that puzzles me. How did it happen so quickly? There is still so much to do and it is Friday. Friday is the day I do things to put a full stop on the week. But then outside influences change the full stop into a comma (please don't mention punctuation - Beverley the internal monologue recorder) and I am left waiting for a new paragraph.
Shopping arrives and some things arrive in a bag and can be transported easily. While others are not. It takes forever to transport stuff over to the lighthouse. Then we start putting things away. After a time my back kicks in and I sit down and go through the list. I hear Cass moan at all the things I have put away as they are not in alphabetical order or date order or size order or something. We go through the list. Two bottles of vinegar, we ordered one and one egg actually missing from a egg box. Weird or what. Cosmic jumps around looking busy and then we all sit down for a break. But Cosmic senses the tension and is off after a sandwich. I ask how the pain is in my sister's back while mine still throbs. Cass says I remind her of a man she saw the other day on a documentary. He was an old Nazi who used to do what old Nazi people tented to do. He was friendly with Hitler, but whenever Hitler was cross with him he used to retire to his room in a self pitying swoon. Then order the deaths of hundreds. He would need somebody to strike his hand when he was trying to go to sleep.
Now I think you can understand why I retired to my room, in a self pitying swoon after reminding Cass of somebody like that. So a very odd day trips along in a very odd way. A very odd way. Now I had a list to finish. Where did I put it?
NEWS, VIEWS AND NOWHERE TO GO
We were looking forward to the weekend. When one sets out the day to include everything one wants to see or hear. Make the seat nice and comfy and the television and computer at the perfect angle. One doesn't expect constant disappointment. Live to the Golf to see the best players hide from the storm. A tree falling short of the green. Water in the perfect position on the fairway. Play expected to start at midday, no two, no four o'clock. No forget it, come back tomorrow.
Still there was always the motor racing. Very little point in watching until the actual race tomorrow. Looking at a bunch of people, fill in time until the same drivers take the poll positions is dull in the extreme. But no matter, as we have the football. England Women's team in the quarter final of the World Cup. Preceding that, a friendly between a newly promoted side to the league and an eleven from Foolem. Listen to that live. Foolem miss, miss, other team don't, don't. Right World Cup to watch. Good game score first. Tense, exciting stuff. Few minutes to go, manager puts on two subs in the defence. Two minutes to go England concede. All over now. We are all walking wounded, the French are not. Cosmic crying because that pretty French girl in full make up has been substituted. Me crying because it goes to penalties. We lead with just two penalties to go. We lose the game on penalties.
News is full of news about news and the abuse of news and how the papers obtain news. It is all very news worthy. Newspaper to close so another one can be let out of the news pen by the same news proprietor. But is it the newspapers fault or the people that by them? Which leads us onto the banks and is it really their fault or the people that put money in them? Are the Government to blame or the people that voted for them? Are people to blame or the people that have them? Is God to blame or the people that do or don't believe in God? If I take the blame, will we stop blaming others?
Cass has been looking at my walls. Or rather the space left from the shelves she took down. I say that I have posters to fill the space. Cass decides that this is a bad idea. She wants to fill the holes and wash the walls and paint the walls and ........ For my part I suggest a quick dust and then cover the holes with the posters. But no, we have to set up a committee and discuss the homeless children and then decide on the colour of the paint, Cass wants a colour I don't. What am I, three years years old? On second thoughts I was given a choice at three years old. No, I say, putting my foot down. My room, my posters and that is an end to it.
Cass has put up insect screens at her windows, that allow air in and smoke out. But stops the giant moths from coming in. I rather like those and if there comes a time I can reach my windows. I may ask her to put some up for me.
THE LAND THAT DRUGS FORGOT
A warmish day, nice enough to take the boat for a row. A gentle stroll to the chemists, and a gentle stroll back. Yeah right, as if that was ever going to happen. Cosmic has a headache and an upset stomach. So it is down to Cass to go to the chemists. But she went out Sunday for her drug habit. Not to the chemists but to the local Co-op to buy cigarettes. Cosmic was well enough then to give her a lift. Well, I say that but he was moaning and complaining then. But when you are a drug addict like Cass, it matters not how you obtain the quick fix. Or who it effects. So we are stuck. Although I have one ace up my sleeveless sleeve. I phone Dull But Honest. I ask him how he is and we talk about the football over the weekend and moan. I then ask if he will be popping into Caustic Cove? He says he isn't. I explain the problem we have. True, I did lay it on a bit thick. Still, it is good to know one has real friends when the going is tough.
A warmish day, nice enough to take the boat for a row. I take the keys to Cosmic's car. Cass tells me the chemist is shut until a quarter passed two. I don't think it is. So Cass checks and I am right. She stands by the post and a clock which is running nearly an hour fast. I am aware of neither of these things. As soon as I leave the door of the lighthouse I am attacked by seagulls. The little darlings have managed to lose, not one, but two baby seagulls from the nest. As I race to the boat. Well alright, walk a bit quicker than usual to the boat, the baby seagulls are intent on keeping pace with me on the ground. My attempts to shoo them away only cause their parents, and what feels like most of their neighbours, to join them in security duty. Eventually I manage to climb into the boat and row towards Caustic Cove. However, despite leaving the baby seagulls behind, the parents and friends continue to attack me. By the time I have reached Cosmc's car, I am covered in sweat as well as droppings.
I spend several minutes remembering how to adjust the car seat in Cosmic's car, but I manage it and off I go. I park as close to the chemists in Caustic Cove as I can. At this point I can feel my good nature bursting from me. Although the truth be told, I have my prescription to pick up anyway, not sure if I can take another day without my drugs. So I walk to the chemists from the car and open the door. Except it doesn't open. I move the handle again. No it will not budge. I look at the sign. 'Closed for lunch, between one and two o' clock.' It is half past one. I realise I should have checked more than one time piece. When I return to the car I realise I have forgotten the post. I curse Cass as the devil incarnate. But as I am still in the car myself I decide to return to the lighthouse, by which time I can return with the post.
They wait before I set foot off the boat before attacking me. I collect the post and return from whence I came. But this time the seagulls stay with me. I scramble to the car and return to the chemists. I ask for all the stomach calming things and headache pills and forget my prescription until I reach the car. I return to the chemist who then asks me if I was the gentleman who came earlier when they were shut for lunch. I say I have just been in to collect headache pills and stomach pills, have they forgotten already? But our little routine is lost in the sound of drills and hammering. The chemists have the builders in. They must be expanding.
Having returned to the lighthouse, I take my coat off and put it near the washing machine for washing. I retire to my room and take my prescription, a headache pill and a stomach pill. I dream of seagulls opening doors with keys and going to the bathroom to have showers. I awake to the sound of seagulls and my stomach's hunger calls.
What was I saying about drugs?
WARNING - DO NOT MIX DRUGS WITHOUT DOCTORS PERMISSION. JUST SAY NO.
I AM A ROCK
Rain and wind battering the old lighthouse today. Cosmic is awake and moving around. He hasn't been talking to me ever since I came back from the chemists and forgot to tell him I had some medicine for his funny stomach. He seems better now, but is in an odd mood. As the golf has been on television , his mood hasn't really affected me. Too busy working and watching the television to care. With Cass also unable to go to work because of a heavy cold, I have been the only one fit and healthy. Trouble is, my 'fit and healthy' is most peoples 'slow and painful'.
As I was the only one available to do it, I had to go out and do things. On my own and without help. I was fine as it was a nice, even a little too warm, day. I was fine, that is, until I went to the bank. I had taken Cosmic's car and was worried I had broken the driving seat. Then I walked the small distance, a few yards, to the bank, joined a long queue and was waiting. I was debating with myself on the advantage of filling in a form and posting the cheques I was paying in. Or wait until the queue moved along and I could pay over the counter. I was looking around happily, playing with my new found freedom. When I noticed the reflection in the protected glass of the counter. I was there, slightly bent over, pained expression on my face, three times the size of the people around me. The last of my race amongst the new human species. It really felt as if I didn't belong there. Not then and not amongst these people. So I actually left the bank. No really, that is what I did. I left the bank and returned to the car. I sat there thinking how odd all this was. By 'this' I meant the whole kit and caboodle. Life and banks and queuing up and traffic. It all seemed odd. Even worse than usual. Was this simply a reaction for me cutting myself off from the world, taking no part in it? I had become the stranger in a strange land, I always imagined I was. Be careful what you wish for.
Driving around, I was drawn to all the familiar places. Weeds and signs blocking off roads, making even this pastime a complicated adventure. In the car I felt safe enough, divided from those outside. I could acknowledge people when they left a space for me, or I let somebody in. It was only when I over analysed it, I imagined my alien frame peering from the normality of the earthbound car. Not sure how long this feeling stayed with me. But eventually I returned to the bank and the paying in of the cheques. The queue had gone and the girl behind the counter smiled as I presented the paying in book. She masked her repulsion well. What did I expect, the screaming of the body snatcher? Fact is, I am spending too much time alone. I need to go out more. The barrier of the water between the lighthouse and the land has made the sanctuary a prison. Which sounds all well and good. But when I phoned up Cass to ask if she wanted to come shopping, I realised I would starve before mixing with the outside world again.
Rain and wind battering the lighthouse today. The sea is rough and the golf is on the television. It is dark and nobody is talking to each other. I feel safe and contented. Who needs people and exercise? I finish off a caramel chocolate bar and feel a sugar rush coming on. My heart starts jumping about. Life is good. As long as I am left alone. As long as I can keep ordering in.
127 MINUTES (ACTUALLY MUCH LESS TO BE HONEST)
The golf was coming to an end. I had no more excuses. I would have time for a shower and all that that involves. Have something to eat, watch the DVD. All before I recorded 'Law and Order UK' while watching 'Coast'. Time it was a ticking.
First thing was to climb out of the chair. It is not a chair, but a couch, a settee that has a bed in it. I used the bed every night for years. Until I moved. Then disaster happens and I am back sitting in the couch in my room. I think it is broken because I now sink into it. Climbing out means supporting my weight with my left arm on the arm of the couch. Then I have to move the little desk away, although not a desk but a very old table that slides over beds to put ones tray on. I have had this desk thing for years. It has proved to be a great buy. I now have my computer keyboard on it , my legs underneath it and just enough room to stretch out one leg. So to climb out of the couch, I have to move the desk, bed tray desk thing, back towards the computer screen. This gives me just enough room to shift my weight onto my left arm, Slide forward, turn my body slightly and push up on my legs, while doing the same with my left arm. Past attempts of my doing this come flooding back. The times I was successful, the times I couldn't manage it. When I had injured my arm and gone to the hospital, taken anti inflammatory tablets, woke up with the blood clots doing a tour of The Picayune. It all comes flooding back. Stuck at this spot and on the couch. But not today.
I am on my feet. The pain in my arms and legs and back, rip and tear at my defences. But I am used to this and expect the onslaught. I shuffle sideways and have reached the open wardrobe. I leave the clothes that need washing to hang there. I continue onto the bathroom. Hanging over the bath are clean clothes that I can change into after a shower. But there are others there. I will have to remove those and hang them somewhere else. It as at this point I realised I should have told somebody where I was going and what I was going to do. Too late now for regrets. I reach over the bath and very carefully remove the clothes that are not mine. One false move now and they would hurtle to the murky depths. But with good luck and no little judgement, I am successful and hang the clothes on a door handle.
Returning to the bathroom I have to remove the clothes I need to wear from above the bath. I still need to be careful, but somehow the pressure is off. I hang these on the bathroom door. I then remove what I am wearing and have to climb into the bath. My legs are now screaming to be rested but I battle on. This is the point of no return. I need to turn the shower on. Water comes pouring towards me, I do my best to avoid the worst of it until the temperature normalises. Then the effort to find my way around The Picayune with the soap begins. I strain and reach for hand holds and support, but slip back and have to try again. Despite setbacks I manage to reach most things. Thank goodness I can no longer see most of it. I look down at the feet of The Picayune. It is a long way down. Dare I chance it? I do, and fall toward my feet, making sure I have a hand hold. Now I return to the safety of small but safe perch. My back is strained and my sciatica is kicking in. My thighs are starting to collect signatures from other body parts in an effort to force me to cease and desist my standing. But I venture on. More water falls on my head. I reach for the shampoo. Water cascades everywhere, the last effort is needed. Then wash and rinse and the water stops. I am left panting and at the end of my strength. I know this area and know the best places to rest. However I also know how much further I need to go.
I climb out of the bath and reach for the towel. I dry myself and seek out my clothes. I reach for my socks. Then I look down and the dread hits me. I can't put my socks on. I can reach down and slide them on but they will be trapped. Trapped unless I can cut my toe nails. Now there is a part in the proceedings where people have been warned is the nasty bit. So they skip on and don't watch. This is that moment. Please go to the next paragraph, while the less squeamish continue the roller coaster ride. I need to find sharp scissors. I need to find the long, old persons handled scissors. I search in the cupboard above the sink. They are there. I try and put my foot on the side of the bath. But am only partially successful at reaching my toes. The overhang is too big. So I bend down and finish off the job with my feet on the floor. Every cut, every careful clip could cause me to sever a body part or cut into the flesh. I manage it though, without damage. I strain and reach for the socks. My feet are dressed.
I dress the rest of my body and leave the bathroom. I take my old clothes with me. I take the old clothes from my room. I climb downstairs. Drop the clothes in front of the washing machine. Cass asks where I have been. Foolish of me not to warn her. She asks if I would like to finish the cold ham. I gasp an answer.
In time, I sit in a chair and watch a DVD about a bloke who goes climbing and is trapped. It is a true story. But frankly '127 Hours' has nothing on my shower routine.
WHERE THERE’S A WILL
Is it the full moon? Is it the time of man? Is it all just fate? Well I don't know, so stop asking me. All I do know is that things that were once important have a habit of being less so as time goes on. Take the making of a will. Not something we want to think about, but there comes a time when we all have to. Over the years I have made it clear, what was important to me should I suddenly cop it. It came from the soul and it is my basic last will and testimony. But we need to make it official. For a few years both Cass and myself have reminded each other how important such a document is. For some reason, everybody I knew and loved suddenly passed away. Now we still have relatives we both love and cherish ( any resemblance to any persons living or feeling poorly are just coincidental). I have charitable organisations I wish to bequeath a few pennies to, should my sister pre decease me. I have made all this clear to Cass. When we eventually find ourselves in a position to make a will. it will be done calmly and with the aid of a proper solicitor.
To this day, nobody, least of all Cass, knew why she picked that moment to ring up for an appointment for the solicitors. Was she feeling ill? Did she wake up sensing the end was in sight? Who knows, because when it happened ,it happened suddenly.
For no reason, other than that they were handy. Our solicitors were in Upper Caustic. They were our families solicitors and kept all our deeds and stuff. No I have no idea what they kept either. But they kept it in a basement on a flood plain. A flood plain that became flooded from time to time. Anyway, they were handy. Handy that is until they moved. Then another solicitors moved in to where our solicitors used to be. The new solicitors were not that new and were known to us as they were the solicitors who we went to, to obtain probate over our Mothers will. Is anybody following this, because I sort of lost it at 'is it a full moon'.
Cass rings up the solicitors that occupy the building that used to be occupied by our solicitors. Cass didn't tell anybody she was going to do this. But she did it.
"Snodgrass, Pendleton and Snodgrass, Snodrass speaking" (no secretary answering the phone, no alarm bells?)
"Morning, my name is Cass Picayune. Where you the Snodgrass, Pendleton and Snodgrass solicitors who used to be further up the high street in Upper Caustic, by the bakery?"
" Not only where we the Snodgrass,Pendleton and Snodgrass, conveyance to the stars and solicitors to the less well known, who used to be by the bakery. But we still are the Snodgrass,Pendleton and Snodgrass who have just moved along the high street".
"Good, well my brother and myself saw you some time ago about probate for my Mother's will and...."
" Any problems should be referred to our solicitors, Snodgrass, Heap and Maloney, fortunes lost and found, complaints sorted for a small fee..."
" No sorry, there is no problem with that. No I was wondering if you could draw up our wills for us. Very simple really, we leave everything to each other and if one of us dies we leave it to a charity or something"
"What charity?" Now this may sound like a simple question. But Cass was expecting a question about appointments and when would be convenient for you both to pop in. So she panicked.
" Charity? Oh yes.. um.. the Multiple Sclerosis charity thing. I have no address or anything but..."
" No matter Madam, I shall type that up for you and send it along to you for checking and then you can come in and sign it."
The matter of price plus VAT was discussed and the conversation ended. Well, thought Cass, that was easier than she thought it was going to be. As she was about to go off to work and Cosmic was about to give her a lift. She mentioned in passing, the fact that at last she had sorted out our wills. Now this came as some surprise to me, as she explained what was to be in my will.
" Why Multiple Sclerosis?" I asked. I for one am happy to give my money to such a worthy cause but I just pondered the reason why we should be suddenly giving our poultry money to such an important cause. Cass, for her part looked puzzled and a little weary.
" Your best mate died of it. We always said we would give what we had when we died to the charity," Cass replied, It was my turn to look puzzled and weary.
" No", I said " I said I would give it to Motor Neurone and to the library for the blind"
" Oh yes, that's right, I always confuse the two"
Cass said she would ring up the solicitor and correct things.
I am somewhat relieved, that our financial dealings are not more complicated, or that I had given specific instructions for my funeral. One phone call and all the planning in the world goes out the window. Death is really very odd when It comes to the legal other side.
TO SLEEP, PERCHANCE TO DREAM – AY, THERE’S THE RUB
Yesterday I slept in. Well I didn't go to bed until three in the morning, so where is the harm? I will tell you where the harm is. It has just gone five o' clock on the following morning. I went to bed late again. I was reading and ordering on the Internet, books I didn't really want and cancelling orders for the books I didn't really want. Then thinking I actually do want the books I have cancelled and so on and so forth. The point is, it is five in the morning. Unlike yesterday, when I slept right through. Today I am wide awake and my eyes are wide open. In the good old days I would have been able to go back to sleep no problem. I was more than happy to go back to bed, even after I had risen from it only hours earlier. But now, I suppose, because I still haven't actually a bed to sleep in. Returning to a mattress hasn't the same welcoming feel.
So at five o'clock in the morning I am wide awake. The sun is streaming through the window, so I close the blinds. It is however too late. This simple movement has alerted my bladder, who now thinks it has to work and begins to send signals to the brain. I spend the next few minutes trying to convince my brain to ignore the mumblings of an idiot bladder. But the brain won’t have it. I am left with no choice but to answer the call of nature. By the time the brain has realised I was right all along it is simply too late. I am awake, nature has been answered, although it could easily have hung on, and I am vertical with no where to go. However there is no point in returning to the mattress, so I collect my socks and shoes and tip toe downstairs. I say tip toe but why I bother I don't know. Half way down the stairs is the frog that makes a noise in daylight when you pass it. It is activated by light. As I pass it, it lets out its three croak alarm. Then falls silence. I continue downstairs and meet our butler. A smaller butler accompanies him and is battery operated. However it is only a recorded voice operated by the movement and light that is affected. "I am not a number, but a free man" it tells me. It was funny when I recorded it the first time. But it becomes a little tired when repeated several times a day. I creep into the chair downstairs in the hope of not waking Cosmic who is lying on a mattress by the television.
Having closed my eyes, I realise how comfortable this chair is. I can fall asleep very easily here. Then just as I close my eyes, the cacophony begins. First of all there is a noise from upstairs like the opening of the doors of hell. Cass has began her snoring, snort, cough that reverberates though the whole building. This sets off Cosmic who doesn't snore, but when exhaling, makes a groaning sound that suddenly turns into words. I am sure I can hear him say "pumping tyres, pumping tyres", inhale deeply and repeat. Then there is silence. Silence until the sun creeps out from behind a cloud and hits the censor on the frog, CROAK CROAK CROAK. Then the butler utters "I am not a number, I am a free man". I am now aware of dripping coming from a tap somewhere. Then the clocks begin to tick louder than usual. SNORT, SNORE, SNORT, COUGH.
"I am not a number I am a free man"
"SNORT SNORT, COUGH"
Tick tock tick tock
CROAK, CROAK, CROAK
"Pumping tyres, pumping tyres"
Then silence. I am alone at last. My eyes begin to close.
CROAK, CROAK, CROAK
Tick tock tick tock
drip......drip.......drip
"Pumping tyres, pumping tyres"
"I am not a number, I am a free man"
"SNORT, SNORE, SNORT, COUGH, SNORE
tick tock tick tock
"Pumping tyres, pumping tyres"
CROAK, CROAK, CROAK
"I am not a number I am a free man"
I can stand it no longer and climb from my comfy chair and make a cup of tea and some toast, before waking everybody up at seven o' clock.
Having made sure Cosmic is awake, I climb the stairs with a cup of tea for Cass. I knock on the door and go in. She tells me to be careful and points to something on the floor. I am not sure what she means so I go to put the tea down to where she is pointing. But she is warning me about the wire on the floor. The chair, the open drawer, the jutting corner of the table are all passed without warning. But the bit of wire, I can see, but would have to make a detour to trip over, is worth the warning. I make sure I tell Cass about my disturbed night.
" I thought you must have gone downstairs. Something disturbed me last night" she says. I close the door behind me.
Cosmic reminds me to remind him about something. " I must check on the tyres today. Remind me if I forget will you?"
I start work early and have dropped off by the third invoice.
COSMIC ADDS AN APT GENESIS SONG …
The clock on the wall says it's time to call. So let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Remember an oldie but goodie -
At this point The Picayune tells Cosmic to keep quiet as he is trying to sleep.
UNEXPECTED EXPENSES AND FAR AWAY DEATHS
It was on the Friday Morning the builder came to call. It sounds like the first line of a Flanders and Swann song, I was going to try to parody the famous song. But events sort of caught up with us all. There were only two outcomes to the builder looking at our falling ceiling. The first one would have been a quick botched job. Just replace the bit of ceiling that is falling. That would have been my suggestion. Which is why I kept out of the discussions. That and the fact I wasn't expecting my Friday to start with such a jolt. Cass had arranged things as usual. No discussion, just decided that now was the time to deal with the problem. The Will I didn't want one day and a huge expense the next. If Cass puts her head round the door and announces she has arranged my funeral for Friday. I wouldn't be shocked.
Meanwhile the builder said all the things one dreaded. Replace all the ceiling in the area, resurface the balcony which is letting in the water, the same balcony that has been resurfaced twice since Nineteen Seventy Four. But do it properly this time. Then the price all this would cost and a promise to look into cheaper ways of doing it all. I kept on working through it all. Mainly because I knew, the almost worse case scenario was playing itself out. The expense would cripple us and one just knows it will go up. A weed waved to me from outside the window in sympathy. I had to give it a double take. Even at the lighthouse, half way up the building, the weeds are reaching new heights. So the weed wave wasn't a wave of sympathy, but a wave of warning. I was moody for the day. Fed up that all the effort to pay back debt and actually set our path on an even keel, on the good ship mixed metaphor, had all come to nought. Except it hadn't and wasn't but moody I remained.
Cosmic and Cass went out to shop for a few things and I stayed in the lighthouse. I didn't even change from my night attire until the evening. I just put my head down and worked. Felt fed up and betrayed and boiled up the discomfort inside. When I finished what I was doing, I changed in time for the return of Cosmic and Cass. It was then that I learned from Cosmic of the events unfolding in Norway. Like an ill conceived film plot, bombs and a lone killer on an island killing young people for a misguided reason. It made no sense. The rolling news poured over the tragedy, asking Norwegians speaking English, to repeat what they had said, just in case we missed any of the detail. Then passing the reason and the blame from a madmen to the slow moving response of the authorities. Done and dusted, more at eleven. Leaving just those people who somehow have to live with the fact that people who existed this morning, simply don't exist tonight. Mourning is such a solitary passtime.
Later we learned of the death of a drug addled singer. We are all prone to self destruction, but the selfish act still leaves behind people who cared. I guess it wasn't a good time to watch a documentary on a young man who was filmed in the last year of his life dying of Cancer but going out in a blaze of fun and frolics. He and his family were financially secure enough to be able to spend well in that last year. Friends surrounded the young man. He took advantage of living the best way he could knowing his time was over. Brave, because he left an impact behind him. Lucky because he was surrounded by friends and loved ones. Unlucky because he was going to die. Life continues to ask questions.
After all that had happened over the weekend, Cosmic and I talked about fear. How we both feared the outside World. Despised it and yet wanted to blend into it. Which was never, ever going to happen. Still if nothing else, we decided not to worry about money. At least not today. I decided to buy a book I wanted, despite the piles of books around me. Cosmic decided to stay in the lighthouse for a few more days. Closing the door on the outside is sometimes the only sensible thing to do.
CHOICES
I have many choices today. For some reason I have a chance to do whatever I like. I could join the war against the weeds. I could, if the mood took me. Start to clear the television and entertainment cupboard in my bedroom. Or I could walk to the post box after sorting out the recycling. Hey, what if I just visited Ethel and Bernie? I could go with Cosmic and we could have a few hours with a change of scene. That would be good. right. Or I could do a bit of everything. Visit Bernie and Ethel, while posting a letter on the way, after having already sorted out the recycling. Choices are just never ending today. Or I may do none of the above.
Cosmic kept up until three this morning. Cass had dropped off watching television, which is what she does now. Unless the program is really a dull science or maths oriented one. Then I am the one to drop off while she stays awake. I watched whatever was on and a DVD. Plus a few things I had recorded. Cosmic was around, but he seemed to have his mind elsewhere. He was reading something and everything. He kept announcing out loud, things he was reading. Did I know that the frozen water found in craters on the poles of the Moon were the coldest spots found in our Solar System? It took nine generations to breed in a domesticated version of a wild fox, right down to bendy ears and curly tail. Margaret Rutherford's Father killed her Grandfather and her Mum killed herself when they first moved to India. At this point I did begin to take notice. For one thing, the detectives in 'New Tricks' had just discovered it had been a suicide and not a murder. The second thing is, I have always liked Margaret Rutherford. Cass bought an old biography about Margaret Rutherford years ago off ebay, because we liked her. She was a fascinating actress with a interesting multi layered life. So a reminder about this lovely lady was most welcome.
At around midnight, Cass woke up and went to bed. Which meant she would be sitting and working at the computer and not actually resting. Cosmic had settled down and was answering all the questions on a late night repeat of a celeb quiz show. When he began to shout at the television, and saying how on Earth could they not see that was an old picture of Dame Helen Mirren. I too was about to retire. But then the television was turned off and we began to read. I have said before that I like to read old news magazines. For the first time in a long time I actually really enjoyed just sitting and reading about anything and everything. No wonder Cosmic had spent his evening passing the time like this.. It was really enjoyable. Then at around half past two, I discovered a book I had been interested in years ago. However I simply had too many books. But Cosmic reminded me of the huge bills coming in that would bankrupt me. So he convinced me to push past the boxes of books yet to be given away or thrown out. Head for the computer and order the one I wanted. I was thankful it was not available on one of those e reader things. I have managed to convince myself that buying a machine to download books, would be a waste of money. While I was at the computer, I also ordered the Margaret Rutherford biography. Remembered I hadn't finished the Hatti Jacques biography and looked up a few other things I could make a note of for future reference.
With eyes drooping, Cosmic suggested we try and finish off that picture film quiz on the computer. I had already guessed over thirty out of a hundred. Cosmic added about twenty more. Cass, who by her own admission, is no big film fan, added another thirty odd. All in all, we were down to the last few film titles. But the night, or at least the morning had at last beaten us. I tried to be as quiet as I could going to bed. Cass had retired at least three hours before. But as I passed her room she shouted out the last few film titles we were missing. Now the competition was complete. Once I find out what the prize is. I may even send in the answers.
THE DECLINE OF CAUSTIC COVE
Having had plans to do things today, I decided to do be swept along by others plans. Cass needed to score drugs, as the modern parlance has it. So I joined Cosmic and Cass as they cruised around the local low lives of Caustic Cove. But what we found was a slow decline of a once sleepy town. It is sad that the once small but perfectly formed little town, is now just tatty and losing its hair. Even the old peoples’ home has closed down. So there is now a building, fairly new, built in the last forty years, that stands waiting for hope. Then there is the cafe that has changed hands a few times, that just stands idle now. But the big news. One that regular readers will remember me foretelling. Is that the post office has gone. Remember I said that the chemist was knocking down walls and expanding? Remember for goodness sake, I told you all about it when I went to collect my prescription. You don't take anything in do you? Alright well I did mention the chemist was expanding. I also mentioned the post office had been shut for some time with a sign saying it was hoping to be back after a temporary closure for remodelling. Well now the chemist has remodelled itself and expanded right into the post office. Which means the nearest post office is now in Upper Caustic. A bus journey and up the side of a mountain. Cosmic says there is never anywhere to park up there. Besides, our post office has been there since, well since I can remember. It managed to survive all the depressions we have had to endure. All the rubbish the last Government threw at it. Now it is gone. Like a punch drunk boxer, who has gone down for the last time. Cass says we shall have to order our stamps on line.
Cass has just gone into the local supermarket to score her drugs. She hasn't been sleeping well at night. The drugs she is scoring is tobacco and she also snores with the sound of hells doors being ripped open when asleep. Oh and wheezes when awake. Her windows in her room are open (with the cover across to stop the moths), you see I remember what I have written. Unlike you who seem not to remember from one day to the next. Cass then drops off during the good television in the evening. She wonders what the reason is for her bad nights. Could it be one or all of the above?
We are on the news! All be it the local one. A few cameras are about on the coast at Caustic Cove. I smile and wave as we pass them. Cosmic parks the car and hurries to the boat. I think he is scared that the weed problem will be planted at his door by the local media. To be fair, it did start on his doorstep. We have planned to start the weed war but time has sort of beaten us into a lack of effort. So I smile to myself. Poor old Cosmic, being caught up in a media frenzy. Cass marches passed the cameras like Margaret Rutherford and everybody is too scared to pit a microphone near her. I casually walk towards the boat. The cameras and that man who usually does the local sport comes towards me. The panic begins to bubble up in me. How should I defend my friend? More importantly, how do I excuse the fact, I am harbouring a weed grower in the lighthouse. A lighthouse, which from this distance, appears to have weeds growing around it. Is nowhere safe?
The bloke who usually does the sport is asking me questions. Cass is busy shaking her head and I just say I am busy and push passed them. The effort of climbing into the boat and not sinking, with all three of us in it, doesn't make for a quick get away. However we manage it. I am left with a few words shouted at me by the bloke who usually does the sport. But not once did he mention the word 'weed'.
That evening we settle down to watch the local news, on the other side we don't usually watch. He is still there, that bloke who normally does the local sport, because we are going live. I ask if we can see the lighthouse, but sadly the man who usually does the sport, is standing with his back to Caustic Cove. The lighthouse is behind the camera. How stupid of them. Then they start talking about seagulls. Well the lack of them. The fact that they are dying out and a number of them have been killed by people shooting at them. I hate seagulls and hear them twenty four hours a day. So I am unconvinced and dislike the birds anyway so I care little. Until the man who usually does the sport starts mentioning the fact that some seagulls are actually tortured and have bits cut off them by the great human beings. That is vile and cruel and needless, I am appalled. Kill them by all means (it is illegal and should not be considered) as they are a bloody nuisance, (they were here before us and have every right to continue to be here). But what is the point of cruelty you sick people.
Then the man who usually does the sport lowers his voice. "So it seems that the weed crises and the seagulls crises. Can be traced back to one door" The camera slowly turns towards the sea and the grand sight of our lighthouse. We all shout with excited glee, which can be heard on the television. They are really live. I feel like running out and waving at them. But I hate people who do that.
It is Cass who breaks the silence that follows. " Wait just a minute. Do you think what he said implies anything?" I shrug and say the lighthouse looked alright didn't it? But as the evening wears on I wonder? As I look out towards Caustic Cove. I begin to see crowds of villagers carrying pitchforks and torches, shouting at the top of the voices, KILL THE WEED MAKER AND SEAGULL KILLERS.
It is just my imagination of coarse. Or is it a premonition?
ANOTHER WAR COUNCIL
The Smuggler's Tavern heaved with the extra weight of the weed war council. When ever a group of people, who are not friends but friendly, decide to meet at the pub. The dance of the avoidance of the first round begins. There was no way all of the group would stay in The Smugglers Tavern long enough for everybody to have a chance to buy a round for everybody. So the men hung back. Fortunately, both Ethel and Cass pushed themselves forward like sheep dogs, trying to manage a reluctant flock of sheep. Besides the women were the only ones who could remember the round order of drinks. Meanwhile, the rest of us looked for a place to sit. Or if needs be, stand. Fortunately a table space opened up in he corner. I managed to find a stool on the outside of the table, while a few of the others struggled to fit between table and wall. Then Silas suggested that maybe one of us should go and help bring over the drinks. We took a vote on it and Silas and his suggestion were narrowly defeated.
When at last Cass and Ethel brought over the drinks on a tray, we were able to concentrate on the matter in hand. Those present were Silas Straw, Bernie Woodstain, Cosmic Antidust, Ethel, Cass, myself and Dull But Honest. Ethel said it this was nice and Dull But Honest frowned. Silas suggested we start our first attack of the weeds from the rear. But none of us knew which part was the rear. So Silas explained that the front was Cosmic's house, but the rear was where the weeds had spread into Upper Caustic. Which meant, according to Dull But Honest. If this was a war, the rear would be the front. We all agreed with this and Bernie began to take notes. Well he wrote something down on a beer mat anyway. Silas continued with his idea. We have a small group attack the front of the rear, which will leave us a chance to clear the side and make a space to make a path to the front. We can then have a supply channel to supply those at the front and also a channel we could use to ferry the debris down. Silas explained that, the big problem would be, where to put the cut weeds. No compost heap in the World could accommodate the pile we would have. There would have to be separate little heaps around. Then somebody would have to pile those into a bigger heap until we could burn the heaps at the appropriate time. This was something I had never considered. I expected just to do a bit of cutting and retreat. It never occurred to me we would need to rid ourselves of the weed corpse.
Dull But Honest was the next person to make a suggestion. He said that we should also make a token attack where the weeds were travelling to. After all, that was where people could see the weeds. If people saw them being cut and laid waste, then more would join in. Attack the rear, or front if this was a war, while attacking the front of the back before we fought our way to the sides. Everybody nodded agreement to this insight. Cosmic then suggested weed killer. Silas said we would have to use it carefully so as not to kill the good plants. But where any plants 'good' anymore. Besides nobody had a good weed killer spreader and the one we had, all the writing on the side had faded in the sun. Which was fine because the weed killer instructions on the side of the bottle had faded too. Dull But Honest said we should buy new weed killer and sprayer. He withdrew the suggestion when the conversation took an ugly turn with talk of the financial cost.
The unpleasant matter of the second round was discussed next and eventually it was decided that we should go dutch. But as Cass and Ethel had already bought a round, this seemed unfair. So Bernie offered to buy Ethel and himself a drink. But then I complained that I would have to buy Cass and myself a drink and Cass had already bought a round. Which was also the argument Bernie could have given. Eventually, Silas offered to buy the next round. We could then continue with our talk of overthrow and conspiracy. Except the conversation sought of meandered off into different subjects. Cosmic, Cass, myself and Dull But Honest talked of the football we were missing. Ethel and Bernie and Silas talked about the price of vegetables.
Dull But Honest and myself shared the responsibility for the next round of drinks. We talked of when we should start this war, and who should begin the cut. Silas said he had already started, but had sadly been busy lately so the weeds had began to regrow where he had cut them. I said that we were busy in the lighthouse trying to find funds for the collapse of the ceiling and moving stuff out of rooms. So I would join in when I could. Silas complained he was always outside and had work to do to too. Which left Dull But Honest and Ethel and Bernie who all looked at each other and were suddenly very busy as well. But Silas was insistent. We would have to set a time scale. So it was decided , with great debate and thoughtful discussion. That we should set a time for a meeting when we would discuss time scale to the war. Except none of us knew when we would all be available to meet again. So we promised to phone each other to make arrangements.
The first foundations to the weed war had been laid. It was the beginning of the beginning of the rout of the weeds.
WEEKEND ODDITY
Odd weekend really, now I come to think of it. Sport on television, nice weather, planning for the upcoming week, knowing the plans would come to nought. The front door bell rung on Saturday. I had already been driven from my mattress by the sun streaming through the window. Made a cup of tea for those that wanted it. Made some toast for me. All through my life, except when I went to school, I have never wanted breakfast. Never used to eat anything until two in the afternoon and then something in the evening. Then nibble in the night. Worst thing one could do, by all accounts. Well not the worst thing obviously. But the nearest thing to stomach abuse you can have. That is what they say. They also say one should eat before six in the evening when possible and not eat in the evening. I have yet to achieve this, but have achieved eating a few bits of toast in the morning. Which means I don't eat lunch and then nibble in the night after an evening supper. So must try and cut out having a nibble in the night and have an earlier evening meal. Not that a microwave meal for one always constitutes a meal.
Anyway, the door bell sounded at the front door. I was back upstairs after making tea. Cosmic never answers the door, as he feels it would be a bit forward of him as he has still only assigned himself 'guest status' in the lighthouse. I know how he feels. So Cass, rushed by my bedroom door like a runaway steam locomotive, belching smoke and wheezing steam, to arrive at the front door with a great high pitch grinding noise. A woman stood at the door with a couple of children running about behind her, pretending to be normal, The woman held out a pamphlet. Now Cass is usually intolerant of anything she disagrees with. Cass tends to dismiss people fairly promptly, if she feels they will not agree with her point of view after several hours of argument. However, on this occasion, seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into five minutes. Then the woman left, happy in the knowledge that Cass didn't think people today were any worse than they have always been. War is down to young men with guns and old men who like guns. One could never leave the backdoor open without fear of being robbed. It is just we had less to rob in the good old days. And God didn't write The Bible but a lot of men did. Which after all is what God is. A melting pot of differing views on what constitutes God. So having said her peace without upsetting the lady with the pamphlet, the lady thanked her and retreated. God looked at me and we both shrugged.
I noticed Cass had ordered a talking Bible Tape with the whole Bible read out for less than three pounds. Cass had already ordered in the past the complete works of Dickens and Shakespeare. All very cheap. Only problem is they are read by students, some whose first language is clearly not English. Hearing Uriah Heap telling us how humble he is in a deep West African accent, may not be to everybody's taste. An Indian Woman who then changes into an Australian Man in the middle of a Christmas Carol may also be a bit disconcerting. For my part I prefer the written word in the form of a book. We have the complete works of Shakespeare and Dickens and many many Bibles in book form. Still if Cass has decided to turn to religion, who am I to set up a barrier to her new found faith. I must admit, I can't wait for Moses to part the Red Sea. What accent I wonder, will the whole tapestry of words, be presented to us in. Cannot wait.
REMEMBER GUY AND TORI?
Guy Bolton and his partner in work and life, Tori Gibson, are script writers. They write for a whole collection of popular shows. It has been about a year since they were actually paid for a whole script and have existed on payment for a line here and a line there. A joke over there and a clever quip under here. An aside by the milkman or a murmur by the shop keeper. Therefore Guy Bolton has taken to writing plays and trying to have them performed and worked on new ideas for shows. Ever since he and Tori officially tied the noose, Guy has felt he has been doing nothing but hammering the keyboards. Which is why, when he actually looked up from the screen and saw Tori. He was shocked by what he saw. It was unusual for them to be in the same room, let alone talk to each other. Tori had been working on an idea and neither of them had appeared together in the same space, for what seemed like weeks. They may have shared meals and bed, but Guy couldn't remember when he actually looked at the love of his life. Tori had become a pattern on his surroundings. She was there and looked fine. But Guy hadn't noticed the stains or the peeling paper.
" You OK Hun?" Guy asked at the pale, sunken eyed woman before him. There was no immediate reply so Guy repeated the question. Slowly Tori looked up from the cup of coffee she had steaming away in front of her. She looked far away, as if she had taken a day off from her body. But Tori smiled, or made a poor attempt at an impersonation of a smile. She had once mimicked one at a party and was being asked to do that funny smile again, now she was sober. That one glance, that one brief moment of clarity in Guys mind was enough to convince him, his wife was ill. Which is why, a week later he was sitting at her bedside in a hospital.
All his life, Guy had carried a notebook around with him. A minute after he was born he had written a funny sketch about birth, a drama set around a hospital and a violent crime series. Even now, while they were waiting for the Doctor, Guy was busily writing down a few notes. Completely unaware how much this act annoyed Tori. Especially now when she wanted to be the centre of attention. Just for one moment, while she was ill, she wanted the script to be about her. When she had first come into the hospital, the medical staff had checked her insurance then checked her over. They had completed a lot of blood tests and scans. Now she awaited the results. Tori noticed Guy smiling to himself. Another great idea had just danced its way onto the main stage of his brain. The audience had applauded and the performers bowed in gratitude. Tori had often felt alone but never as lonely as she did at that moment. When the Doctor eventually arrived at her bed, Guy put away the notepad. But in his mind he was thinking that the Doctor just wasn't right for the part. He would call central casting in the morning.
The doctor was in his fifties and looked comfortably harassed. He was holding a clipboard and turning over pages. "I see by your tests that everything is in order. Not having enough sun and a bit anaemic, but no real problem. But I see you are still on the V132578 Nano. You haven't had an upgrade since the original medication at fifteen. Well things have moved on in a short time and we are able to upgrade your medication. One injection and you should be set to go. Wouldn't hurt for Mr. Bolton to have the latest either. I will just arrange that for you." With that the Doctor was gone. Tori felt relieved. But Guy felt slightly disappointed. He had written a whole idea in his mind about Tori being pregnant. Now all they were going to be having was the latest nano medication. Dull and boring and no new idea here. Back to the notebook.
MUCH LIKE LIFE
'Well here it comes again, that feeling. Here it comes again'. I will name that tune in two. What am I talking about? I have no idea really. Well I do, but sometimes I wonder if it is a good thing. That moment in time when I can hear the click of the lighter in the other room, the coughing starts slowly and reaches a hacking crescendo and then all goes quiet. 'I have been here before. The lonely boy, hiding behind the front door'. I will name that tune in three. All the worry and concern about life, the universe and everything just sort of dribbles away. After trying and succeeding in paying off debts and living sensibly. There is a moment when the collective sound of that annoying cash tap drip becomes too much to ignore. Then one just has to say, remove the plug, let the flow begin. I need a bed and we need a car. So we went for a DVD/VHS combination and a few old DVDs. Well it was cheaper and sometimes cheering up is hard to do. I will name that tune in the time it takes me to regret the extra bills.
The wills plopped through the post at last. Read and return, decide what to change and then sign and pay up. The dentist card is still sitting there as well. Phone for appointment, humiliation and pain and return and repeat. Wills and dentists, what is not to like? Cass received her Bible on CD and has been playing it. No really she has. It is all very clear to her she announces at one in the morning. God was in a space ship and demanded food and drink. He was lactose and yeast intolerant. He gave out a food product that was frozen but would go off unless eaten in good time. He killed lots of people and was short tempered when people kept asking for things. But could be convinced by people like Moses to hold off on the killings. This so far is what Cass has learnt by listening to the Bible. I mention all this to God in passing. But He has the opinion that The Bible was very much The News Of The World of its day. He claims misquotes and poor reporting, years after the events. So most of it was made up and invented? There is a shock. Much like life really.
Have to say I am a bit miffed. There hasn't been a blog from The Lighthouse Picayune for a few days. I had rather hoped Cosmic or Bernie or somebody could have said something of note, But in an odd week, everybody seems to be in their own space, so to speak. Like most things it all starts with enthusiasm and a will to succeed. But soon boredom sets in. Much like life really. For my part, how many ways are there to say the roof is leaking and the weeds are growing? But we still have misquotes and poor reporting and most of it is invented anyway. Much like life.
I have set myself three tasks today. I have every intention at three in the morning of completing them. By nine it seems that two are on the cards. By eleven in the morning, I am aiming for one. But as I sit here I am beginning to doubt even one will be completed. The answer is to do everything at three in the morning. I did do a bit of weeding late last week in the dark. Just after I had put the rubbish out. Rowing back in the dark and noticing the thorns across the path and by the jetty. I took out some scissors and began snipping. People hanging around The Smugglers Tavern began to shout and cars began revving up. I doubt if my weeding had anything to do with the disturbance, but it was enough to put me off. Much like life really.
No good putting it off any longer. Some time this week I will have to do life. Dentists and wills and weeds and work. There are riots going on in London. No doubt they will spread around the place. Well people are looking for new televisions and computers and so riots are a good cover. I just wish I could muster enough energy to riot about the injustice of it all, while steeling a new DVD/VCR Combi. It could have saved so much money. Much like life.
THE MACHINE INTERRUPTED
Having awoken from my mattress late. I am now sitting here watching Cass on her knees trying to move a music system that has been ensconced in my room for around twenty odd years, if not more. She is moving it to the room we will both use as a general entertainment, come office space. I sleep there at the moment. The day draws near when I can buy a bed. A bed I can put in the room I slept in before life moved me on. Life now has almost gone back a full circle to the mid seventies. Room for improvement.
The three tasks I set myself to do a few days ago have been three quarters completed. We will see if the other one is started today. But the good news is I did walk all the way to the post box. The better news is I walked all the way back. Then I managed to ready the recycling only to forget to put it out. So in the early hours I rowed across with two little skips and placed them in a convenient pick up point. I looked around Caustic Cove to see if we had any kiddies roaming the streets. But I only saw two foxes. One ran away, while the other looked at me and lay down in the road. The night belongs to them.
Sadly I was unable to start my third task of the week. For it is written in the stars that any excuse to stop me doing something useful will be taken with the up most glee. So I find myself hunched over the new DVD/Video combination machine. The new lead has been attached. So in theory, according to the instructions I just press this button here and a menu should appear. I press the button. No menu and not a sign that anything is connected. That's the problem with this sort of thing. One immediately fears error in the machine. But I continue to read the instructions. No that doesn't seem to work. Nor that. Oh and the thing that worked before doesn't work anymore, except the light comes on. But then the light goes off again. I abandon the instruction manual page twenty two and peruse page twenty three. There is a diagram that clearly shows the docking of the space shuttle with a giant slab of fruit cake. There are arrows and lines and brackets with letters and numbers in them. The 'Quick start up' diagram is left behind as I turn the page. In doing so I inadvertently lean on the DVD/Video remote control. Something flashes and the machine comes on. No menu but I am in. Hal, God bless him, is awake.
An hour later I have tuned the DVD/Video to all the digital channels I can pick up. Which to be fair, means the odd radio station and BBC Parliament Television. No not very exciting. I then tune in my analogue stations. An hour after that I work out how to swap between the two types of received stations without losing the others. I then work out how to video a program and DVD record a program. Also in my vast knowledge I work out how to record a video to DVD and a DVD to video. So I proudly look and the machine I have conquered that stands before me. I call proudly to my sister and show off my work. Behold the great machine that I have mastered. Then Cass asks the question that one dreads. " How did you do that then?" I begin to look through the instruction book. The truth is I followed the principle of press everything and see what happens. Hey I typed a sonnet from Shakespeare. Does it really matter what buttons I pressed on the typewriter?
The machine works. Just don't touch it in case it ruins everything I have done.
FEAR IS THE DAY
The day starts as if it is full of promise. The idea is that the more you do the more that can be achieved. But over the years I have found that not to be the case. I prefer the head down, put everything off until suddenly the task is done, or is started or somebody else does it approach to the day. But even I am fooled sometimes into believing that it may be a good thing to try and do something.
Cosmic drives Cass to work and asks if I would like to come for the ride. He is going to visit Bernie and Ethel who are throwing away old cassettes and have said some of them may be of interest. Foolishly I say yes and off I go. For some reason the potholes in the road remain, while the smooth parts of the road are closed off while road crews resurface them. Havensedge is delightfully busy but Cass is delivered safely and tells us to enjoy the day. I snigger at this but am reminded to return the gesture. My dad always used to tell me to enjoy my day at school. I hated every second of every day. So may be subconsciously I am reminded of that. Enjoy the day? I don't think so.
Despite the weeds and the thorns, we find a way through to Ethel's house. Bernie is in the kitchen, moaning at the post. I am shocked he receives post this early. We don't see ours until around one or two in the afternoon. Although his mutterings reminds me of my reaction to most of the rubbish that the post brings to us as well. Unfortunately for Bernie there are more rejections to articles and more frustrations for him. Papers are not keen to pay for articles anymore and can fill a paper without saying anything of any importance. The world of news and newspapers are not the happy place they never were. But now they don't pretend to be.
I find Cosmic and Ethel filling up a bag full of cassettes. I look through them but there is nothing of interest. I have most of the comedy ones and not sure I want Crystal Gayle's greatest hits. But Cosmic is saying he can keep them safe and record any that they want to keep on CD. Where exactly he is going to keep them is beyond me. After a cup of tea and a chat, Cosmic makes his excuses and we are off. Cosmic decides to do some shopping. When Cass shops there are bags of stuff she struggles out with. Little treats one didn't expect and enough supplies to last a nuclear winter. When Cosmic shops he returns with bread and bread and more bread. Bread you slice, already sliced bread, bread as crusty rolls, bread as soft roles and bread of various colours and creeds. This apparently is the nearest thing I will see to housekeeping. I sit in the car and notice the day has a lopsided look to it. Half dark and brooding and the other half, clear and bright. It is at this point I realise a lens to by sun glasses has dropped out. I frantically look for it and eventually find it in the folds of my shirt. I think I am able to fit the lens back in safely but the fear is there. I haven't been to the opticians for over twenty odd years. I have a feeling they will take one look at the cysts around the eyes and send me off to the eye hospital. I have been there before and the eye hospital seems unimpressed. Besides, the glasses I wear are fine. Except for reading and I do a lot of reading. It is my right eye that is the problem. I spend the trip back to the lighthouse with my left eye closed looking at life in a blur. I panic for the next five minutes.
I am safe back in the lighthouse. I have magnifying glasses galore to help me read. Who needs reading glasses. Well clearly I do but my logic has trumped the real world and is skipping along happily. But not for long. I am sitting comfortably when I notice something that catches my funny right eye. A spider has lowered itself from the ceiling. I squeal rather unfortunately and when Cosmic asks what the problem is. I lower my voice and explain. Then I cannot see the spider as he has gone to ground and all returns to normal. I scream again as the movement on my shirt turns into the spider walking up me. I brush it away with a high pitched yell and search for my little vacuum spider catcher. I successfully find the catcher and trap the spider. Now who is king my little friend?
As I am waving this long tube with a battery compartment out the window to release the spider into space. I am aware of eyes watching me. The post man has come across to deliver the mail. He never rows across to deliver the mail. But because I am waving this thing out the window, he decides to do this fine act. I dread to think what he makes of the picture he sees before him. Still the good news is my DVD of Peter Cushing in the BBC adaptation of 1984 has arrived. I have it on video from the time they replayed it on some anniversary or something. But I wanted to keep a DVD of it as some of my videos are now going mouldy. Yes some of them actually go mouldy after years and years. Who would have thought? However the DVD of 1984 is rattling around in the cover and the cover is broken. The DVD is scratched. Life is hard.
As a haven I return to work. Only to find a wrong invoice has been paid and the day is complete. I decide to wait until next week to make any attempt to start a day again. The day just doesn't deliver on its promise.
WITH A LITTLE WILL
There are times when a bit of flotsam clings to the Lighthouse rock as a reminder of the carnage in the world. Bottles and cans are frequent unwanted visitors. Cosmic tells me it is the same on the mainland. People stuff bottles and cans into hedges as they pass by people's gardens. Although the weeds and thorns have gone some way to halt this. Reports from Silas on the front line of the weed war, has said people are using the weeds as cover to dump rubbish knowing it will be covered up in a day or two by the advancing plants. Cosmic vows to join the war against the thorns. Just as soon as he can. I say I am right behind him. But not today as we have things to do.
I have been reluctant to leave my mattress in the morning of late. I feel very tired and a bit stagnant. Cass on the other hand decided she had a lot of energy yesterday and set about demolishing the television come entertainment cupboard in my room. Having to lay on the floor and undo screws and then carting the wood out. It took the best part of the day and she then moved in the computer stand table desk we have. Which means we are not far from making room to move the settee bed that is in my room and replace it with a real bed. The settee bed cannot be used as a bed as it is broken and there is no room to pull it out..Which makes me nervous because it means we have to spend money. All of which rather paled into insignificance when Cosmic and Cass both agree I need a comfortable chair to sit in, once everything has been moved over to my new work unit. So they have gone for a very expensive, wide seat, tall support back, costing hundreds. My opinion that a deck chair will do is met with silence. So this will be the last month I work here and not a few feet over there. Bags of work await me. Much like the weed war I shall have to approach the paper work tomorrow. I am busy today. I never thought we would actually begin to shift things. We have promised ourselves for over a year and slowly it is happening. Although Cass does all the work while I just ponder over all the changes and worry over the expense. Still we all have our positions in life and that is mine.
The will signing ceremony took place today. We travelled to the solicitors. Rang the bell, knocked twice and gave a prearranged password. Then were given the wills, signed them in separate rooms. Cass was asked questions about dependents while I was asked nothing. One look at me no doubt was enough to convince them I had no secret family, squirreled away. Cosmic sat in the car park and was shocked to see us back so soon. Another two hundred quid spent. I have said it before and I will say it again. Death is a right con trick.
Back in the relative safety of the lighthouse. I make a list of the things I should do tomorrow. We are beginning to move things along now. Where there is a will, there is at least some progress along the way.
MY KNEES HURT
I did a fair bit of list crossing off yesterday. A few things remained but on the whole I was pleased with the day. I was going to post my DVD back but my knees hurt. So I have left it to the last minute and must post it today. Although it isn't really the last minute. The last minute to what, may I ask? I guess the answer would be to have a new batch by the weekend, but it doesn't really matter. It is not like I haven't enough stuff to watch anyway. I remember feeling the same way about books and music as I do about DVD. Almost a thrill knowing that one could immerse oneself in the pages of a book or the notes of a record. I still read a little when there is time. But music just left me one day. I have mentioned before how I used to be headphone on, shut out the world sort of listener. Used to have the radio playing all day. Had a surround sound in my office. Then one day, music began to irritate me in long doses. People warbling on about life and love and drink and rock and roll. I began not to care. More than that I began to despise it. For years I went to a mates house and music was put on as a background accompaniment. I used to have a large collection of music. But now have sold hundreds of Cd's. I still have hundreds of books but they are less simple to sell. Besides I don't have a love hate relationship with books. Just with music. No doubt I could find some deep meaningful reason why music reminded me of something unpleasant and all music was spoilt. But I don't buy into all this. It happened, something else filled the space.
I still have plenty of vinyl records hanging around. Haven't played them in years. But with all the moving around, they have become visible again. Cass bought a cable and stuck it into something else she bought and said 'behold, see what I've done'. I broke into a song with these lyrics that Cosmic joined in with but Cass looked blank at as both. Cass can now record the Vinyl onto Cd's for me. So the first one to come out of this strange alchemy was Abacab, a Genesis album. Seeing as I bought the vinyl, a cassette and a CD of it and the cassette died and the CD was sold. I don't think recording the vinyl will upset their income too much. So I played the album on my computer. Enjoyed it very much. I wasn't converted back to my music listening ways. But it was a start.
I hate August and the months leading up to Christmas. Bad things happen and the football transfer window is open until the end of August. So I am constantly delaying doing things just in case something happens. It rarely does and rumours are all that occur. But it is the fear of this time of year that begins to bother me. Disaster and bad luck are always there, giggling behind the next corner. However five months of the year is a long time to be scared and it is not as if the previous seven month are anything to write home about. We have already had the riots. Does that count I wonder?
Cass has been offered a job. But it means working away on their premises. The problem is we need the money. But Cosmic points out that there is more than enough to do with the work we have and the work in the lighthouse. Plus the weed war. He sits back as if he lives here and announces that he would turn it down if it was him. Although I am in agreement I rather despise him make pronouncements like this. Wouldn't hurt for him to find a job.
Another day and another cupboard. I am busy working and Cass comes into my room with her planning face on. Work is piling up in her room but while she is in the mood, it is best to let her run with it. She opens the last cupboard to be cleared of items that are not mine. Once again we face the dilemma of selling or giving away. Giving away wins out. Cass clears the cupboard and wardrobe space and discovers loads of handbags. Still forty years in a small building with little room to keep things, it is amazing what one can put away and forget.
The list of things that must be done grows every day. Things that are being done grows every day. Cosmic suggests we welcome the tasks ahead and enjoy each little completion of said task. He then stings himself on a thorn that has grown overnight just outside the front door. His mood changes as he realises the enormity of it all. However things are being done. I would have gone out and joined the weed war myself today had it not been for two things. I have other work to do and my knees still hurt. Besides the transfer rumours keep flooding in. I would hate to miss anything.
ALL THINGS CONSIDERED
Well I managed to spend the day working out how one touch easy control works. One touch easy control works when it is accompanied by a hundred page instruction booklet that makes no sense and leaves instructions out. But always reminds you to turn the machine on with the 'on' switch. But it all worked and I learnt a new skill. A bit like buying a flat pack furniture unit and actually managing to build it before it falls down within a few hours. So not a wasted day then. If with the ending of the day I can say it hasn't been completely wasted, as opposed to a success. Then the twenty four hours would have been worth it.
I have discovered my knee pain is eased with walking. I went with Cosmic to his house to see how things looked. We both were astonished that besides weeds and thorns blocking his road. Great trees were beginning to sprout from the concrete. Just like the tree that began to grow by the pub that fortunately was taken down early. But the trees here were now taller than a man. We both decided something really must be done about it. We both vowed to turn our attention to the weed war just as soon as we could. Then I realised my knee pain was better with use and forgot about the creeping menace.
Talking of the creeping menace, Cass had been going around the lighthouse with a screwdriver, with the look of purpose in her eyes. So far a stereo speaker and its supports have been taken down from my room. I look at the lighthouse and realise just how much there is to do. How can such a small area be so full. Cosmic pointed out to me that, before we attacked the main land and fought against those weeds, had I thought about actually looking at what was happening around the lighthouse. I was truly shocked. The battle must start here. But not today. On the other hand the battle for the inside of the lighthouse is at least coming along. It is like Gormenghast or even Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. I may not be Antonio Gaudi but all the stuff he managed to fit inside the continual growing building I am managing to shift out of the lighthouse.
There is work piling up for both Cass and myself and so I suppose that must be fitted into the equation. I am not looking forward to the bills next month. But Cosmic says it is only money and helps not in the slightest. Cass on the other hand is in her martyr, control freak mood. She says it is something she cannot change. Making sure others are happy while she struggles on. All of which is fine. I can imagine her climbing on the old cross to be crucified. Telling the Romans that they should use a different nail or a different hammer and where did they buy this wood for the cross? In the end she would snatch the hammer away and start knocking in the nails herself, just so the job would be done properly.
Oh well football today and another rope to cling on to that one can pull to flush the negative thoughts away. Even for a second. On the other hand we are playing away and so am expecting to have to fetch the plunger.
POSITIVE THINKING AND FAN MAIL
Some people are not always happy. Some open their eyes and see the World and close their eyes again. The view may be very lovely but they see it as a facade to the ugliness that hides behind it. Even when an illness attacks a person out of the blue, positive thinking is suggested as the first battalion to face the foe. Such comments as "Don't cry over something that won't cry over you", "If life hands you a lemon, squeeze out a smile" and all the other banalities are supposed to be helpful. It can make one feel as if the rest of the World is right and we should all accept our fate with a smile. Problem is it also seems to make us accept others fate. Yes lets go to War and kill innocent people so we can kill the right people. So " Don't wait for your ship to come in, swim out to meet it".
Fortunately I came across a book by Barbara Ehrenreich. She has breast cancer. The book is called 'Smile or Die - How Positive Thinking Fooled America and The World'. Wanting help and advice she was met with the 'Turn that frown upside down and treat Cancer as a gift' brigade. She didn't see it the same way. But being negative about this cruel illness wasn't the done thing and she was advised to ' run, don't walk for help' so her mind could be re programmed. Yet Barbara Ehrenreich proves to me that there are sane people in the World who see things as they are.
Now for years I have been told I am negative. Shouting out that as we are all going to die one day I am just going to sit here with a good book and wait, was a concept frowned upon. Why walk towards it when you can wait for it to come to you? To be fair people used to say I was negative. I don't have any friends now and the ones I had have all died. So there are not many around to make the accusation anymore. Which proves my point really. Anyway, while I have been saying life is very yucky, people have kiddies and say how wonderful everything is and keep populating the myth. The parents that used to be Doctors have fed me drugs I didn't need for illness I never had. Even when I was told I had blood pressure I mentioned a little known theory that I suffered from nerves and White Coat Syndrome. The fear of doctors wrecking my life. I was ignored. Now the children of the doctors have become medical researchers and they say up to a quarter of all patients suffer 'White Coat Syndrome'. Think how much the NHS could have saved if only they had listened to me? Now I am old and do have blood pressure it is too late for me. But for others, save yourselves and run away. Glad I refused to take Warfarin for the rest of life. I wouldn't be alive today as I didn't have any problem the Warfarin could help. But don't tell the doctors that. Or the people who talk of positive thinking as a way to battle through life. Being negative is like being a conscientious objector to an illegal war. I remain the happiest person I know. I just don't see the point in smiling about it.
Cosmic still receives fan mail. Not many but a few. When he was big in the seventies or whenever he was big. Fans would write to the band and send the letters to the record company. The letters would then go to a lady who would answer them by returning a signed photo to them. The photo would usually be signed by this lady. Times have changed and Cosmic has left the mad music world and ended up living off the ever dwindling recording proceeds. The upside is he has the odd fan. Cosmic may receive anything up to ten or twenty letters a month. Most of them will be heart warming, happy, ego boosting little gems. A few will be begging letters from people who are better off then Cosmic but just as lazy. While others are a little worrying.
Over the years Cosmic has been in touch with a fan called Bill. Isn't that the plot to an Eminem song? Like the song things turned and been taking on a slightly negative tone. All of a sudden from saying how much the Album 'Madman in a Rowing Boat' was a subtitle to Bill's life. Bill has decided that Cosmic is a false god. A god who has worked for the CIA and has been plotting against and cheating the fans for years. When Cosmic asked Bill in a polite letter what had made Bill so angry. Bill replied by return that he had no evidence for the negative remarks but it was just a feeling he had. Cosmic had asked him not to write anymore.
I have always thought being popular would have been nice. But seeing the world as a negative place doesn't draw one to many popularity contests. Which is just as well. Let's be honest here. Doctors or fans or happy or sad. We all end up nutters and then we die.
Be happy but stay negative.
SO NOW WE WAIT
The paperwork is spread around me. My computer is on and I will continue to sit here until work is complete or something happens with the football. We lost again and yet we played better. That has to be something to cling on to. Once all this is over I can return to do all the things I should be doing but don't. Like joining the weed war. How big are those weeds now? That one there is taller than I am. But compared to that one it is but a mere sapling. So come Thursday I am off to replay 'Oh what a lovely war'. But with weeds. Then again I may not.
We had roast chicken and roast potatoes today with vegetables. Very nice it was too, But no room for pudding or anything else. Although a packet of biscuits vanished in the evening. Blame those damn creeping weeds. Then Cass decided to clean my light attached to a fan. I was downstairs having watched the film 'The Town'. A nice afternoon film. Anyway Cass went upstairs and cleaned the dust off the light fan. Drip by drip the reservoir of things still to do is cascading into a waterfall of things done. Although I still worry about being in the boat paddling against the tide. I have over done the whole water metaphor thing haven't I? Fear not there will be another one along soon.
The lighthouse has been left alone over the bank holiday. Idiots on sun loungers and wind surfers and their like have mercifully kept away. I say kept away but I couldn't really tell as the fauna has suddenly reached high enough to block out part of the view. It has at least felt quiet. Cosmic went away on Friday and asked if we needed the car over the weekend. Not sure where he went after we said it was fine for him to do whatever he wanted to do. Come the start of the working week he will no doubt turn up and tell us where he has been. Or not, depending on his mood.
Hasn't felt like Summer this year and have yet to feel too warm. We will no doubt suffer for it later in the year. Now, however, is the time of year I dread. As I have said many times before from September onwards 'something evil this way comes'. Until then, watching the World Athletics on television, moaning at our lack of success while admiring the single minded devotion. Until then working and waiting and feeling cold.
So now we wait.
AFTER THE WAITING
I managed to finish all the work I had to do. Listen to the football comings and goings and had a very enjoyable time. Then I was ready to join the weed war. Everything was creeping along nicely and then Cass had a message she had to go somewhere. I had to ring around for Cosmic so he could provide the lift. His need for secrecy escaped me as I found him with one phone call. He was staying at Bernie and Ethel's. Well I say Bernie and Ethel's but really it is just Ethel's with Bernie and Cosmic staying there. Poor old Ethel I say. Except I was slightly hurt that Cosmic had chosen to leave the lighthouse to stay at a house near by. Nobody ever offered me a chance of staying at their house. So when it came time to join the weed war I decided to go with Cosmic to drop Cass off and then go on to Bernie and Ethel's. Not sure why really? Just to feel as if I had the opportunity should I ever need it. But other than calling a complete stranger 'mate' as I entered their house I found no joy in the experience. The stranger was just delivering something but for some reason when he acknowledged my existence I returned the gesture. With a friendly 'mate' tagged on for good measure. Meanwhile at Ethel's it was all very domestic. She was working and clearing up. Bernie was distant and in a place of bewilderment and confusion and Cosmic was collecting some things he had left there. I was going to ask Cosmic why he had decided to stay at Ethels instead of at the lighthouse. But I twisted my knee again climbing into the car so the pain took me on a path around that question into a glade of aching torment.
First of all one has to decide on the frame. What size, what colour, does one pick the ornamental or simple design. Will it blend into the background or stand out depending on where you are going to hang it? Then having decided and bought it, one hopes it fits well and the man at the shop really does know what he is doing. So when my mind needs to be re hung, the right frame is of major importance. If I am not in the right frame of mind I can sit for days just looking at the walls. This will not be at all boring for me. Like reading a book without the eye strain, walls are very interesting and depending on ones imagination, endlessly entertaining. Ultimately though, wall staring is of little value. Especially if there are tasks to be started and completed. So the frame of mind is important. The vastness of the space that needs to be filled with important tasks is endless. The old and wise adage that a trip of a thousand miles starts with one step is true.Unless like me you are stuck on the start line looking at the ground.
Cosmic is laughing as he reminds me of something I wrote this time last year. That is why I don't keep a diary. Everything, including anxieties stay the same. Things never change for the better. It is left to Cosmic to point out how much has been done in the last year. This is a bloke without access to his own house and he is trying to cheer me up. We still have so much to do and yet wouldn't it be dull if things were all done? No not really, I could stare at the walls to my hearts content. But I take the point nonetheless.
Right today I think of all the things I should do. Cass may have to go out again. This shouldn't stop me doing anything but it will. It will create a good excuse for me to go with them in the car and not stop in the lighthouse and do some of the things that need doing. But that's fine. lets not go over old ground again. Cosmic is thinking about the past. The good old days when he was somebody. Yet he never seems to ware his heart on his sleeve. Still wonder what the hell he is doing here? Yet am slightly annoyed when he goes somewhere else. When Cosmic finds a way through to his house things will be back to normal. Whatever that means.
Already to start the process of going out when the bell rings. This means somebody has come over from the mainland and rang the bell. Not the quay bell which has a different tune but the front door bell. Cosmic is in the bathroom, I am in my room and Cass is furthest away in a state of undress. Needless to say it is Cass who strides out towards the door. She flashes past my door. When I use the term flashes I mean flashes. Cass is without trousers, she is trouserless. I warn her she cannot go to the door like that. We have a reputation to consider and it is one we don't want. But although she is struggling with a pair if trousers, she gives up half way down the stairs. Opening the front door and breathing heavily with a pair of trousers held in front of her she greets our intruder. Except it is not an intruder. But a delivery man delivering the very expensive chair we ordered three weeks ago. Remember I told you about. Very expensive office chair that could hold the weight of two sumo wrestlers and a car full of returning travellers who have visited the hypermarket in France. The delivery man needs a signature and Cass jungles with the trousers and the pen and the little electrical gadget the man needs signed. Unsurprisingly he leaves the chair at the quayside but on our side. Maybe he would have brought it up but the sight of Cass scares him off. So Cass goes down to collect having managed the complex art of putting trousers on. Needless to say the chair is in a few bits and too heavy to move in one go. So she brings it up in a few bits, leaving the box it came in half way down the steps leading to the lighthouse. Although she manages to bring up everything, she finds the narrow steps leading to my room too much to handle. Oh well, it looks as if Cosmic and my good self will have to help her out.
It is amazing how much swearing helps when you are faced with a heavy object and narrow stairs. Cosmic needs to rest the heavy chair on every other step. I need just to rest. But somehow we manage to carry the chair over the carefully placed obstructions on the stairs, place the chair without the stand in my room. Cass then enters without the instructions but with everything else. Well the gas cylinder and the stand is all there is. So I let her place the gas cylinder upside down and then struggle with the chair before I step in. Well more a sit in really as I am sitting on my couch that can turn into a bed, but has no room to do so, I show her the abandoned cheap gas chair that I still have in a corner. I turn it upside down, still without leaving the comfort of my couch and show her the correct way to put in the cylinder. Having followed my instructions the chair looks hopelessly unstable. Cass complains her back hurts and so I advice her to sit down. She has my dinner to cook after she returns from work if she hasn't decided to go another day.
Eventually the chair looks stable. A chair that costs a fortune from a company who said they would advice us when it was coming. They didn't. It fits under the desk nicely and so I play with the levers that make it go up and down and adjust the back. I expect it to break immediately but it doesn't I then sit on it expecting the sound of escaping gas. It is solid. I re-adjust the back support. That works fine too. Only time will tell, once computers are moved and work begun in my new office, if the chairs is comfortable over long periods. I look forward to it. Cosmic reminds me again how much things are moving along. One step at a time. A few false steps along the way. But nevertheless progress.
Cass writes a short and sharp email to the company about their lack of notification. Progress has to be accompanied by a few rude emails.
HURTING THE NEXT MORNING
It was nice watching on television what I wanted when I wanted it. I automatically ask what other people in the room want to watch when there is nothing on television to watch so I can put something on for them to watch. I feel the need to entertain them. But they usually don't care or drop off to sleep anyway. I still feel the pressure. So when I was alone the other night and nothing was on I felt free to put on what I wanted. It was good. Can't remember what it was but I wanted it and enjoyed it. The reason why I was alone proved to be a problem filled with future pressure for me anyway. So it was a good job I had a good time alone.
Cass had decided to move the computer in my room to the desk and in front of the new chair. This required placing wires over doors to trap wary passers by and to mess about with the chair to make it less comfortable. Several hours later Cass told me of her endeavours. So this left me with a quandary. I was trapped between three very nasty alternatives. Should I clean up the lighthouse with a bit of light vacuuming? Or should I go out and fight in the weed war? Or should I move the drawers and furniture in my room, ready to shift the couch when I order my new bed? After several hours of debate I decided to sit and stare at my room and work out the best way of going about the transition. This involved a great deal of internal debate. What to keep and what not to. I made the fatal error however of including Cass in the debate. I simply asked her where a small cupboard should go or had she some other intentions for it. This meant I had to listen to a complete rundown of what she had thought would be a good idea for my room right down to wall colour paint and style of other decoration. Having managed to lose my temper several times, Cass insisted on interrupting everything I said to put over her views on my room. She became like the dummy in 'Magic'. Could Anthony Hopkins keep it quiet for a few minutes? Could he hell as like. Nor could Cass keep quiet. So after thanking her for her intrusion I took the rest of the day shifting and swearing and vacuuming and swearing a bit more. I even managed to take two laundry basket type things downstairs to be used for containing spades and rakes and things in our boat less boat shed.
When I returned to my room, once the wave of shock of having bits of furniture balanced on other bits of furniture and the loss of important papers I had been keeping safe, had subsided. I realised just how much work I had done. We really were close to buying my bed. It had never seemed possible but we are slowly but surely taking a few steps forward. So that evening I spent the time watching the Proms Hooray For Hollywood in celebration and singing along with the songs like a paid up member of a friend of Dorothy. Next morning feeling sore after the exertions of the day before I still managed a bit of cleaning up. Now comes the big bit. I must summon the energy for a shower.
When Cosmic returned he was shocked by the amount of work we had done. Cass had drilled holes in walls to hang things and I was busy finding things in my newly formed room. So today I shall go with Cass and Cosmic for the long drive to work and then empty Cosmic'c car full of cardboard we will fill it up with. Then return to the lighthouse for a look at cleaning up the stairs at least. But even if a fail today it has been a good few days. First though, as we are going out I need to put in a prescription to the Doctors. Now I know I put it in a place of safety. Anybody know where that was?
RAIN, WIND AND PLANS
So if we have that to put the paper I have lost in and then put that under the printer. We can take this out and move that and put this there. Well it will all work in time. Unlike the rain that lashed poor old Cosmic's car yesterday. I must admit I haven't experienced that torrential downpour for so long before. It didn't help that I was in a car trying to help Cosmic by telling him where the puddles were. But his language explained to me he was concentrating on not hitting something more solid. The misting up of the windows though I put down to him. We dropped off Cass and then went to the local recycling place in Caustic Cove. Not the big one in Havensedge but our local one. Even though we passed the big one. Anyway Cosmic decided to drive to our local recycling place. But it had all changed. Instead of the huge skips there were lots of little ones that one can mix the recycling in. Fine for normal stuff but we had a huge cardboard box. It wouldn't fit into the post box size entrance to the skip so we lifted the lid up of the skip and did our best to stuff this flattened box in. Fortunately nobody was about as it was pouring down. So we sneaked away. But wet coats inside a car and rain outside left us with steamy windows. By the time Cosmic had decided to drive to Ethel's we were in foggy hell. Why we didn't wait for a bit I don't know? Although the rain did go on for some time. The windows did eventually clear but by that time we had arrived at our destination. I half expected bits of tree and pedestrian to be stuck on the bonnet.
Today was no better, as the wind blew all sorts up onto and around the lighthouse. Plus it is recycling day, so one of us will have to take the little skip over and hope it isn't blown away. I am hoping to be excluded as I am still sorting out my room. Some special drawer type units to put under my printer arrived which is why I am moving and emptying things again. Still I did decide that all the collection of posters and odds and sods I am not sure what to do or where to put. I will just load into a large basket tray and put into the room I am currently sleeping on a mattress in. Talking of which, last night I was struggling to sleep with the noise of the storm when I was disturbed by the noise of a moth hitting itself on the ceiling and against the blinds. One would have thought the cacophony of the storm would have rendered the sound of a moth redundant. But no sadly not. I had to struggle onto my feet, turn the light on and chase this moth around. The shadow of my running around the lighthouse could be seen super imposed on the coast. Like some giant Japanese shadow play by a novice. A few people who were out in the storm last night and had a bit to drink could well be imagining they saw giant alien shadows romping around the countryside. Anyway I eventually caught the moth and then had to let it out. The wind was too fierce to open a window so I had to walk down to the bottom of the lighthouse and unlock the door and set this stupid moth free. Mind you having seen the debris around the lighthouse today, the moth would have been lucky not be hit by flying wood and plastic. Cleaning it all up is for another day.
I fell asleep watching the football on television. I never watch International matches with England playing and yet I decided to try again. By half time I was in the rowing boat taking the skip of recycling onto the mainland. The wind and rain had at least died down. By the time I arrived back the second half was under way and I was fast asleep by the time the first substitute was made.
So tomorrow I shall continue to sort out my room. Vacuum the stairs and downstairs and clean up outside and collect the recycling skip, post the DVDs and take out the main rubbish. Plans are fun when you know full well that only a few of them will ever be completed in the time allotted. But I never thought we would be this far down the line anyway. This 'long journey starts with but one step' lark really works. Or my version works better to be fair. A 'long journey starts with a long sit down to think about it and put it off'. At least it has worked so far.
TRIP TO THE CIRCUS
The sorting out the room takes longer than expected. This is because the big job is done but it is back to sorting out what to do with that eighteenth birthday balloon one has found under the moved furniture. I have kept it for a reason. The memories come flooding back. Mainly of moving furniture finding this balloon and deciding to leave the final decision in what to do with it for another day. Ten year intervals produce the same shifting of furniture and the same balloon. Final answer is to put it in the rubbish. So that is what I spend another day doing. Picking up paper and throwing it away. More putting stuff in bags and more sorting. But at last we are close to being close to the closing closure of the room sorting. I lose patience and pack stuff in a tray and transfer to another room. Where we can play the game again at a later date.
Still I am delayed as Cass decides to drill a hole in the wall by the door. This is to tidy up the wire that feeds the computer that, drops off to sleep while listening to reason wire is there. Wakes up to find wire for the telephone will have to go through ceiling and not be run around the lighthouse like the telephone engineer did it a hundred years ago. Or a few years ago. So Cass, with drill in hand, picks the weakest and most unstable step ladders in the history of step ladders. She climbs up and the top step buckles and shakes. She drills and the lighthouse walls laugh at the puny attempt. So Cass tries again and the drill motor roars and the lighthouse giggles like a child being tickled. The step ladder shudders and shakes and the drill motor stops. Cass is breathing heavily and the ladder rocks with each breath. Although I haven't felt the thrill of the trapeze artist since I last saw a circus I feel it is my duty to warn her that she is about to be killed in a silly fall when the drill starts up again. Eventually Cass climbs down from the ladder and I tell her about the near death experience she nearly had. At first she is disbelieving but a quick look at the metal fatigue and the bent top step convinces her to change to a more suitable pair of step ladders. She then disappears to her box of tricks and returns with a hand held machine with flashing lights. At various points on the wall the lights flash red or yellow or two read a yellow and a green. These mean something to her as she grunts at each light display. I stare like a monkey fascinated at the pretty lights. Then screech and hit my head as the noise of the drill starts again.
The hole is made and the wire is put through and books fall from shelves and are taken off shelves. Then the shelves are too small for the books to be put back on. I have shrinking shelves. Still everything seems to work. Except I haven't had time to post my DVDs and haven't had time to collect the recycle skip and put out the rubbish or eat anything. By the time we settle down for the evening I have dropped off half way through 'Who do you think you are' only to wake up when they have found out who they are. Another day has drifted by and another day I seem to have done nothing but in fact have done a great deal. I even managed to make room to move the television in my room so that it can turn easily. The parcel brought in by Cosmic is indeed the turntable that my television can now sit on and spin to its hearts content. Well with a bit of maneuvering it can. Cass has done the rubbish and I am left guilty but pleased with my day’s work.
Before going to bed I turn on the computer for the first time today. I have a new updated internal security thingy. It bursts into life telling me I am attacked by Trojans and it can do nothing about it and has detected some suspicious looking files that it has held for interview. Not today thank you I tell it. If the new improved version can only tell me about problems and not quarantine them then what is the point of the improvements it boasts about? No I decide to let it carry on and I pack it in for the night. I am very cold for some reason. Looking forward to a proper bed. Time is drawing near when I will be treated like a real human being and not a passer by. We will see.
BED ORDERED AND CEILING FINALLY COLLAPSED
While Cass was out at work I cleared up the debris that had collected up and around the lighthouse. I then cleaned the stairs and felt a swoon coming on so I had a rest. Then I cleaned the bed settee in my room and much to my surprise it still worked as a bed settee. So the plan is now to move it from my room into the room I am sleeping on a mattress in. We were going to give it away and move in another couch. So this will save a lot of effort which I am all for. Cass announced she had ordered my bed and I announced we had no money and nobody cared. Progress out ways no money. I even walked today. From the car to the chemists that used to be a post office. Then Cass came from the shopping to the chemists to tell me she had left her credit card at home and she needed mine. So I had to walk back from the chemists to the car to drop off the medicine and then to the shop to pay for the shopping. Life is a whirl of activity.
Wind and rain makes staying in a pleasure. I continue to clean up downstairs and we are told the bed is being made. Cheaper than a new bed from a showroom. The World wide web continues to save money. But I am well aware what time of the year it is. From the last day of August until Christmas, darkness invades the Picayune. If somebody is going to pass on, or some disaster is going to hit then this is the time of year it happens. It may be one big disaster. Or then again lots of little ones. Or a big one and lots of little ones. So it came as no surprise when at five minutes past midnight Cosmic cried out from downstairs and there was the sound of something crashing against the wall. Cass ran downstairs to find Cosmic cowering in the corner as a wooden support had swung down from the ceiling and missed him by inches. Cass said she had only tested it a few days ago and it felt fine. But then at least it would give her the opportunity to climb up to the ceiling and try and ease the ceiling board down. In fact she was willing to give it a go there and then but the fear on Cosmic's face was enough to make her relent. So Cosmic had a rather unsettled night under the split ceiling board. Strange that it never occurred to him to move.
When all this was going on I was in my room. I would have liked to help but I had been laid up with pain. The previous night I had awoken at three thirty in the morning and felt the need to go to the toilet. Well I am of that age. I met Cass coming out of her room and we both were amused that age was finally catching up with us. Having returned to my mattress I went off to sleep only to be awoken at seven with a pain in my side. I have had kidney stones once before. Last time I was stuck in a car and had to keep stopping the car and step out and bend over to ease the pain. It lasted about twenty hours. This time I was in a position to start drinking quickly and the pain was less than I remembered. So I drank and drank and went to the toilet and drank and drank, felt sick but wasn't. They say it could be forty eight hours until the kidney stone goes through the system unless it is big enough not to manage the task. For me it lasted just short of twenty four hours. Which is when the ceiling came down. But the following day I was still tired as I hadn't gone for a proper sleep having sat up all night. However the relief of lack of pain just makes one relaxed. Cass, who had been diligent in water carrying the day before and saving Cosmic from the ceiling also had a quiet day. Then in the evening we felt fit enough to pop out for some food. We came home to watch a rented DVD that was well and truly scratched and didn't work. I hate this time of year.
The next night a returned to my mattress only to awoken up with the need for toilet breaks and a headache. I sat up and took pain killers. I have mentioned I hate this time of year haven't I?
IT IS ONLY THE TIME OF YEAR
After having dreams concerning being chased by giant rocks through tunnels running with water. I had to again climb from my mattress and it was then I heard the voices. Turned out Ethel and Cosmic were talking in hushed tones downstairs. Cosmic had apparently given Ethel a lift back to the lighthouse. She was discussing and reminiscing about the days in Cosmic's garden. With her in the back garden and Bernie in the front. Now Bernie was living with her in her own home. The companionship was wearing a bit thin. Ethel could sympathise with his lack of work and with it the lack of confidence. But Bernie was either very sure of himself or very depressed. There seemed to be no half way house. So she was wondering if she could pack a tent and live outside the lighthouse until the weeds could be cleared from Cosmic's place. Fortunately Cosmic said no. I was relieved on so many levels that I returned to sleep.
Crunching through a biscuit I lose a filling. So it looks as if I will have to swallow the biscuit and go to the dentist. If it is not one thing it is the next. (Beverley the writer of the Picayune's internal monologue would like to point out that the Picayune will not call the dentist until pain sets in). I am finding it hard to sleep at night through the constant worry of nothing at all. I have had to keep interrupting my sleep patterns to go to the toilet ever since I had the kidney stone. We are also disturbed by a crank phone call early in the morning. In the afternoon a phone call from a hospital informs us an elderly relative is being moved from one hospital ward to another. We didn't know he was in hospital. Cass phones up and discovers what the problem is and briefly talks to our Uncle. He is well but fell over and they are keeping a close eye on him. Have I mentioned how I hate this time of year.
Cosmic helps with the recycling skip and some charity bags we are supposed to leave out for collection. Then he announces he is leaving the lighthouse to stay at Ethel's. He can act as a go between for Ethel and Bernie. But he is on call whenever we need a lift. I suddenly feel a mixture of fear and relief. I have wanted to close the shutters (Beverley, the writer of the Picayune's internal monologue, would like to point that the shutters are purely metaphorical) and bar the World outside. But the World keeps seeping in through the cracks. I feel like I am in the middle of a monster movie. The lighthouse is the only place the monsters haven't reached yet. But they are coming. I mention this to Cosmic. As usual he smiles and says he has known me long enough to know why I feel like this at this time of year. Every problem is magnified. Every pain is an illness. Every sleepless night is a foreboding. Any crank phone call becomes a threat. Cosmic tells me what he always tells me. I should look on all the positives. I laugh at that but he scolds me for being too negative.
I row back to the lighthouse as the dark wins the daily fight to take over from the light. Damn it life is threatening and full of foreboding. As I climb or more accurately fall from the rowing boat and make my way up to the lighthouse I am greeted by the drooling features of The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks. I invite him inside.
COSMIC AT ETHEL’S
The clock on the wall says it's time to call. So let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Hi there, Cosmic Antidust at the turntable with a few spins from yesterday, today and the time that sound forgot. Here is The Electric Prunes and 'I had too much to dream'.
I was talking to Bernie when Ethel was out. He began to open up to me about the problems he was experiencing stuck in the house with Ethel. I felt like telling him Ethel felt the same but it really wasn't my place to do so. So I just tried to hint at the fact that Ethel felt the same. Especially when Bernie talked about the good old days as he reminisced about the time in my front garden with Ethel in the back. Do people never talk to each other. Although I did feel I was fulfilling my part as the go between. Problem is I haven't the concentration I used to have. Bernie I thought began to talk about his knees. A man has his knees and they sometimes obstruct the path of true feelings. I was nodding and agreeing for quite some time. I even mentioned that the Picayune has trouble with his knees. But he feels better when he can put weight on them do more things standing up. Turns out Bernie was talking about his 'needs' and not knees. So the conversation drifted into confused silence. I think the only person to come out of this with any credit in any of this was the Picayune.
Late Sunday Silas Straw phoned up Bernie and asked if he was ready for his first operation in the weed war. Bernie said he wasn't which is why I found myself standing on a weed covered path with two bags full of already rotting weeds. Silas said we needed to clear a path to the road that led to the field that led to the space that we could clear more space to dump our weed waste on. It all seemed very complicated but it gave me a few hours away from the problems of the world. Although I didn't expect the ants. Millions of ants wherever I cleared a space. I felt satisfied that we had done a good job when I excused myself. I was tired and aching and frankly in no condition to continue. Silas muttered something about being less of a war and more an irritated post office queue. However I was allowed back to Ethel's feeling pleased with myself.
I spent the evening asleep and woke up to feel a tension in the room. I think I may return to the lighthouse tomorrow. If only to tell the Picayune the good news about his knees.
BEVERLEY STANDS ALONE
My name is Beverley Amanda and as the recorder of the internal monologue of the Picayune it seems it has fallen to me to fill in the empty spaces. For some reasons that are frankly beyond my remit, I find the absence of any information about the comings and goings in the world of the Picayune slightly annoying. But the fact is the Picayune has been spending his time with The Evil Dug Up Body That Barks. If one should find oneself at the lighthouse and should feel and inclination to ring the bell. The front door would open and the bony fingers of The Evil Dug Up Body That Barks would appear to beckon the visitor in. Once inside one would find the Picayune looking at the stipple walls finding hair line cracks spreading across the walls like cobwebs. If the Picayune uttered any word it would have the word 'freak' in the sentence as he decries the cysts that appear from time to time on his eye lids. He would go on to list all the things that need to be done and then retire to a darkened room. The Picayune is no use and of little entertainment when he hangs out with The Evil Dug Up Body That Barks.
Cass spends her days working and her evenings asleep. She approaches sleep as a friend and feels inclined to entertain it all night with just a break in between to retire to bed. The Lighthouse is bathed in sunshine at the moment. But on the inside it is still dark. So it is elsewhere we must travel to find the light. But Ethel's house is not the place to find it. Bernie is in a mood of depression as he still finds it impossible to imagine that nobody finds his journalism of any interest. Newspapers have changed and the way news reports are broadcast no longer require actual news reports but space fillers broadcast by pretty talking empty heads. For her part Ethel would like Bernie out of her life. He has become a stain in her house she can't quite clean. Bernie is an odour that Ethel tries to cover up with air freshener, but masking the smell isn't making it go away. Which leaves the air freshener in the shape of Cosmic Antidust. A temporary and unwilling prisoner in a can with pictures of pretty flowers on it. Cosmic thought he could be a go between, between Ethel and Bernie. He has now become trapped in between the two and just wants to go. A man without a home he cannot actually enter because of weeds. Unable to feel at home anywhere else.
Silas Straw thought he was part of an effort to fight the weed war. But he has found his time taken up trying to convince others to take up the cutters. The thorns remain cruel and unyielding. Yet the enthusiasm to fight them has waned. Silas cannot do it alone. So he rubs his crow like features and wonders if all is not already lost.
I have to listen and record all this but frankly I just want to grab them all by the throat and shake them all up. Seems to me they all have it easy. Although a quick snap shot of the life in the lighthouse is alarming. The Picayune is sitting down but appears to be melting and liquefying before our eyes. A pool of what I hope is water appears at his feet. Cass is in her room, hunched over a bag of bolts and strange metal objects. Like a miser counting her money. This bag contains the where with all to put the Picayune's new bed together. But bits may be missing. Or then again they may not be depending on what arrives with the bed.
The Picayune decides to change his wet clothes. He eyes the shower nervously. Every so often the push on pipe leading to the shower works loose and water cascades everywhere. The Picayune struggled through the water jets to push the pipe back on. Yesterday the pipe did the same thing but it was Cass who saved the day. But one day the pipe will leak and there will be nobody home. Water will fill up the lighthouse and when the front door is opened, water will burst out like a torrent.
The Evil Dug Up Body That Barks looks on. He finds it hard not to smile in an evil, dug up body sort of way. People just make him laugh.
SILAS CALLS A MEETING
Silas Straw had come to the end of his tether. As tethers go it was usually long enough and strong enough to be unending. But now it had come to its end and Silas wanted people to know about it. So he announced over email and telephone and a rather curt announcement in the local paper that he was calling a meeting at the hidden secret church meeting place they all knew. Just follow the signs. Cass said she would go as she had work to do near there. Cosmic said that, as he was giving her a lift, he would go too. The Picayune stared at the wall and complained about all the things he had to do and said he had no time to go. The Evil Wicked Dug up Body That Barks said that he was aware he wasn't wanted at the meeting but would go anyway as being with the Picayune was 'bringing him down'. Ethel said she would go but changed her mind when Bernie said he would go. So Cosmic said he would pick them all up and take them to the meeting.
When they had left the Picayune was unable to do any of the things he had to do as he spent the time worrying that everybody he knew was going to the meeting and what would happen if they didn't come back and he was left alone? One can see why The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks wanted time away from the Picayune. So after Cosmic had picked up Bernie they all headed out to Havenridge and the secret location that wasn't very secret. Over the racecourse and around the wall of death. Where people in their cars don't indicate and Police cars turn on their sirens when it is time for their tea. Where cars with kids driving and old people and people in a hurry all meet in the wonderful connection of six roads with a supermarket car park turning. Five sets if traffic lights and a petrol station on an island. Where drivers use six sense more than driving skill. Once over those obstacles it is just follow the signs.
After parking the car and climbing the steep steps to the desk where the person sits who smiles. Having rested half way up the stairs because The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks was feeling a bit sick as he wasn't used to speed bumps and had experienced eleven of them in a short space of time. Cosmic, Cass, Bernie and the travel sick Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks, all made their way to the secret office. Cass had been here before so knew exactly what to do. Except she had forgotten and so knocked on all the doors until Silas answered one. When they had all sat down The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body made himself a coffee and then Cass had decided she wanted one too. Cosmic then said he wanted one and Bernie went with him. Then when they all were sitting down and Silas was about to speak, Cass said they should carry on but she was just popping to the loo. When she came back she said she felt very warm and so the window was opened and a fan put on. After all that was done Silas at last spoke.
Silas Straw explained he was at the end of his tether. The weed war was just not happening. Weeds and thorns were cascading over walls and houses. The bindweed was clinging to the fences and any person or animal that should happen to meander too slowly for a second. Meanwhile unscrupulous members of the public where using the thick foliage as cover to dump any number of unwanted household items. When Silas had called on them all to help he had expected more of them to actually do so. Cass explained how busy she had been what with one thing and another. Bernie said he was busy as well but would write a report about it. Cosmic said he was on the verge of joining up. The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks barked in an evil way. Silas insisted that they all gave assurances as to when and where they could start the fight back. After several minutes of silence they all agreed to make it their number one priority to inform Silas as to when a window in their busy schedules should open. He was not alone in this war against the weeds. Although strangely he had never felt so alone as in that moment.
On their way back home they all felt better that they were able to put Silas at ease. Cass hated the thought of Silas being upset. Cosmic agreed and it wasn't until they were half way home that they realised they were one passenger short. The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks had stayed with Silas. Nobody was very sure how handy he was with a scythe.
IT MUST BE HERE
The Picayune repeated his question as if hoping the answer would be different this time. But it wasn't. Cass once again repeated the answer that The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks had been left behind or at the very least stayed behind with Silas Straw. But the Picayune found it hard to believe. For one thing he felt betrayed. What was The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks doing with somebody else? The Picayune hadn't finished with him yet. Besides the Picayune felt sure that The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks was still around. The Picayune felt him. There was still a heavy cloud of joking depression hanging in the air. It wasn't just the Picayune who felt that way. Cass had been for some time now fussing over the bed that still hadn't turned up. She had rang and confirmed it was being put together. She had sent them a drawing and instructions clearly stating what she wanted. She had paid up. But since Cass had received the package of bolts and metal bits she had doubted her instructions had been followed. For instance the price was wrong. Cheaper than it should be. The price was for a basic model. Not the special de luxe edition she had planned. When Cass queried this, it turned out that the bed had no middle legs and no bolster head turbine with matching foot pedals and clutch control. Naturally Cass had began to be worried about what she was about to receive. The Picayune was still sleeping on the floor after two years and Cass had now made him feel excited about sleeping like a normal human being. Now there was a delay and her instructions had not been followed she had had dreams that made her wake up worried and depressed. It was as if The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks had never left.
Meanwhile Cosmic had been already to leave Ethel's house. But Ethel had insisted he stay. She was worried that being left alone with Bernie would bring the problem that she had with Bernie to a head. So Cosmic had become not the go between he had at first envisaged, but a buffer between a train that was oblivious to the fact the station didn't want it around. So he hung about in the odd atmosphere of nobody saying anything to anybody else. Except the odd polite enquiry after tea or food. Not that much difference to the Lighthouse really. Except the Lighthouse had an underlying feeling that there was nobody in it who didn't enjoy the silences. Cass would go to sleep when the Picayune watched television and the Picayune would end the day being grateful that nothing awful had happened during that day. Not only did it feel peaceful in its own way but sometimes the acceptance that this is all there is was a relief. Where as Ethel still hoped for something else. Bernie had ambitions to relive his past journalistic triumphs. Not that he had ever really had any. So Cosmic was left in a sort of no man's land. Waiting for the war to start. But knowing if it did it would be partly his fault for allowing it to begin.
Silas and The Evil Dug Up Body That Barks were finishing some vegetable soup. They seemed to be more than happy spending time in each others company. Silas didn't feel obliged to fight the weed war if nobody else cared. So the weeds grew. While The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks promised him that tomorrow they would start on clearing the walls of the weeds and the thorns. Both knew that the lie was clear and open and both were happy in their roles in the lie. It felt good knowing ones place in the World.
THE PICAYUNE RETURNS TO THE FOLD
It has been some time since I posted on here. I notice that Cosmic and Beverley have filled in for me. Which is fortunate. It is odd how one can fall out of the routine of things so very easily. I used to post on many MBs covering various subjects from football to transcendental meditation. But I don’t bother much now. I prefer to read. I am catching up on books and magazines that I have ordered but never read. Not that one really notices one is reading back issues of news magazines. Eighteen months ago the problems the World has now differs very little to the problems it had. Greece is still in trouble, some disaster somewhere is causing concern over lack of aid or aid going to the wrong places. A politician is in trouble over something that we should be concerned about but oddly don't care about. Oh and someone somewhere has been voted off a show because they were not talented enough and we have them plastered everywhere all over the media as if it mattered. With the same questions asked about fame and the lack of it and why oh why oh why did they lose their place when the other lot stayed. It is with some pride now that I watch little TV news because of this. I have no idea who they are talking about. Except when the news refers to a ballroom dance competition. I am sadly drawn to that and comment about dances I know nothing about as well as the celebrities involved. At least two of whom I have never heard of. I am just a victim of the pas a doble. Although hoping that particular female professional dancers do well has more to do with this odd interest,
There is noise of clanking scaffold polls from Caustic Cove. The wind is in the right direction so we hear everything as if it was right outside the door. Mind you it could well be. I haven't looked lately. Although I was disturbed earlier this morning by phone calls. The first at seven twenty and then five minutes later and then again five minutes after that. The answer phone only managed to pick up the end of the recorded message. Which told me I wouldn't be charged. This was of no use to me at all. So I climbed out of the mattress and went to the loo, only to have the phone go again. So I made a cup of tea for Cass and returned to find her on the phone. But she couldn't phone the person she needed to phone until eight o' clock. What had happened is that we had ordered some shopping five days ago to arrive today. Cass had used the credit card to buy something we didn't want or need from somewhere else. So Cass thought that the Credit Card people were being overly security conscience and was phoning them to tell them to allow the delivery. But the credit card company said it wasn't them. It turned out the supermarket had queried the card because the security number was entered in wrong on the fourth additional change to the list. Now I usually do the entering of the shopping on the site while Cass runs around and does the checking. This time she had done it all. Whenever she called out an item that was of interest only to me, I would say no let's not bother this time. I was trying to save money. But the problem with Cass is that I only have to mention something in passing and Cass immediately thinks it is an overwhelming need we must have and she orders it. Our shopping bill, despite my sacrifices, has never been so high. All because I mentioned I used to like Pot Noodles when I worked nights, a hundred years ago. Suddenly our list includes Pot Noodles with every available choice that is on offer. It was the same with the bed. I just mentioned the only reason I was used to a double bed was I liked to sleep at an angle across it. Suddenly a single mattress arrives that is longer and wider than any normal or abnormal person could wish to sleep on.
Anyway I am back to worrying about money and when the new bed will come and not going to the dentists and the cysts around my eyes and the shopping and if Ola Jordan will win Strictly Come Dancing again. Those are just my immediate worries. Don't even start me on the weeds and the ceiling falling down and the fact that I promised Cosmic we would help pay for his car service and MOT next month. Then there is the ..... but no even I cannot keep worrying about everything. I think I am missing The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks. One knew where one was when he was about. Being depressed and worried when he isn't about is very disconcerting. Not to mention, very depressing and worrying.
WHEN THE SHOPPING CAME
Having been used to having Cosmic help with the shopping, it seemed odd that we were left to our own devices. But the loading and bringing over all went well enough. Despite the weeds growing taller than I am and the supermarket delivery man creeping through the foliage like a Japanese soldier oblivious to the fact his war was over. We managed to bring in the shopping and put it away in fairly short time. As a rule I look forward to the aftermath of the shopping delivery. It means I can settle down to eat some of the goodies we have invested in. However as the shopping order was taken over by Cass, we are short of a few things. We live off cheese so naturally she forgot to order the real cheese slices. We are down to one packet of cream crackers so it was of little shock that no replenishment was ordered. The supermarket apparently had no crusty cobs so substituted them with soft rolls. Nor the yogurt that I like but again the substitute will suffice. The chocolate covered Rich Tea was nowhere to be found but plain Rich Tea was in their place. What we did have in abundance however was the aforementioned Pot Noodle. We have a cupboard full of them. I complained heartily at the amount of Pot Noodles Cass had ordered. But she just said she hadn't realised they were so big. I have no idea why she ordered one flavour of some and four of others. But I do know that instead of enjoying the afterglow of a good job well done. My scones and jam tasted dry and uninteresting. I was going to have a roll and cheese but felt full and bloated. The little joy I had once felt with the shopping had dissipated into a bored uninterested chasm of lonely hopelessness. I went upstairs with the fear of Pot Noodle as my only diet for the next six weeks.
After bacon sandwiches in the evening I fought the temptation to eat chocolate. I failed of coarse but then there was no surprise there. Cass dropped off to sleep in the evening and then worked into the morning. I went to bed late and so didn't rise the next morning until late. I still was early enough for Cass. I had work to do but soon became bored with that and so went to the post box with letters and DVD returns. Came back to the smell of Chicken being cooked. So we ate a big chicken dinner and Cass dropped off in the evening and I fought the temptation to eat chocolate. Which wasn't successful. We both went to bed with stomach aches. There is at least a routine beginning to establish itself here.
Work seems to have pushed the problem of all the other things I should be doing out of the way for now. I sit over a computer all day tapping in numbers and names. I must stop doing this and actually start work. At least I have no hunger after yesterday’s feast. Cass works all day too, than drops off all evening until its time to wake up and go to sleep. I have a Pot Noodle and some bread. The meal takes me back to the Pot Noodle days when I worked nights. Those were the days. Well actually those were the times I worked nights and ate Pot Noodles.
I was going to put out some books in the latest charity bag. But forgot as I was so busy today. So just put out the rubbish. I wonder what tomorrow will bring?
STRANGE INTERLUDE
Having spent the week working in the lighthouse, both Cass and myself were eager to seek fresh air and the outside World. I expected my bed to come during the week so we could move furniture around with leisurely ease. But it didn't so I was left to complete part of the work I had to do on the computer. I did take the opportunity to use Cosmic and his car on Friday and pop to the bank. Cass went to the shops and bought enough packets of cream crackers to rival the great Pot Noodle over spill. We also had a fish and chip supper leaving me full again and dreams featuring the end of the world with Pot Noodle exploding from the earth and devouring buildings and landscapes.
Cass sent an email enquiring after the bed. I have grave doubts that it will fit her specifications when it does arrive. We will then have great annoyance and gnashing of teeth because it will not fit into the space provided. But it would be nice to sleep in a bed again. If I haven't lost the skill to do so. The interlude between sleeping in my big double bed in my house and moving back to the lighthouse and a mattress has been very strange and maybe just too long. What will it mean to my daily routine I wonder? I will be sleeping in the room with my computer. A shorter commute but the lack of exercise is the last thing I need. Still we will come to that particular problem when the bed comes.
On Saturday we receive a phone call. The bed is suddenly coming late Monday or early Tuesday. The two days Cass was going out to work. We phone Cosmic to cancel the lift. Sadly the news of the imminent arrival of the bed fills me with dread on many fronts. We will have to start moving things around for one thing. Trying to move heavy furniture in a confined space will be frustrating. Especially with Cass barking orders and causing problems instead of letting me move things in my own good time and in my own way. On top of that there is still the doubt that the bed will arrive half finished or in the shape of bunk beds or a tent. Odd that we hear nothing until Cass sends an email. All very worrying.
I guess I will think about moving some furniture tomorrow to make room for the furniture I have to move to make room for the bed that may be coming. This should be the last weekend I sleep on the floor in over two years, What is amazing is how easily one can slip into a pattern, a routine. I wonder how much it will change my life? No me neither but I can hope. It is a sort of progress. Still I wont by counting my duvets until I have had actually slept in the new bed. If it is anything like the new chair it will have the odd draw back but will be mostly very successful. First though it is the strain of working out the movement of the furniture. I am good at that to be honest. Planning has always been my forte. The practical side not so much.
Gosh a real bed. Who would have thought it?
YES BUT WHAT DOES ONE DO WITH IT
Monday morning I decided to do a bit of work at the computer. Looking around at the amount of furniture that needed to be moved weighed as heavily on my mind as it did the floor. But eventually I left the computer and began to shift tables and desks over to the middle of the mattress room. It felt odd that I could have slept my last night on a mattress by the big window. Moving the stuff into the middle of the mattress room to make room for the bed settee that was to come from my old bedroom that was now going to be my new bedroom while the bed settee itself would make room for the new bed. I was already feeling nostalgic for the good old days of floor sleeping. But having set about the first task, I was left with the harder task of actually transporting the bed settee out of my room. I was as lost in my thoughts of how to move the bed settee as I am trying to describe it.
Having pulled the bed settee towards the door, leaving in its wake a pile of papers and computer keyboard letters and a lighter. I began to realise that my plan had a slight drawback. Somehow the door had healed up slightly and was now too small to actually fit the bed settee through. Or so it seemed. Once out of my room it would have to make a sharp turn right and another turn left to enter the room it was supposed to occupy. Clearly this was impossible. So I pulled the bed settee back into the bedroom. Cass came in giving advice which was generally unhelpful and mostly annoying and consisted of asking me if I had taken the cushions off before moving the bed settee. Even thick old Picayune had worked out with his brain the size of a caterpillar that removing cushions first was a good idea. We decided to lift the bed settee on end and try to shuffle it around the door. This would work if I firstly moved the furniture in my bedroom away from the vicinity of the door. Which I did with grumbles and moans. Our first attempt to move the bed settee out of my room was very successful. One problem remained however. This bit of furniture could be manoeuvred out of the door with great straining of muscles and outpouring of sweat. But once out of the room it could only be shifted in the opposite direction it was intended to go. Somehow moving down the stairs and turning it around and then returning up the stairs seemed a poor choice. There was only one thing to do. We had to move the bed settee back into my bedroom and turn it around. Which we did. I decided I needed a break and cried a little. While Cass offered up some bizarre suggestion which I dismissed immediately.
Turning the bed settee around on end enabled us to turn the corner in the right direction. But we hit our next problem. As well as the swinging bed innards of the bed settee swinging open, trapping the bed settee on any and every obstacle, the top half of the settee bit was sort of an obstruction for whatever direction we wanted to turn the thing. Having taken off the bits of telephone connectors and mirrors and any slight protrusions. from the wall. There was only one thing we could do. We had to return the bed settee back to the door way of my bedroom and turn it around again so we could then manoeuvre it into the next corner. I decided to rest while Cass decided she was in fact trapped in a position where she was unable to see where the door was we needed to push the bed settee through. I wished her good journey as she scrambled under the bed settee and out the other side. Once again we began the arduous task of moving the heavy and awkward object through a door that was not meant to be so poorly treated. Suddenly with a cry like a mid wife the bed settee managed to be born again into another room. Cass moved my mattress and covers from the floor and we plonked the bed settee down. Then we sat on it and panted while commenting on what a great view we had from this window at this height of sitting down. Look you could see the main coast road at Caustic Cove and a fair bit of sky and sea. We then planned what furniture would look nice in this room and what furniture now could not be fitted into the room because the bed settee had managed to grow to greater proportions than either of us had imagined.
I returned to work some hours later while Cass began to clean with a brush the walls that had not seen the light of day for twenty years. Leaving my new bedroom with the smell of a clean lavatory. A smell that hung around for several days. As I no longer had a place to sleep and the bed settee could not be opened up as the old mattress room was full of other furniture. I resigned myself to a sleepless night. I tried to make myself comfortable on the bed settee and fell asleep very quickly and had a grand sleep. Only disturbed by an alarm every hour that had somehow been triggered with all this moving about. I have yet to discover what the alarm is. Next morning Cass continued to scrub away at the walls while I worked on the computer and then attacked the extra rubbish and recycling that had been produced. While we both waited for the bed to arrive knowing that something was bound to go wrong.
After mid day a Scottish driver arrived at the quay side and we rowed out to meet him. While I struggled out of the boat he informed us we had three out of the four parcel parts we wanted. The fourth parcel had the extra brackets and bolts without which the bed was useless as a bed and therefor was only three separate metal bits of engineering. But after a brief phone call he was informed that the fourth parcel that we seeked was in fact in one of the other wrapped bits of metal. I had brought along a pair of scissors and proceeded to open up the bed parcel, the foot part and the head board parcel and eventually found the fugitive fourth parcel concealed cleverly therein. The driver kindly helped us to put the bed parts into the boat and we returned to the lighthouse. Having already been in training the day before the trip with the bed wasn't bad and certainly not as heavy as the bed settee. Joining the bed and head board part with bolts and nuts to the foot bit. Then the new mattress I had almost forgotten about unwrapped that had been standing in my room for several months. The bed was finally pushed into its place. Blankets and a duvet and pillows were added and so it sits there. Awaiting my body. It is now half past one in the morning. Cass has retired to bed ages ago as she was having trouble walking and making any sense at all as fatigue had began to set in. I am on the other hand just nervous. Suppose the whole thing just collapses on me? Suppose the mattress is just too hard and sets off my sciatica? Suppose I just cannot sleep in a real bed again? It seems very high for somebody used to sleeping on the floor. But the time has come for me to chance it. I wonder why Cass went to bed so early? Was she just afraid of what might happen? Oh well here goes. Wish me luck.
CASS DOWN AND OUT
Having established that a bed that is well made and is actually an aid to sleep that really does seems to work. I found myself greeting the morning with courage and a little bravado. Yes I could be like other human beings after all. I didn't need to be a character from a Phillip K Dick novel and could now invest in completing the work I had to do and planning for furniture removal and additions and just enjoying my new life. A new life as a person with a bed. I even walked to the post box full of joy and waved away the fatigue and the pain.
The following day of the great move Cass was also feeling stiff and a tad achy. But she was able to set up washing machines and make herself a meal and cook a bit of fish for me. Life at this point looked fine. That evening Cass continued her normal routine and falling asleep in front of the television. When she awoke however she seemed to be unable to walk without pain and struggled to bed in agony. Next morning was little better and I had to dash around doing the things Cass would normally do. Like opening washing machines. Then one is supposed to take the washing out apparently. So I began hanging clothes around the lighthouse. This was as far as I was able to fathom this particular problem. Then we had to decide what she should do. We could call the doctor out but frankly that would mean a further trip to the hospital for an xray. As that is all our doctor ever suggests. Besides I would have to vacuum and clean up the place if we were to have visitors. So I tried the on line NHS. Who phoned Cass back within an hour and said that Cass should go to the hospital or call the doctor out. Meanwhile I suggested that Cass may have a problem with a groin pull or strain. Which was exactly what the NHS Direct person suggested. So having diagnosed Cass, made her some toast, brought the rubbish bin back and put in another bag, made a pot noodle for myself, did washing machine emptying and clothes hanging. I relaxed for a few minutes. It is not easy trying to find time for oneself you know? Anyway Cass was managing to make it up out of bed with the aid of a walking stick. But she was still unable to come downstairs and contribute anything to the running of the household.
By the third round of toast and cups of drink Cass announced she was able to walk a little bit better. Although the term 'walking' was somewhat of a misnomer as all Cass managed was to hobble less comically and less painfully. By the time eleven at night had been reached I thought Cass was feeling a bit better. I was walking up the stairs to ask if she wanted anything else. A side of beef perhaps or a three coarse feast. When she hobbled out of her room and announced that there was a plate and cup to be collected from her room and that in future a smaller plate was required as the bigger one was too big for the space provided. I remarked that I knew a plate and glass was to be collected as I was walking up the stairs to collect said items. Cass said I was shouting, told me how to put on the dishwasher, ordered a new glass of water and stormed into the bathroom. Actually she didn't storm into the bathroom. I managed to collect the plate and glass, return downstairs and fill the dishwasher and return with a glass of water before Cass had actually reached the bathroom. But once downstairs I heard her bedroom door close with a bang. So I knew she had retired for the night. The banging of the door was due to the ill fitting of said door as opposed to any petulance on her part. I also managed to put some strange tablet thing into the dishwasher and turn the machine on. Oh yes I am becoming very good at all this.
So I decided to phone Cosmic the next morning in the hope I could have a lift to the local shops. Once I had decided this I planned to start the day early. But was awoken the next morning by noise of the dishwasher being opened and the dishes being put away. It was either an intruder or Cass. As few intruders would start with the putting away of the dishes I resolved to allow Cass to find her feet so to speak. It was indeed a minor miracle and a lesson to us all. Cass was indeed able to walk around carefully and walk up and down stairs. I doubt she will want to clean up rooms today but it is indeed a sight to behold. I advice her to be careful and she tells me that my hanging up of her underwear and shirts from the washing yesterday makes it look as if they are decorations and Christmas has come early.
Now we must remember we are not very fit and have seen our best days melt into the snows of yesteryear. In future we must take things a little easier. I say 'we' because I begin to sneeze. I wonder if I have caught a cold? Bed for me I think and plenty of hot drinks. I wonder if Cass could bring me a hot beverage?
AMONGST THE WALKING DEAD
Cosmic left his peace keeping duty between Bernie and Ethel behind and gave me a lift to the local shops. I had explained about Cass and her injury and may have over done the need for help. When Cosmic came over and asked where I wanted to go I pointed to the top of the road. A ten minute walk if that. But ten minutes there, ten minutes in the shop and ten minutes back. My legs need time to train for that sort of journey. Anyway he rather reluctantly drove me and I bought the bare essentials without any treats that Cass usually buys. I had eaten all the crisps and didn't want them in the house as I would be so weak willed and would just eat them all again. Although part of the problem was I didn't want to spend more time in the shop than I had to. I feel like the people in the 'Walking Dead' TV series, when they have to go through a crowd of zombies by covering themselves in dead goo. Pretending to be like these walking dead people but I am really human. Or is it the other way round? The point is I am simply not comfortable. I did put this point to Cosmic who said that as one of the zombies driving me about I better re think the scenario. Still, not being drawn to the crisps, I thought was a good thing nevertheless. Problem was Cass was looking for her Pringles later that night and was not convinced that she must have left them somewhere as I may have suggested.
Having explained about the bed coming and my new room format. Cosmic was eager to see it. But first he suggested a trip to Ethel's house. I think he was just trying to show off his skills at bringing the two waring parties together. We arrived at Ethel's and Cosmic let himself in with his own key. Again I felt put out that he appeared to be putting down roots as solid as the weeds blocking the way to his own house. He had already left things at the lighthouse. Just how many places did he need to settle into? I need not have worried. The house was dark and cold. Cosmic shivered and just remarked that both Ethel and Bernie must be out. Which may or may not be a good sign. After all, them both being out at the same time didn't necessarily mean they were out together. Cosmic walked into the lounge and pointed to a light on a table. He said that would be a good light for a bed side lamp. I agreed but had not intention of taking it. That was until Cosmic picked it up and handed it to me. It was covered in layers of dust. It was only then that I looked at the debris of bags and books on the floor and the dust on the windows and surfaces. How long had Ethel and Bernie been gone? Cosmic was a little vague on the exact time. But it was somewhat longer than I had been led to believe. A door stop in the shape of a pile of books was handed to me and again the dust was cascading off the surface.
Cosmic drove me to the lighthouse and did row over to the lighthouse to see the improvements we had made. It was heartening to see his enthusiasm and surprise in the changes. One doesn't realise just how different things are until you see places through other peoples eyes. Cosmic left saying how pleased he was he had come. It had put him in the mood for Christmas. I looked quizzical but realised he had spent time with Cass. I thought he had commiserating with her about her pain. But they obviously found time to mention my hanging of underwear that looked like decorations around the lighthouse. Oh yes very droll. Lets stick it to poor old Picayune. It was because of this that I completely forgot to delve to the bottom of the odd goings on at Ethel's house. It all seemed very odd. No doubt there would be an innocent explanation. Or would there?
The bed side lamp and door stop look very nice.
SLEEP PERCHANCE TO STAY IN BED
Well there you go. I have rejoined the club of normality. Twice now I have gone to bed and been able to relax until midday. Well it was the weekend. I was just luxuriating in the normality of it all. A can now read in bed as I have a bright bed side light. Plus I go and sit on the bed settee in what I like to call our upstairs lounge. There I can read to my hearts content. Although I did have a slight headache because of eye strain with all this reading. But then I could just slip out of bed, take a pain killer and return to bed. What is more, I can now listen to the radio in bed. I suppose I always could. But now the radio is in easy reach of the bed and I just lean over and switch it on. Actually listening to a music station. Something I haven't done for many many years. Ah, how the simple things in life can mean so much.
Still normality must resume soon and we are back to work and worrying about weeds and the next stage in the lighthouse changes. Cass is thinking about tottering to work and Cosmic has warned us that the car needs to go into the garage for an MOT and service soon. So he will inform us of the time he will be unavailable and this means we need to help pay for it.
I pick up the phone to call Dull But Honest for a chat over the recent goings on in the world of football. We are, after all, always chatting away to each other. Well to be fair we hardly ever talk to each other. But if Cosmic is going to have his car off the road I may need a standby in case of problems. Some would say I was being selfish and self serving (Beverley, the Picayune's internal monologue recorder would say just that and does) but I need to look at the big picture, mobility wise. However I am greeted with a problem. My phone doesn't have a dialling tone. So I amble downstairs to the answerphone and to my surprise it is not flashing at me. But I turn it off and turn it on again anyway. But the phone still has no dialling tone despite showing me everything is working. I worry that all the moving about of furniture has caused us to hit a telephone cable. Cass reports the fault via the Internet on our second line. It is because we look at the big picture that we have the insurance of two telephone lines. The automatic web response from BT tells us it could be three days before they........ at which point the web goes dead as does the second telephone line. We are down to two mobile phones to communicate with the outside world. Oh this is sheer bliss.
Cass goes off to work and reports the fault to the second line and I busy myself doing nothing. I could go and clear the path up to the lighthouse. The weeds are dangerous now. But I don't. Instead I think about putting out the rubbish for tomorrow. But I don't do that either.
The following day a telephone engineer arrives telling us the fault to the line is outside the lighthouse. This is because 'they' are doing something, somewhere, and it has cut off over sixty households. He however knows nothing about the first line that we reported as faulty. But he will look into them both. He comes and goes and fixes the lines and so we are back in business.
There is nothing for it but for me to do the rubbish. But the sky opens are we have a freak hail storm. Wind batters and ice stones bounce off the water. I look at my bed and return to its welcoming embrace. I turn on the radio and listen to somebody and some music. All is well as the lighthouse is hit by a biblical storm.
THE PACKAGE ON HALLOWEEN
Silas Straw decided it was the right time to do it. So he did it. The ultimate ultimatum would have to be made. So he made it. At various times throughout the next few days the large packages would arrive. If this didn't push people into saving their own lives then nothing would. The weed war was no longer something that could be ignored. So Silas ordered something that would push the lazy civilians into fighting back. Incinerators were sent to each of the sit back and do nothing homes. This way the people would have some place to burn the weeds and thorns they cut down and as every body liked fire, this would encourage the people to stop looking at the weeds climb up their homes, block their paths and drains and actually join the war. A war that was in danger of passing them by and putting them on the losing side before they had a chance to join in.
The company Silas picked to deliver the incinerators was efficient and quick. But they chose to deliver the incinerators when Cosmic was taking Cass to work and the Picayune had gone along for the ride. Which meant two incinerators could not be delivered. Dull But Honest refused to answer his door so another incinerator could not be delivered, All in all not a great outcome. When Silas Straw learned that his plan to encourage the spineless, lazy multitude had failed. He set about trying to recover the situation by telephoning and emailing them all with the news that they would be receiving something to their advantage through the post. As luck would have it the delivery times were confirmed and everybody was in to collect the advantageous parcel.
Cosmic phoned the Picayune and informed him that he had stayed in especially and just received a dustbin with a lid that had a hole like chimney. The Picayune had also received the gift from Silas. Neither Cosmic or the Picayune were that grateful with the said gift. After all it meant work of a physical nature. When one imagined the amount of work it needed to even begin the battle against the weeds, the Picayune became quiet woozy. Still he was secretly quite pleased in a way as he had plenty of paper and old bills stretching back decades to shred and this way he could burn them instead. Still it was the thought that counted. As the Picayune had Cosmic on the phone he inquired about Bernie and Ethel. But again Cosmic was strangely distant about the subject and tried to manoeuvre the conversation away from Bernie and Ethel. But it was clear that Cosmic was unsure about the whereabouts of the missing couple. Or was he?
As the children dressed as witches and monsters begged at doors for sweets and goodies. They had yet to realise that begging was not a good thing and that their parents were not the great protectors they had imagined. Those children and adults who walked to Halloween Parties were safe and had a wonderful time. But there were children, this dark and lonely night, who strayed from the path and were on an independent begging spree. It was a few of these little poppets who didn't hear the rustle of the foliage behind them and couldn't feel until it was too late, the sharp clinging thorns that tugged at their costumes. Where had the little kiddies gone asked the parents when they could be bothered to do something about the missing kids? The weeds were too thick to search. The council were blamed but with all the money constraints what could they do?
Silas Straw armed himself with then usual weapons. Tonight he would do battle again with the weeds of the night. Only this time he hoped that he would not be battling alone.
Unfortunately for the time being he would be. But the Picayune had found a nice place for the dustbin incinerator. On top of the furniture he was going to dump that he had been storing in the boat house. However time was drawing near that the justice avenging league of Caustic Cove would soon become the weed warriors. Just don't expect any time limits to be made.
Silas could do no more. Silas would battle on alone if needs be.
THE RESCUE
I don't know how I find myself alone at seven in the morning. Well when I say I don't know how I find myself at seven in the morning I don't mean on a usual morning. On a usual morning I find myself by putting my hand out and poking myself. But this morning is not a usual morning. I am standing alone on a road. Looking at the great distance I need to travel. This morning started with a phone call from Cosmic. I ignore the phone bell until it rings on the third occasion. Then I pick it up and am about to swear down it until I hear Cosmic's voice. Actually I do still swear down the phone but am less ferocious in my outpourings. But Cosmic tells me to stop and meet him in Caustic Cove as soon as I can. He needs my help. Despite my best efforts to wriggle out of it I find myself struggling into his car half an hour later. We are not alone. Ethel and Silas Straw are in the back seat. Ethel looks in a bad way. She looks as if she hasn't slept for days and is covered in scratches. She seems to be mumbling under her breath some incoherent babble. But Silas seems to understand what is going on.
Silas was wandering the fields early in the morning, doing what ever Silas does at that time of day. The crow faced, financially comfortable scarecrow lives a life of peaceful existence. Fighting weeds and cutting down them down while chasing the birds and animals that may feed on the crops. Very peaceful and comfy I don't think. Anyway he was out this morning as usual and he came across Ethel struggling to escape the clinging weeds on the edge of a field. Apparently a week or so ago Ethel and Bernie Woodstain had had a loud a violent argument and both left Ethel's home shouting and screaming at each other. Cosmic was witness to the violent argument and had been so worried at what might have happened to either one of them when neither returned, that he said nothing and hoped for the best. I can only think his loyalty to both Bernie and Ethel made him worried that anything he might say could harm them should a problem arise. However the state of Ethel was not as a result of anything Bernie had done. Although without the argument neither one of them would have found themselves such easy victims.
By all accounts it was Ethel who was grabbed first. She wasn't aware that she was near any undergrowth or flora or weeds but suddenly she was whisked off her feet and pulled into some thick bush. Bernie shouted a warning but by then it was all too late. Bravely and without thought for his own safety. Bernie dived into the bush after her. What followed was a brief mugging by the thorns and both Ethel and Bernie's struggling bodies were dragged away. For some reason the weeds had not been as strong as imagined, These were weeds from the edges of the main weed army and were weaker and less intelligent. Suddenly Ethel found away to escape and with her help both she and Bernie were able to find a way out of the thick bush. For days and nights on end they hid and fought their way out of tricky, thorny situations. Eventually they had come across a shed with a loft and were able to hide there. They took it in turns to sneak out for help or food. Eventually it was on one of these occasions that Ethel had made it to the edge of the field where she was found by Silas. On her insistence Silas was made to promise to help her go back for Bernie. She refused medical assistance until Bernie was safe. But now, as she lay in the back of the car, she took a turn for the worst. Silas knew the shed where they had been hiding and was busy explaining the easiest way to reach it by road and then a short but relatively safe walk, ignoring the enemy weed.
But when Ethel became too ill Cosmic insisted he drive her to the nearest medical help. But he had no idea how to drive there or travel back the way he came. He needed Silas to help him. Despite her illness, Ethel refused to go unless one of us go for Bernie. So that is why I find myself on a road armed only with a mobile phone. Silas had given me the briefest of instructions on how to find the shed Bernie was hiding in. I was given strict instructions on how to bypass the weeds and was told it was only at best a fifteen minute walk. Now a fifteen minute walk to Silas is equal to a days trek across the Himalayas to me. However I bravely sat down once the car had disappeared from sight.
Firstly there was a field to cross then some waste ground before I even reached the road. I had been given a walking stick I keep in Cosmic's car to aid me. But my legs grumbled at the new found need for their existence within a few strides. However I have made it to the road and am trying to remember the instructions I have been given.
The sky darkened and I hoped to be spared a downpour. I found a wall to rest on a few minutes later. That was my first mistake. A weed stretched out towards me from behind the wall and was about to grab me, when I became aware of it and beat it back bravely with my walking stick. But it had managed to make a grab for my head and caught my eye. Stung and annoyed I beat that weed back to its earthly place of birth. I walked on and found myself near a path Silas had told me about. Legs numb with use and back in pain I walked slowly, using the stick more and more as an aid. Heart pounding and perspiration beginning to swamp my addled brain. Confused and disorientated I was helped by a passing bin man who pointed me in the right direction. I reached the shed and entered it only to see stairs. Climbing up them like a mountaineer clinging to the side of an over hang I made it to safety. Pushing a door open I saw Bernie standing there, armed only with a piece of paper and a pen. Unless he was going to cause death by a thousand paper cuts I held out my hand and then it went dark as a collapsed from fatigue.
A few hours later Cosmic called and said they were ready to pick me up from the place they had dropped me off. My mobile phone was passed to Bernie and he and Ethel had a nice tearful chat. I had argued that it was safe for Cosmic to come closer but Silas would have none of it. So stopping every few steps to pretend to look at my mobile we slowly made it back to the car. Needless to say it appeared to be mostly up hill. Coming to the shed didn't feel particularly down hill but the return journey was most definitely all up hill. I don't mind telling you that I was ready to be left alone to let the creeping weed have my large yet exhausted body. But Bernie kept encouraging and insulting me in equal measure and at last we found ourselves safely back at the car.
My bed called its siren song and I retired to it. Bernie and Ethel were reunited and everything was wonderful again. Now leave me alone.
The weeds edged closer to the lighthouse hardly able to contain the rustle of joy as they edged ever closer to another victim.
QUID PRO QUO?
There should be a rule in life that if one does something good or brave or totally without need for repayment. One should be repaid by acts of kindness or good luck. So when I braved weeds and collapse through utter exhaustion to save Bernie and lead him through the perils of the undergrowth into the light and safety, would it not have been a kind gesture by those that consider themselves in charge of such matters to give me a little bit of pleasure in return? Who would it have upset? Instead I come home having suffered injury to face a weekend of upset. Firstly the washing machine decides to go beep instead of beep, beep, beep. This lack of beeps and letters and numbers flashing on the front of the machine in code means something is wrong. One has to find the code book and an enigma machine to decipher the meaning of this code. Fortunately a passing enemy submarine and a crack team of British Commandos conspired to find the book and machine which was upstairs in the lighthouse all along. The plot of this will be made into a film changing the British Commandos into plucky young American GIs led by a brave but troubled Sergeant whose last mission ended in disaster. Somehow his men have found this out and don't trust him. But they soon come to love him as all the Germans aboard the U Boat are played by English actors doing high pitched voices that sound like something out of a questionable club in Munich.
Having discovered that the flashing code on the front of the washing machine meant a blocked pump, Cass announced that the blockage may have had something to do with the very old cover that is falling to pieces being washed and falling to pieces. Why did we need to wash it I wonder and not just throw it away? Well there is a reason but one that makes no sense in the re telling but does make sense in the knowing. However Cass decided to put the washing machine through several programmes before being forced to put it and us through an assault course and turn the washing machine upside down and fumble with its tubes and inner most secrets. No amount of poor television programming that it was forced to watch would force it to stop flashing the code, nor any of the several different washing programs it was forced to go through. Although the code did change to one which meant ' bored now of waiting' as it turned itself off and went to sleep.
I checked the drains and pipes outside and all was clear so we are left with the fact that we will have to man handle the washing machine to reach its bits and pipes. Oh joy and no little damnation. I retired to my chair in the lounge. This is a chair I have used for many many years. It is like a throne. Made of wood and solid as life itself. So as I sat down it cracked and I felt something give way. The chair that has been apart of me for years and years finally had a piece drop off it. A bit of wood at the front. So I had to change it over for a spare chair just like it that was standing (do chairs stand I wonder) only feet away. Now this chair has not actually been sat in for over two years. We have placed things on it and used it as an overflow for general stuff. But nobody has actually sat on it since its mistress vacated it for the last time. So I sat down carefully on what was my late Mother's chair and found it altogether different to the one I had been used to despite the chairs being identical. For one thing the back leather cover was lumpy and the leather seat too firm. So I swapped over the seat but kept the back. It will just take time to become used to it. But why did my original seat break? I shall look at it tomorrow and see if anything can be done.
We will also look at the washing machine and no doubt have to spend money we don't have on that. Still I did have some good news. Cosmic phoned and told us the car had passed its MOT and the service only required the odd new wiper blade and that sort of thing. He told me how much our share of the bill was. Oh really is that all? God in heaven what were the wiper blades made of?
Yes indeed so everything is just fine for Cosmic. Bernie and Ethel are slowly recovering from their ordeal back at home. Silas is planning the next assault on the weeds knowing we are all really up for it in revenge for the attack on Ethel and Bernie.
But where is my good news? Where is my quid pro quo? Sometimes a little patience is required I am told. Yeah that must be it. I am looking forward to that.
GETTING LIFE
The Picayune
One needs a great deal of patience to live a life. Like a good walk, there is always a desire to hurry it up at the end so one can reach the destination. At the start everything is new. Look a tree, haven't seen that before. Oh look another tree but a slightly different one. A pebble on the ground is just beautiful. See and touch it and see how it feels. In the beginning everything is new. All the old people about must have been about forever. Every experience is a new experience and worth its weight in time. Then there comes a time when one doesn't see the trees anymore and just swears at the pebble that makes one stumble over it. Life begins to make a statement. It stops one looking at all the nice and new things and makes you concentrate on all the pointless stuff. When do I have to be at school? When does this have to be done by? Will that girl like me if I make her laugh? So the trees and the pebbles no longer have a look in. At least not until near the end of the journey. Then one starts looking again at what is going on around them. Look a tree, haven't seen that for a long time.
Cosmic
The clock on the wall says it is time to call so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Although the latest sounds are not as good as the sounds in my day. My Dad said that to me too about his sounds. Don't tell anybody but I tend to listen to Radio two all the time now. Yes I pretend to listen to all the latest digital music stuff playing all the cool new hits of today. But frankly I am no fan of music now. There was a time when music and me sort of had a trial separation. Since I have been at Ethel's and she has a radio on all the time, I seem to have fallen back into a casual relationship with music. But only music I can understand. My music from my time. That is what life is all about isn't it? You find what is comfortable and try and stick with it. Try and surround yourself with what is familiar and cozy. That is what I do anyway. Which is why I like to experience life with as many different people as I can. Until I feel a bit bored then I move on. Unlike the song, wherever I lay my hat is not my home. It is just like life. We are all just passing through. Best to be as comfortable as one can.
Bernie Woodstain
Standing here by the sink awaiting the last plate to be delivered into the water. I counted all the plates out and counted them all back in. I need to report all I see and all I hear. Not easy when nobody wants to listen or read what is produced. We live in a time when everybody is a reporter. They just have to be in the right place at the right time. Us professionals are no longer looked upon with any envy. If you are not a freelance now you are nothing more than a page filler that nobody remembers. A freelance can at least go to places and try and find the best story. I thought I had found the perfect story. Trapped behind enemy lines in the weed war and creeping about foraging for food and water. But when I wrote up the story and placed it with the local paper. All they said was that the timing was wrong. Nobody wanted to hear about a good war story about weeds. Not when the rest of the Country is thinking about remembering those who have fallen in war. I suppose life is like that. Life is all down to timing. If you are not in the right place at the right time then you can miss the real story of your life.
Ethel
It is all a bit odd. When you make up so many interesting things in your life that never actually happened. When something exciting or frightening or interesting really does happen. It is never as exciting as the stuff you have made up. My near weed experience last week has already drifted into a non event. I could say it has become less real than other things in my life that I know never really occurred but seem more real. Bernie is doing the washing up before he puts the dishes in the dishwasher. Yes I have a dishwasher. But I allow Bernie to do things his way because it meets my fantasy of having him about. Or having anybody about. Cosmic drifts from place to place while his own home is surrounded by weeds. I let him drift here because it fits the lie. But it doesn't take much for that lie to end and for another one to come along. Although the best times I have ever had is when I am left alone. I still lie to myself but it is so much easier when you know the lie is not true and you don't have to believe it. But with other people around you have to believe. A belief in a lie is contagious. Once you really believe it other people begin to believe it. Then they will fight to protect it.
That is really what life is all about. Life is protecting the lie.
Silas Straw
I see life everyday and everywhere. In the fields where I walk and in the hedges that I stroll by. Life just is. So with life I also see death. The seasons bring with them the changing faces if what is. There is so much to see that is free. There is beauty and ugliness in every blade of grass. The weeds have a beauty in their own way. The same as watching a battle between two armies at night. Knowing that each flash of light and tracer bullet could be the conclusion of life. All pointless other than the need to preserve another life. That's why I like to see and use things for little outlay. I put in the effort and so expect something in return. People don't understand how I can make money and buy pubs yet do nothing but walk the fields. But it is easy when you have time to think. Although the so called credit crunch effected even me. Fortunately I saw it coming at least three years before it officially hit. It will go on for a good few years yet. In fact nearly a generation will not know the stability we have all felt in our lives. But the rich will become richer and the poor will always be poor. It is always in degrees that things change. Like the temperature. It has always changed and always will. People have had to up sticks and move when the floods come and the cold lasts longer. That is the way it will always be and always has been. The only difference is now we think by spending lots of money on a few windmills it will help stop the problem. It wont of coarse and just waste even more resources. Still that is what life has always been about. We fail to adapt while others suffer. Or we suffer while others fail to adapt. The survivors are just the ones who make less mistakes.
Cass
It's really for other people. Well I didn't ask for it. It was just given to me plonk. Here you are. Now use it wisely or we will have to have words and judge you and poke things at you when things go wrong. No rules but just be careful not to break any. That is why I like rules. Maths has rules and is easy to follow. But there are an awful lot of things that don't have easy to follow rules. People don't have rules. They differ from person to person and from second to second. They are hard to follow. Even I am hard to follow. Why can I do things one day and the next day suffer for them. You would think if you stretch out to reach something it would hurt there and then if it was going to do. This would help prevent further damage. But it doesn't so you stretch a little more just to finish stretching. Then the next day it hurts. I mean it really hurts. Then I have found milk gives me stomach pain if taken in cereal bowl quantity. Milk never used to hurt. When did it decide to hurt? So life is really for other people. It doesn't make sense or have rules that are stick able. Life ends up being the exception that proves the rule. Now that rule has never made any sense either.
Dull But Honest
Nobody asked me. People forget that without me Cosmic, Bernie and Ethel would still be trapped in Cosmic's garden. But people forget. They don't see any coincidence that it was Bernie and Ethel who were taken again by the weeds. However nobody asked me and like so many other things it is left to me to mention me. Life is like that. People forget.
BANKS AND WATCHING FOR GHOSTS
I took advantage of the availability of Cosmic and his car to pop some cheques into the bank. Cosmic was delivering Cass to work so I asked him to just go on to our local bank. I say local bank but really it is at best a ten minute car ride at the very least. In the past we have had bank offices nearer but they have all closed or moved further away. So this is why we use the bank we do. It is true that human beings are still the best advert for services like banks and newsagents. Although, thinking about it I do most of my banking and paper and magazine buying online. Human contact isn't so much an advert than an annoyance now I come to think about it. However banks are still interesting to go into. Especially the small branches. There isn't an actual bank in Caustic Cove so I have to travel a little further. After finding a place to park and then joining the queue in the bank I reach the window. Now I expect to mumble what I need to be done to whoever is sitting behind the window. Invariably this is a woman. It is as if the bank wants to make you think you are buying a programme at a theatre. A smile and you are supposed to be lulled into forgetting that what you are doing is parting with money. Or in the bank’s case putting the money in a box for them to use and for you to receive no proper return. Or in my banks case no return at all.
I had obviously reached the bank on the very day that the bank staff had been given some training on customer relations. Instead of passing over some cheques and being involved in a who can talk the quietest contest. I was greeted with a barrage of questions and smiling. "How are you Mr Picayune?" said the nice, fresh faced girl from behind the counter. I mumbled I quick-witted retort that she didn't hear."Have you anything planned for today?" She asked as if setting herself up for a date. I mumbled another hilarious reply that she couldn't have heard. " Been doing anything enjoyable today?" Came the next unrelenting wave of treacle. This time I mumbled something that would have been so funny as to make me a star in some West End show. But she couldn't have heard it. Then as she passed back my paying in book the girl asked me what I did for a living. I had run out of my best material so I dumbly told her. No 'as little as possible' or 'nothing if I can help it' but the truth. Her eyes widened in genuine shock. Mainly because she had at last heard what I had said and I didn't match the stereo typical profile she had in front of her. She told me to have a good day and I thanked her as I left. I was determined not to return the good wishes. Not everybody today will be able to take the interrogation and will break down in tears or violence. Either that or the girl behind the counter will have plenty of offers of dates she didn't want as younger men begin to believe she is genuinely interested in their day and future plans. So I didn't want to set her up for a fall.
When I returned to the lighthouse I had a choice of many things to do. Garden and fire was one. The accounts of somebody wanting hope was another. Phoning the dentist to arrange an appointment would have been a good use of my time. But no I decided to look at the website of CCTV Cameras that I haven't looked at for years. The Smugglers Tavern had a new one. A camera facing down a corridor where they said a ghost had been seen. The setting up of the camera had been perfectly timed for Halloween. Well it should have been perfectly timed but I heard that contract delays had meant it had gone on line the day after Halloween and therefore had received few hits. Anyway I spent a good ten minutes looking at the poor reception and see pixels in the gloom make all sorts of shapes. I thought I saw a small girl with a teddy bear in her hand. Very spooky as only young children can be. But decided that this was just a trick of the light. Still I shall gaze at this picture for hours on end. It is a joy to be alone and not feel as if one is being interrogated by the 'nice police'. I feel more relaxed looking for things that are simply not there.
RECEPTION
I have been busy in the last few days. Well I had work to do and I have done it. So I now can look at the list of things that I need to do outside of earning money. Which is where I seem to have hit a brick wall. I did walk to the post box to post some letters. On my return to the lighthouse I had to battle through the weeds. The rumours are the weeds are now kidnapping people and replacing them with replicas who are obedient only to the weeds. So sort of Invasion of The Body Snatchers type thing then. But despite my best intentions I cannot yet bring myself to join the battle. I will do because I will have to. It is just I am content to enjoy a bit of down time.
A pretty girl came to the door yesterday. She smiled and said she wouldn't keep me long. Now unlike the films where stupid men are drawn into a honey trap that destroys their lives. I could see that this pretty girl would do her best to trap me in a pointless conversation that would last for longer than either of us wanted. So after she gave me her seductive opening salvo and asked me if I wanted anything doing. Or would I want anything done in the next few years. I could see that our relationship was going to end badly. Despite letting her down gently I could see she was disappointed. Especially as she was selling 'property improvements' and was hit by falling bits of lighthouse as she left. My heart was broken and I returned to my Pot Noodle. Deep sigh and regret. Could we have made it work?
Cass has discovered that one of our two television aerials does not pick up any digital signals at all yet. This came as no great shock as we suspected that the transmitter involved is to be the last one switched on to digital. Even the aerial that does work only picks up digital radio signals and BBC Parliament. We know we will have to spend money on new aerials as well as other things come the switch over. But at the moment DVD players with Digital converters are very cheap so they are worth the money. Cass wanted a DVD player in her room as well as her computer that can play DVDs. This is because she sleeps through the evening while I put on DVDs to watch. The next morning if I have things not to do I tend to sleep in while she Cass starts the day slightly earlier. She likes to watch DVDs while she is doing other things. No nor do I. But DVDs are the new Cd's for me so I am all for it. I just have to become used to watching something without the shared experience of watching it with somebody else. As I don't need a digital converter in my room until the switch over Cosmic says he has a portable DVD player with a faulty connection that needs a bit of jiggling to make the screen work. I could have it if I wanted it. I haven't the heart to remind him that it is the player I gave him a few years ago. Such is life.
Well I may start my weed war today. Or tomorrow as Cass has to be out early to go to work. Or it could be Friday. Point is I should do it when I feel like it. Like going to the dentists. My New Years resolution will be to stop worrying about putting things off and just put them off without worry. Good grief it is nearly another year. Still I have over a month to put the new year off. I just wont worry about doing it.
NURSE PICAYUNE
It hasn't been easy the last few weeks. Cass has had a domino of illness covering everything from her groin that left her bed ridden then her back was in spasm and for the past few days Cass had a cold and sore throat. I have had to halt all efforts to live my life or join the weed war by dashing about looking after my every need. Oh year and asking Cass if she wants a cup of tea. Only yesterday I had to go out shopping for some bread and crisps. On my way out Cass asked for some eggs and chips. Now we did have plenty of eggs and chips and I have been too busy to cook myself such luxury fare. So for somebody who has been knocking on death's door for the last few weeks. Cass has kept up her appetite it seems.
I went to the shops and looked for some treat for me as well as the shopping list of bread, crisps, chips and eggs. But no I could find nothing. I was going to buy something but was told by a shop manager that everything in the section I was looking at was going to go down in price the next day. So it would be a good idea to leave any purchase to then. No wonder Caustic Cove is losing shops. My next stop was the post box followed by the chemists. I asked for some throat medicine that would stop Cass complaining.
" Well what sort of pain is it?" Asked the lady behind the counter.
"It's very difficult when its somebody else’s pain. But according to her it goes from one side of the throat to the other and then back again." I replied
"What we have are these" and the lady behind the counter began to produce various packages from the shelves. They all did something different and all had added something that was really good for some problem with the throat that Cass may or may not have. By the fourth brightly covered package and the detailed description of the contents my mind had began to wander off and play. I began to pull my socks up that had become trapped under my feet. I really need some decent socks. Ones that don't cut off my circulation or make marks on my ankles. I have tried those elastic top ones but have always ended up cutting the tops which in the end just perish the socks themselves.
"Now these have an added drug that numbs the throat and makes you choke and eventually leads to death" the lady behind the counter went on. Still my legs are better than they were. I had some odd rash thing that went up and scared my legs after I kept having things hit them. At one point the Doctor thought I had that skin eating decease on my legs. Something else he was wrong about. " What these do is make you deaf in one ear and then cause you to drink whiskey" the lady from behind the counter continued. My feet are still in good condition when I catch sight of them. So I can't complain really. Which reminds me I should really book into the dentists or they will send the dentist police around again and stop us booking with them. But what with Cass having a cold now it would seem silly booking an appointment now. Oh yes Cass. Now were we? "... Which leaves you with the choice of hair loss or a slow decline into senility". The lady from behind the counter finished her explanations of the drugs and I picked the one in the pretty red box.
The following day Cass was feeling a bit better and had organised a day out at work for the next day.
DENTIST REVENGE
It was a typical night out on a Saturday. Me and the lads went out looking for some bother. As usual we found it and had a dust up with a few locals. I lost a tooth filling and a cap but you should see the other bloke.
Anybody convinced by the above? Well the fact is I did lose a tooth cap and a filling all in one Saturday night. Although the reason was less a dust up with a few locals and more a cheese and pickle sandwich. Oh yes and I stayed in. I had gone out during the afternoon after feeling a bit poorly with tummy rumbles. So I took the opportunity to go out with Cass and Cosmic and deliver some work and watch from the car park while Cass did some shopping. Enjoyed a cheese roll and some sausage rolls on my return to the lighthouse. But it was during Strictly Come Dancing and Ola Jordan had just finished her dance. My mind sort of wanders once she has finished being around. So I went to have a cheese and pickle sandwich. While eating it I felt a small hard bit if metal in my mouth. Turned out to be a bit of a filling or a tiny filling. Then a bigger bite down on something hard and I thought a tooth had come out. But it was just a cap. I say 'just' a cap but it shakes you up. That cap has been a part of me for a decade or so. Come Monday I will be forced to ring the dentists up to book an appointment. Just before Christmas too. Last year Cass had a problem and booked us both in for a check up. Well this year I shall return the favour. If I am going to be told off for not going back after six months then so will she. How old am I again? I should have grown out of being scared of the dentists? No, you are never too old to be scared of things.
It is rare that I eat sweets being more of a crisp man. But now I come to think of it I did ask Cass to buy me some fruit sweats to cheer me up. They have changed 'Skittles' a bit. They are very nice but maybe the four packs did for my tooth cap. What is the difference between a 'cap; and a 'crown'? No doubt I shall find out. Anyway the cheese and pickle sandwich has been released from helping me with my enquiries over the damage. I was working out how long I have had the tooth cap. I reckon twelve to fourteen years. I remember breaking a tooth and ignoring it. Then on a weekend, after weeks had passed, having pain and having to pay for an emergency dentist to put in a temporary cap. I hadn't been to a dentists for over twenty years. I then had to organise a dentist to go to and become I life long member of. It was in the same building I go to now but a different dentist. I remember all this because I arranged it all on my own. Like a real man. I was alone so it was after I had moved out of the lighthouse. Anyway I had route or root bus canal or whatever and it cost alot of money. Nowadays they tend to just stick a cap on a broken tooth, which still costs plenty of money.
All this made me realise how much things have changed in the last fourteen odd years. I moved into a flat, Al Fayed had just taken over at Fulham, Princess Diana was killed, both my parents have died, my best mate died, I have had two teeth caps, now need a replacement, the World has financially collapsed and I have returned to the lighthouse. So I must stop thinking that the World turns slowly. In the last fourteen years the World has managed to change completely. Never for the better obviously, but change it has.
MONDAY
I book myself in for the following day to the dentists. Cass goes out to work and Cosmic and myself spend time out of the way so as to ignore Silas Straw and his constant bombardment of messages wanting help in the weed war. The gales and rain batter the lighthouse that evening and rather spookily there is a tapping on the highest window.
TUESDAY
After investigation I can reveal the tapping was the biggest weed and a papas grass you have ever had the misfortune to see. I must join the weed war. But today is dentist day. So I bravely set about meeting my fear. As I have mentioned before the fear is really the waiting room. Except on this occasion I am kept outside as they now close for lunch. It also turns out my dentist only works on Tuesday. Private the rest of the time? Anyway I am kept outside in the cold until lunch is over. The waiting room still has those really small chairs with arms that I cannot fit in. Plus a really low couch. So either way I am stuck. I take a walking stick like I am an old man and then struggle to my feet using a table and the stick when called. I pretend my legs gone to sleep. I hope the feeling of faintness is the change in temperature from cold to hot. When I see the dentist she glues the offending cap back on my teeth but doesn't hold up much hope it will stay. It is one of the old kind and small. Still where there is teeth there is hope.
I find out the dentists no longer take credit cards and I only have five pounds on me. So I book in for a routine check up along with Cass and promise to pay with a cheque next time. Needless to say Cass is going out for a Christmas lunch she hasn't bothered to tell me about on the very day and time I booked. So she changes her appointment. More needless journeys with Cosmic who will begin to charge soon.
So I wait for my tooth cap to come off again. I look at the weeds and fear the next visit before Christmas to the dentists. They say tension is the biggest killer. I hope it's true. It is the only thing that gets me through the day.
ART IMITATING LIFE
There was the joke at Christmas that people sent Christmas Cards with a letter attached, describing how their family had been and what they had been achieving the previous year. Having never actually received a card like this nor sent one. I was under the mistaken belief that this was an urban myth. Or an American habit. It comes to much the same thing. The point is I had never received a card like that until now. The card had a written personal line in and a typed letter attached. The letter was I presume copied out and sent to everybody who received cards. I suppose if nothing ever happens in ones life one cannot very well send a written letter to everybody informing them of the mundane goings on. Telling people I am now sleeping in a bed and have been to the dentist doesn't make for riveting reading. Or adding on that Cass has not yet been to the dentist. Still I acknowledge that some people do have a more exciting life and like to tell people about it. So without any kind permission and with nothing but love in my heart. I thought I would share the letter with the friends of the Lighthouse Picayune. Well Cosmic and Ethel as they are the only ones that read this. So without further ado and without any comment whatsoever, besides the comments I have just made. I give you the Christmas letter to The Picayunes from our friends Donna and Sebastian Budget.
Greetings on the Christmas Holiday. Hope this Letter finds you all well and full of the festive spirit. How quickly the Holiday season comes around.
I have had a wonderful year at the coal face managing to keep spirits high at work in the Phone Centre. I have had the chance to visit some of our overseas centres and was able to see most of our real friends. Sorry if I didn't manage to see you all (Picayune note - We were missed) but I had so much to do. It wasn't all play and no work you know. Our phone centre in Tasmania is up and running and how wonderful to see us stretching out to my home town of Havenedge in good old UK. I was able to visit many of my old haunts and see all my friends who hadn't changed a bit (Picayune note - We live near Havensedge and were missed). Nice to see everyone has done so well for themselves. We were a hardy lot.
Seb has been promoted at his college and is now assistant to the deputy in Media Technology. We are all so proud of him. But it does mean he is away from home for longer than before. I have joked that I talk to the college secretary more than I talk to him. She is always very helpful and a delightful little thing. Good on you Seb. Keep it up.
Molly and Patrick are as usual just wonderful. Molly has now been accepted into the Academy of Art and Music. We are all so proud of her. Patrick has had a few set backs with his feet but we are all hoping he can climb over this hurdle and work hard enough to complete his grades. Patrick still wants to make it into the Architecture and Medical College here in West Wolamalooer. Our thoughts are always with him as he strives for his dream.
So as you can see a wonderful year for us Budgets. Or as Seb always says 'You can't keep us tied to a Budget'. A saying which nearly came to bite him in the rear. If you will excuse my language. Thankfully a silly misunderstanding was averted when his secretary managed to cut him free. Thank goodness she was around to help, once again.
Wishing you all you wish yourself and hoping to see you all soon.
Love from Seb and Donna and the kids.
Here in the lighthouse the above note filled me with the Christmas spirit. It is a spirit I loathe and don't tend to repeat until after Christmas.
BEFORE I DO THAT I WILL QUICKLY DO THIS
Perfect cold day and an ideal time for me to join the weed war. It is all arranged. I will meet Cosmic and then after putting some money in the bank, we will join Silas for a day of concerted burning and cutting. I am a bit nervous but I am also oddly excited as well. Now the weeds are threatening the lighthouse I fear that the lighthouse could end up like Cosmic's house and become unapproachable. So I just have to dress up in warm gear and even have time to do a little job on the old computer. I received a letter from a credit card I have telling me they would give me ten pounds if I changed from the sent statements to ones just stored on the computer. Makes sense to me. Although I have done this for a telephone company who suddenly reversed all their discounts on paperless invoices and now I save nothing and have just saved them money. That is called a confidence trick in any other walk of life. But I digress and so set about to quickly set up my paperless credit card invoice for ten pounds back before I dress for the war. Although we are told not to dress in camouflage gear for obvious reasons.
Right I am in the right place and have to log in. Now I have no idea if I have ever used this site before or indeed ever logged in. So I click on the 'forgotten password' section. I put in my number and the computer asks me for my password. No I clicked I have forgotten it. Send me a new one. The computer asks me my memorable date. I have no idea what my memorable date is. So I cancel all this and set up a new log in. Right I am now in the right place and so I put in my card number. No problem so I obviously never used this site before, Didn't think I had. Put in a password and repeat it. Put in my e mail and repeat that. My address and my blood group. I now need a doctors note of sanity and displacement or a P345QSFR form. I have no idea what they are talking about. So I carry on. Right I need a mobile phone number. I have a mobile phone but without looking up the number I have no idea what it is. I only use it as a phone in an emergency anyway. Only costs me five quid a month unless I use it. Very good deal for me and ideal in situations that require me to contact another person when I am out. It is not a camera that I can use for those important moments people seem to always be finding themselves in. It isn't a radio or a computer or anything but a little phone.
Next line asks me for my card limit. Fill that in no problem. That is on the statement that I am going to save the card company money by having them not send it to me. Right and on the final page where I have tick on the boxes or not tick them depending on the trick questions. Number one, tick the box if I have read the banks four hundred and thirty three page rule book. Yeah whatever, tick. Second box I should tick it if I don't want to be bombarded by phone calls from the people the bank are going to sell my details to. So I tick that. Would I like to receive information by e mail from selected outlets. No, so I tick that. If I would like to receive information on the banks insurance company tick the box. Oh clever this. So luckily I actually read this so I don't tick that. Another five tick or not to tick boxes are manoeuvred and at last I can press the final button. They thank me for my interest and send me back to the beginning of the form. I need to fill in their form where I haven't filled it in. Right so I go and find the number to my mobile phone and put it in. What else have I missed out? Nothing that I can see so I press the final proceed button. The bank thanks me again and sends me back to the beginning to the form. I need to enter my password again. Right so I enter my password again. Then it asks me to re enter a few other things. I take a quick look and have filled in everything. Hold on I shall check again, Yes everything is filled in. I press the proceed button. The bank thanks me and tells me my password is already being used could I change it? Well could the bank not tell me that before? RIGHT, so I go back and change the password and repeat it and check everything else is still filled in. Yes everything is fine and I press the proceed button. The bank thanks me for my custom and tells me this account has already been entered and has now been frozen and could I phone an expensive phone line to sort it all out. No I can't you stupid faceless idiots. They can keep sending me statements and besides I am a month away from paying it all off anyway. So they know where they can stick it.
The front door bell rings and I have to answer it as Cass is in the shower. She arranges meetings for a time and then five minutes before the time she goes into the shower. So I am standing at the front door listening to somebody trying to explain what they would like while the alarm is going, a tray falls down that I am trying to move and the phone is ringing and so on and so forth. When I return upstairs Cass is out of the shower, well who would have thought it? I explain everything as best I can and notice that I am still not dressed. The answer phone has picked up a message. Cosmic says they missed me during the day and that we should arrange a time when I could actually turn up next time. Outside the Sun begins to wave goodbye to the day. You are kidding me right? Have I time to dress?
GALE AND SHOPPING
Another gale hits the lighthouse. Water pouring from the hole in the ceiling in what we are now calling the porch. I was going to go out and do some banking today. But when Cass decided not to go to work I decided not to go out. Cass has yet another strain. This time her wrist has ballooned with a swelling. So in the last few months we have had her back, groin, leg, wrist and who knows what else causing her problems? Still it did give me time to persuade her to do our Christmas shopping for everything but the Turkey. I sat down at the computer while she ran around checking stocks. While she was out of the room I could order tins of goodies that I don't normally indulge in but decided that I should treat myself. What with the dentist coming up and Cass seeming to have an injury every week now. I might as well dive into self indulgence with some enthusiasm.
We have yet to send out any Christmas cards yet but are receiving a few. Mostly from the local estate agent and the postman and DVD stores. But we did receive one today addressed to my Mother and Cass and my good self. After over two years we still come across people and relatives we have forgotten to inform of my Mums death. Although I cannot remember for the life of me, if we had a card from these relatives last year or the year before and just let it go. Wouldn't have thought so. Anyway it looks as if I shall have to break the news in a card to them. I usually leave cards and such like to Cass. But her attempt to inform people was to start with the word 'unfortunately'. I am not one to pull rank but really. You use the word 'unfortunately' if the car has broken down or you need a new washing machine. Cass has no soul. At least she wont have a pain in that to complain about.
The list of things to do is growing. I must at least go to the post today. Then the recycling which wasn't picked up from two weeks ago. I should also go to the bank. But if the shopping comes today then I will need to ask Cosmic to ask Ethel if I can keep some roast potatoes in her freezer. I used to ask Cosmic but as we can no longer see his house for the weeds then Ethel is my only hope. If that fails there is always Dull But Honest. A bit much though only calling him when I want something.
Work has arrived and Cass has decided her aches and pains are due to tension. We must stop being so tense. I am not convinced by this at all. I am always tense and in a panic. I was told by the Doctor that I must try and relax more or it will kill me. So I took to my bed and worried about it. Still what can you do? What with the financial situation and the wind and the lack of hope and the dentist next week. Yes I must learn to relax more. Now where is the list I made so I can cross it all out and start again tomorrow?
The Shopping comes delivered by a man with a Father Christmas hat on. The water is rough and I over load the boat as I have no intention of making too many journeys. I weep as I lose a tin of Chocolate Roses over the side. By the time we have put everything away I am feeling dizzy. But we manage to put everything away so no need to ask anybody for freezer space.
Cass arranges to go out to work Friday. That is the in the heart of the next big storm. I arrange nothing and will decide when and where I should go out at a later date. The rain begins to come down harder and the wind begins to blow. I am glad we are not out on the water now. I look out to the dark. I hear my tin of Roses calling to me. I will have nightmares tonight.
BANKING ON
Cosmic is undecided where he should go for Christmas. I am sitting in the car listening to him on the way to the bank. I have put it off for days but they say tomorrow will be the storm of the week or century or something. I am nervous for the state of the lighthouse. It cannot take much more as somebody said once in some passed place in some past time. But Cosmic still is planning to drive Cass to work tomorrow despite everything. As long as she is fit and does not strain some other part of her body as yet untouched by the creeping aches. It turns out that Cosmic has not actually asked to be anywhere this Christmas. He was expecting to stay with Bernie and Ethel but they are going to Bernie's Auntie Gwen's for Christmas lunch. They are taking all the food and drink. But Gwen's house is small and so there is no room at the inn. Cosmic said he could just stay alone in Ethel's house as a house sitter for the day and Ethel has said he could stay. But Cosmic says he would feel awkward and frankly a bit 'billy no mates'. Then again Cosmic could call up one of his mates from the good old days. No doubt he could hang out with one of them but somehow he would feel awkward a bit 'billy no mates' again.
The bank is nice and empty and I am happy to chat to the girl behind the counter. Anything to put off going back and listening to the Cosmic conversation with the inevitable conclusion. But I have to return and despite expecting the question it still surprises me. I only just squeezed back into the car when Cosmic hit me with it and asked what Cass and my good self were doing on Christmas day. I deflected the question with a few false dawn torpedoes. I said that Cass was going out Tuesday for lunch and that I was going to the dentists and would no doubt have the follow up hanging over me. Eventually I had to tell Cosmic that we were having the usual quiet Christmas. Just boring you know. Nothing to see here, no decorations just gloom and despondency. While the quiet bit is all true that is the way I now like my Christmas. With a meal a few drinks, a few DVDs and drop off in front of the TV. That should last about a week. The last thing I want is people coming over or me going over to them. Much like the rest of the year I just want people to leave me alone. However Cosmic is a car and travel so I cannot be too dismissive. So I say that he would be welcome to have Christmas at the lighthouse but it would feel a bit awkward and as if he was 'billy no mates'. That made the rest of the journey home a little quiet.
Cometh the day not cometh the day. The storm never arrives and Cosmic takes Cass to work without any problems. I don't want to go with them for the trip because it is cold. But I am scared Cass will ask Cosmic over so I am prepared to jump in and save the day. As it happens I am not needed as Auntie Gwen is coming over to Ethel's house anyway. Cosmic has offered to give Gwen a lift both ways and so moans about not being able to drink on Christmas Day but he has never been a big drinker since the rock and roll days anyway. That is at least a relief for me.
Cass brings home some Fish and Chips and I look at a weekend of moaning about football, moaning about our lack of post today, moaning about the work I have yet to do and moaning about next week. So another weekend the same as any other.
COSMIC AND A CHRISTMAS MESSAGE
The clock on the wall says it is time to call, so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Playing Christmas songs with love and hope while reaching for the chair and a length of rope. Hi there everybody, Cosmic Antidust here with a reminder of times past. That's really all there is now. At this time of year I sometimes am asked onto radio shows to talk about the good old times and records of my era. I throw in the odd reminiscence about the great friends and people I have met. The pantomime I did with the great Ray Tower when he was a big name in musical theatre. There is a story about Ray that always goes down well with a family audience. I have a dirtier version of it I can tell for a more adult audience. It is the same story but with a few swear words and a spot of lavatorial humour thrown in to make one sound gritty and with it. One has to know ones audience. I listened to a comedy stand up show the other day. All the top comedy talent was there. All but one told the same type of story with the odd swear word and a flush of toilet humour. So nothing changes and so I stick with a tried and tested routine. I could tell you the story about Ray now but then what would I do when I am invited onto another radio show? Some of you may have heard me anyway on the show. I am only asking because I am not sure many people were actually listening. Where were you last week at about seven minutes past one in the morning?
Not listening to the radio I'll bet.
Christmas is always a busy time for me. Well let us just take this last week. The week before Christmas and the day following my radio show appearance. I can say 'radio appearance' because they all have 'Video Cams' or something and you can now watch two people sitting in a small studio talking to each other. Ah progress has just leapt forward in leaps and bounds. So I was asked to take Cass to work and to pick her up from a Christmas Lunch later in the day. It was a few hours after my radio appearance and I was going to mention it. You know not as a way of showing off but just a way of filling in the time while we were in the car. But the point is that there is never really much time to fill when Cass is in the car. She seems to be able to fill the empty space very easily. From the moment she sat in the car to the ten, fifteen minute journey to her work, I was entertained with Cass and her theory on a show she watched last night, the Roman invasion of Britain, God and the Bible as history and the price of bread. There is a well known theory that Cass doesn't actually need to breath when in full conversation. I would be hard pressed to disprove that theory.
Having dropped off Cass at her work my next job was to pick up the Picayune and take him to the dentists. This isn't as easy as you think. The Picayune dislikes any sort of contact with the world outside his own. Outside of the lighthouse is a made up place full of weird people, according to the Picayune. So being forced to go anywhere is just not easy for him. Anyway I arrive at the lighthouse and he is nowhere to be found. I know what you are thinking. Why can't he make his own way. Why do I let myself be treated like a taxi service. Well at this time of year my car insurance and road tax are due. If I time the guilt trip with the right car trip I can have both paid without having to make too much effort. So you see there is method in my madness.
Having held the Picayune in a strong grip I extricate him from the lighthouse and put him in the car. Not an easy task. It is like pushing a bag of struggling potatoes into a tea cosy. You had to be there to know how accurate that description is. Anyway we drive to the dentist and the Picayune is talking about how ill he is and what a bad night he had. Not bad enough to turn the radio on apparently. He moans all the five to ten minute journey. He only stops moaning to moan about other road users and traffic lights. Which is still moaning but just on different subjects. We arrive at the dentists and I push the Picayune out of the car and hear his moans fade into the dentist. I park up and wait for him. Oh the joy of that hour. When he returns he moans about having to go back after Christmas to have an inlay. By the time I push the Picayune out of the car by the lighthouse I have learned all about tooth inlays and outlays and fillings and how the NHS used to be cheap, but how hundreds of pounds are now forced from the tight grip of poor toothless patients.
I arrive at Ethel's and hope she and Bernie may have caught my radio show earlier. But Ethel is still talking about the arrangements for Auntie and her arrival and what time I should pick her up and what time we can go shopping. I tell her it can't be tomorrow as I am already booked to take Cass and the Picayune to do their turkey shopping. Before Ethel can really lay into me about whose house I am squatting in and who should have first dibs on my car, the phone rings. Cass is ready to be picked up from Havensedge pub where she has finished her Christmas Lunch.
I haven't been along the coast to Havensedge in a few months. I go the back way usually so was shocked to see we have a version of the London Eye on the front. Although it looks more like a Havensedge squint but pretty enough in the dark. I find the pub and Cass is sitting outside looking tired and emotional. This isn't a euphemism but a fact. A busy day and a big lunch is described in such detail that the journey home flies by. The only interruption to her re telling the story of her day is when she remarked about the Havensedge Squint and not noticing it before. This doesn't surprise me. On the arrival at Rhodes it is said some woman completely missed the Giant standing at the entrance to the harbour. But her fellow companions were well versed in the story of her journey to that point. On our arrival at the lighthouse Cass thanks me and reminds me about the turkey run the next day.
With Ethel's moans still ringing in my ear I am waiting the next morning or in fact early afternoon when Cass and the Picayune climb into the car. I wont go into the trip there or back. I will just say that this year The Picayunes have gone for a Turkey Crown and not a whole Turkey. This meant that the entire trip back from the shopping was full of conversations about breaking with tradition and the complications of a new routine at their age. I wished them both a happy Christmas as they rowed back to the lighthouse still debating who should be responsible for the Turkey Crown. I turned on the car radio and heard my voice. They were repeating my radio segment. I wonder who would be listening to it this time?
UNEASY LIES THE HEAD WHO EATS THE CROWN
Well it isn't right is it? First it was the Christmas Tree. We used to have a silver one that shed silver bits that we were still finding on the carpet ten months later. But it was the tree I was brought up with. It was the tree that I remember my pillow case full of presents hiding beneath. The tree shone and twinkled in the winter’s sun and there was room for baubles and angels and each year was different. At night when then lights were turned on the lights reflected in the silver bits and the tackiness was complete. It was wonderful. Then look what happened. Twenty years pass by and Cass decides to convince my parents we should have a new tree. A green tree that fits together like an Airfix B52 Bomber. Clip 'A' into slot 'B' and 'C' into hole 'D'. Well the personal true meaning of Christmas had just disappeared overnight. Things were never the same again. Some said it was because I was older and now a man. But it was the tree that did for me. The Christmas magic had gone.
With the passing of my parents we haven't really bother with Christmas decorations. So the tree has stayed in its box alone and forgotten. At least we still had the Christmas dinner. That was at least a tradition we clung too like survivors from a sunken ship holding onto a bit of drift wood. A few days before Christmas we would buy a huge Turkey and put it in a spare fridge or outside if it was cold enough. Then come Christmas eve we would bring it in and I would take over my Father's job and clean the inside of the beast. Making alien chest bursting noises and roars of pain as I went through the ritual of pretending it took more effort than it really did. We were never ones to stuff the monster but had stuffing and sausage meat as an addition. When my Mum passed Cass insisted on still having a Turkey meal and we had a great and enjoyable time.
But that tradition has now been tossed away like an old coat with matching hat that doesn't fit anymore. No more giant Turkey that takes several days to cook. We have been drawn to the dark side. We have bought a Turkey crown. It seems the right thing to do but feels a betrayal of the past. But since we don't really eat the turkey legs and since Cass doesn't like the soggy dark meat it sort of makes sense. It just doesn't feel right. Still I am old enough now to realise my time has passed. The Christmas tree is passed. The Turkey is passed. Now we are left with just a crown.
Just a Turkey crown. A turkey crown and all the potatoes and veg. All the Christmas pudding and Chocolate puddings and tins of sweets and bags of crisps and tins of biscuits for cheese and tins of 'cheeselets' and packets of other savoury bites. Yes tradition is at an end. We are done with tradition.
With deafening clamour in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Shakespeare talking about a Turkey? He knew my pain.
THE CHRISTMAS STORY
Twas Christmas Eve and all the children were busy hanging up their stockings and sacks and large industrial waste bags. Ready for the gifts Santa was going to deliver or already had delivered. All the presents were on a buy now pay later scheme from the North Pole. The downturn had affected everybody and frankly Santa had already had to sell Flotsam the reserve reindeer to the local sanctuary. Where Flotsam was even now filling the stomachs of some rich politician who had stolen the carcass from the poor and needy bankers who lived in the poor house. But our tale doesn't involve bankers and politicians or even Father Christmas. Our Christmas Story involves the true meaning of Christmas.
The Picayune sat by his computer. It was Christmas Eve and he wondered what he should do. Should he collect his medication from the local chemist? Or should he wait until next week. After all he still had medication to see him through the boring, long, dull, endless holiday that stretched out before him. If he couldn't be bothered to go out. The Picayune would have to continue with the boring, long, dull, endless work that stretched out in front of him. Invoices and slips of paper that all had to be done. Then there was the bank that had to be done on line and then there was all the other monotonous monotony that only the Picayune could invent to think about on Christmas Eve.
Suddenly there was a clanking of chains and a haunting cry of pitiless horror. Cass came in with a cup of tea and said that she had watched the DVD from last night that she had slept through the first time. She was off to watch all the other TV she had slept through. The Picayune held his tidal wave of stomach folds as they cascaded over his elastic track suit bottoms. "There is more cheese and biscuits and sausage rolls and toast and cheese and chocolate sweeties and gravy about you than there is the grave." said the Picayune to his sister. Cass thanked him for she had no idea what that meant. She then went to the loo and pulled a few more chains. When she came out of the toilet she told the Picayune he would be visited by a few ghosts of Christmas past, present and future. But the Picayune wasn't going to change out of his tracky bottoms on a Saturday and so told Cass she would have to answer the door because he wasn't going to.
The Picayune was busy with some really dull invoices when all went dark and he could see nothing. Then a small light appeared in front of his invoices. Twas a candle and did flicker. As it flickered it spoke. Words and sentences. " I am a candle and the ghost of Christmas Past. You were a spoilt child and had lots of pressies at Christmas and when you were old enough to stop having toys, Christmas became a bit duller because you were expected to buy presents for other people. By the way the girl who kissed you at Sunday School went on to live a happy and fulfilling life and wouldn't remember you even if prompted". With that the candle went out.
The Picayune awoke having dropped off entering an invoice on the computer about nails and pipes. Although startled for a second the Picayune reached for a mince pie. Suddenly the mince pie developed eyes and a mouth and did speak. " Hi there I am the ghost of Christmas present. See what is hiding and shivering under my pie crust. Fat and saturated fat. Beware them both. Be better to be eaten than left to go mouldy. What do you care if you eat them and shovel another pile of..." The Picayune ate the pie. He felt a little faint and wasn't sure if the sugar, fat or salt would do for him first. He then fell asleep in a diabetic snooze.
The silent ghost of Christmas future stretched out its bony finger. There was a book in a crematorium showing the time of frying tonight of a Mister Picayune. The Picayune awoke with a start and then a finish. "So I am to die and have nobody care about my passing spirit? Is there anyway I can change that future? There is? Then tomorrow I shall....no wait a minute that is Christmas day. The day after I shall...no still have food to eat. But rest assured spirit you have shown me the error of my ways. So at some as yet unstipulated time in the future I shall change and become a better human being".
The Picayune awoke again. These little cat naps were not helping him. He looked at the pile of invoices that lay in front of him. Oh well he would think about doing them after watching the Muppet film on TV.
Cosmic helped Auntie Gwen into the car. Ethel continued to dust and change the sheets on everybody’s bed in case Auntie Gwen looked at them. Bernie watched television while pretending to write. Silas Straw sat in a pub surrounded by loud out of towners. Dull But Honest began to disappear in front of his own very eyes.
Another Christmas of good cheer and hope. God bless us everyone.
A Merry Christmas to you all. Oh not you, sorry I didn't see you there. Other than you, a very merry Christmas to the rest of us.
THE DAY AFTER THE DAY BEFORE
I have no idea what day it is. I do know what day I need to put out the rubbish and the recycling as we have a notice on the fridge with all the dates on. But it only helps if I knew what day it is today. I am aware that over Christmas there was a weekend and a day or three of football. I was mildly joyful for one day I seem to remember. I need to go out to collect my medication from the chemists when it is not bank holiday. Or a Wednesday as the chemist shuts at midday on a Wednesday. On Thursday they shut for lunch between twelve and two in the afternoon. They then shut during the times the moon is on the wane between ten in the morning and ten thirty and again at three and five to four in the afternoon. Followed by a closure at thirteen minutes past four and four fifty two. Except on Monday when they are open but lock the door. So going out to collect the medication is pointless until I can ascertain certain facts.
I can smell ham cooking. The turkey crown was and is a great success. We seemed to have had three meals from it and there is still turkey left for maybe two more meals and a few sandwiches. This may be a clue to working out what day of a week it is. I have never understood why people are fed up with turkey so quickly. We like it and are more than happy to eat our entire years meat ration in one week. There are so many things you can eat with turkey. No forcing down leftovers for us. Now the ham is cooking we have added yet more variety. While my brain is skipping for joy, my stomach is aching and in a little pain. A bit like looking at a sexy young lady. The brain says it is happy to see her but the body feels the pain of knowing the capacity of enjoyment has been halved because of health and safety restrictions.
Fortunately still plenty of work I should be doing. Television would have been a let down over Christmas but we saw Source Code as our Christmas film which was quite fun. We also have plenty of DVDs to watch from our collection. I also rented an American series about Spartacus. Sadly the actor in it died very early from illness and with all the violence and slow motion sexual encounters in the series, the early death of the hero in real life seeps into the fantasy. Mind you the fare served up by the usual suspects on television has been awful. If it wasn't for the repeats of Morcambe and Wise and Dads Army what would we watch I wonder besides our DVDs? Oh dear I did start of by saying there is plenty of work I should be doing. The mind is far too easily distracted at the best of times. But on a day like today, whatever day that is, it is harder to concentrate.
Cass has done very well over Christmas with the cooking and the washing up. I have been rubbish at doing anything because I seemed to have just sat and eaten what was provided. Even when the front door bell rang I couldn't raise the Picayune. Just as well really as it was only somebody telling us that at this time of year people's thoughts turn to Jesus Christ. As Cass muttered His name I guess there is some truth in it. Besides Christmas being the wrong date for Jesus and Santa, as created by a soft drink company, taking over the festivities. Christmas is not really the best time for Jesus. It is like being told to stay silent for a minute on the eleventh minute past the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month. I tend to ignore thinking and remembering all those who are no longer with us because they fell during combat at that time. We should think about those who fell and indeed Jesus all the time if it would help to stop the pointless suffering. But we are too well programmed.
Oh well back to thinking about work. Cass has brought up a cup of tea. She also has a tin of cheeselets in one hand. That is the real meaning of Christmas. Let's not forget that but remember to think of the important things for the rest of the year. Whatever day it is.
THERE IS AN I IN PICAYUNE
Busy, busy, busy, day. Work, work, work and more work. By the time six o' clock in the evening came around I was still in the same clothes I was wearing when I fell out of bed this morning. I had just sat at the computer and worked and worked. But I managed to finish it all and this means I have all tomorrow to do the things I should have done today which wasn't to do with work. So I can collect the old medication and fill out next years diary and watch the films and programmes on the computer that I didn't feel like watching when they were on television in the first place.
I did manage to put the recycling out ready for tomorrow. Not an easy thing to do but I managed it having consulted the form sent by the council which had clear instructions on the day the rubbish should be put out over the holiday weeks. Having scrambled up with the skips and placed them neatly by the quayside I was aware that my skips were alone. Cass had mentioned she had seen a rubbish van collecting rubbish today. Yeah on the day the form said it wouldn't be collected. So the rubbish had already been taken. But the form clearly shows that tomorrow is the day the recycling should be collected. However like last year, the council have sent forms to people with the dates clearly marked and then reverted to whatever day they feel like collecting the rubbish. So I returned to the lighthouse and remarked in a calm way that Cass was right and I was now in a dizzying quandary about the rubbish bin. Cass took the bin across later. Oh the confusion. Still Cass will complain if the recycling is not collected on the day the form clearly states. Find this all very upsetting considering all the effort I have put into work today. My New Years resolution continues to be to stay calm over silly things I have no control over. Yeah right that will work.
Cosmic arrived and wondered if anybody wanted a lift anywhere. He has been so preconditioned now that he touts for business. However his arrival does mean that we sit and listen to his tales of giving lifts to Auntie Gwen or whatever her name was. Cosmic had to wait for some time at Auntie Gwen's house before Gwen produced a case that was too heavy to carry. She was only going to stay for a few days over Christmas. Her stay apparently involved her sitting in one set of clothes, in one chair and falling a sleep for most of the holiday. While Ethel force fed her indigestible delights. I may have looked to Cass and she may have returned the gesture. But I think we both had in mind the other when the story was told. Anyway Cosmic seemed to have had a fine Christmas and was looking forward to the New Year. How one can look forward to a date that reminds one that at best the same endless hopelessness stretches out before one has always been beyond me. As someone once said, the past is best forgotten and the future feared. Why do we need to make artificial moments to highlight this?
Cosmic asks if I want a lift to the chemists. I do but I cannot be bothered to hurry to dress myself before they close for their two hour lunch. So I say I will revue the situation in a few hours time if Cosmic is still here. Cosmic says that will be fine and catches up with some shut eye. However I am nothing if not contrary and am dressed and ready within the hour. The rain drizzles down in a mist of sadness and longing for the years that are passed. I on the other hand am just drizzly. But the trip to the chemist actually cheers me up as the lady behind the counter giggles at my insanity and jokey manner. This gives me the strength to buy a loaf of bread and a few rolls further down the road in the open all hours shop. By the time I have waved goodbye to a still drowsy Cosmic and made my way back into the safety of the lighthouse. I feel like I can congratulate myself on a few good days. Work done and posted. I just caught the postman. Recycling WAS collected as per the form sent round. Food bought and all is right for the next few seconds with the Picayune. I fear I can only go down from here.
WELCOMING IN THE NEW YEAR
So we say farewell to the last year and welcome in the New Year with a bit of coal and some strange ritual concerning a ferret a weasel and an ash tray. Oh these old folk traditions are still with us even today. Let us step into the future and see what is happening at one minute to midnight in the worlds of the Picayune.
The Picayune and Cass.
A minute to go until midnight and the wine is poured ready to welcome in the newest of New Years. Upon the television is a DVD of 'Dual', the film starring Dennis Weaver as the car driver being chased by a truck. The Picayune himself is eating a mince pie and drinking wine. He is also making loud tutting noises. He does this in the direction of his sister Cass who is mumbling in her sleep. The words she utters are not succinct but rise and fall in ferocity as if she appears to be having an argument with somebody unseen. The Picayune is undecided as to what to do. Should he welcome in the New Year by waking Cass up and turning off the DVD of 'Duel'. Turning instead to a television station showing Big Ben chiming. Or should he just continue doing and watching what he is doing and watching. The Picayune looks around at the mess of papers and stuff on the floor and realises that he will have to tidy up at some point. Cass makes a loud verbal attack on her unseen adversary and the New Year arrives. The Picayune again tuts loudly.
Cosmic Antidust
Cosmic is at a party in the Smugglers Tavern. Everybody is singing and in high spirits. Already Cosmic has been offered tablets of various colours, a powder that is used in gardening but gives one 'a relaxed attitude' and a website address that will blow his mind apparently. Cosmic is drinking and counting down the minutes when he can leave this place of false jollity and ever falser expressions and return to Ethel's house where he can spend time wondering where it all went wrong. A woman of age sidles up to Cosmic and beckons him towards her. " I used to have a crush on you when I was at school " she says in a fume of alcohol and bad diet. Cosmic replies that he did as well.
Tori Gibson and Guy Bolton
Are about to enter a year that is out of sync with ours. They are writers of television but not in our time and are still recovering from the operations they had that will make them live longer. But they are as yet unsure why they wish to live longer or how the nanobots that are injected into their systems keep turning on them and failing. However this is not the time to consider this problem as it is a minute to go until the New Year arrives. Although Tori and Guy are laughing and standing next to each other at a party of like minded media types. Both are separated from each other by an ocean of doubt. Guy has a good idea about a new sitcom concerning a bunch of people welcoming in the New Year at a media party. Tori has an idea about a script that sows doubts about the medical science surrounding nanobots.
Ethel
Tucked up in bed, Ethel is deeply entwined in a good book. Although to some the 'good book' description may be a phrase worthy of debate. But all books are good if they are enjoyed just as music that to some are just loathsome noise are to others joy to the inner ear. Ethel was turning the pages with such enthusiasm she was in danger if causing herself several paper cut injuries. But she had to know. Would posh boy Jasper Fotheringham fall for his secretary despite the gap in class. His secretary came from the wrong side of the common and dropped her letters like a stripper drops their bottle of paint stripper . Her father had been a paint stripper and the secretary was doing all she could to paint herself out of a corner. Ethel would see the New Year in as happy as she had ever been on new year. The Wind and Bust Library of classic love tales would see her safely through the midnight hour and beyond.
Bernie
Bernie Woodstain had been following the New Year celebrations on his computer. As each time zone stumbled into the next year Bernie had been there to follow it. He had also visited Red Hot Live and Raunchy Raincoats. But found that he wasn't moved by anything much nowadays. If only just once this year he could be in the right place at the right time. In Havenedge there had been one attack on a foreign student and a burglary involving tying up the household. But Bernie had ended up reading about it and not writing about it. He had tried introducing his writing style reportage to criticism of the Havenedge Squint which cost eight pounds to stand in as it went round showing the local hot spots. But it was placed in the wrong spot and Havenedge didn't have much in the way of hot spots to show especially when viewed from above. However no paper wanted to publish anything anymore. The papers just wanted to trash each other and go on line and rid themselves of reporters and journalists and actual paper. It was the end of an era. Bernie just wished he knew what the next era would bring so he could report on it.
Mr Milverton
Mr Milverton was the gardener who had buried the chip shop golden bull in the garden of Cosmic and was directly responsible for the infestation of weeds. The Story So Far will refresh the memory if needed. Anyway Mr Milverton had still not forgiven that pesky Picayune and his friends for finding out about the bull and saving their friends from the weeds and thorns. But Mr Milverton was plotting to have his revenge. At five minutes to midnight he promised himself one thing. If he managed to do only one thing this year he would...fall over drunk and be arrested for being drunk and disorderly. However when Milverton became his sober self he would remember something about revenge or something. He would not rest until something about pesky Picayune and weeds.
Beverley
As the recorder of the internal monologue of the Picayune, Beverley was stuck as to how she would see in the New Year. At this moment she was waiting in the wings so to speak. She had heard all the noises of the stage before. The prompt nervously turning the pages of the play and the actors playing their parts they all knew so well. The director of the play giving advice to the actors to give the scene more pathos. While the writer was asleep in the corner dreaming of better days. Or maybe he was at a party sometime in the future thinking up ideas for a really good sitcom. We may never know. We do know Beverley will spend the next five minutes leading to midnight watching a DVD of 'Duel' while the Picayune tuts.
Dull But Honest
Dull But Honest is alone with his league tables. He has worked out what and who will go down from the Premier League if these results hold up. Dull But Honest has never been very sociable on these sort of occasions. He can never understand what all the fuss was about. Other than raising a glass of orange juice and listening to the revellers outside his flat. Dull But Honest has already done what he set out to do. He has twittered and followed all he is going to twitter and follow tonight. Today is not different and tomorrow will be the same. If it isn't he will cross that bridge when he comes to it. Or it comes to him.
The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks
Always a good time of year for the Evil Dug Up Body That Barks. Woof woof woof. He snarls and grizzles at the impeding year that will bring him work at the side of the sad and disappointed. Many of whom will be crying out for his services. With a minute to go until the midnight chimes, The Evil Wicked Dug Up Body That Barks waits with an empty glass raised to the heavens of uncertainty.
Silas Straw
There is a damp chill in the air as Silas Straw walks along some country lane. Silas has looked at his financial portfolio and it doesn't make good reading. He never thought his work as a scarecrow would become his chief income. At least his small investment in The Smugglers Tavern will be safe on a night like tonight. Suddenly Silas is aware he is not alone. There was a time when he would have been aware of company long before this. But he is older and slower in both body and mind. Silas still has the speed and agility to dive into a tumble and rise facing his companion. The Weed King stands not five metres away. Towering above Silas like a towering weed thing. " So we meet again Mr Straw" The Weed King whispers. The fact that The Weed King can now communicate with such ease shocked Silas but he hid his fear well.
" Nice to see you again" Silas lied."What can I do for you?"
"For me you can do what you are doing. Thanks to your apathy my followers are stronger than they have ever been. Thanks to your foolishness I am a root away from World domination" The Weed King hissed.
"Not so fast my weedy friend. We will never walk away from the Weed War"
"But Mr Straw I don't want you to walk. I want you to fly" With that The Weed King threw a thorny branch that caught Silas a blow that flung him through the air. Silas panted as he tried to regain his feet as well as his composure. When he at last managed to, he found himself alone. Thanks to an illogical plot device Silas was allowed to live another day. The fight against the Weeds would begin again as the clock struck midnight.
THE WEEK AFTER THE DAY BEFORE
There it was gone. Tables and chairs that were once weighed down with food and drink are now just covered in empty wrappers and boxes of biscuits and sweets with the odd unwanted wallflower waiting to be picked up. It would seem rude to be the person to finish the last one in the packet or empty the tin. Suddenly the holiday is over. Only the remnants and the flotsam and jetsam remain. Now the real world returns. The storms hitting the lighthouse the day after the holiday were enough to have the dentist cancel the appointment with Cass. So Cosmic was happy enough not to struggle out with his car. Which meant there was no excuse but to talk for hours about football and all the things that we should be doing but couldn't be bothered to do. Cosmic was still in his after glow of the holidays. He complained of headache and stomach pains and it was a relief to us all that his car would not be needed today. Pop out tomorrow.
Now is a good time to sort out and tidy up. But then just as I am already to buckle down and start the New Year, Cass becomes ill again. It started when she went out for some bread. Cosmic had picked her up and dropped her off at the local shops. A few bags later everything was fine. That evening her arm was swelling up and painful. This time I insisted she ring for an appointment for the Doctors. If nothing else he can take blood or do whatever Doctors do. Back, groin, leg, wrist, arm have all swollen up after some pressure and then quickly returned to normal. We were supposed to deliver something today but looks as if we will do that tomorrow along with the Doctors. Cosmic taxi service has never been so in demand. The New Year has started and reminded us not to plan anything or make resolutions. In other words, New Year has so far sucked big time.
The Doctors Surgery in Caustic Cove can be found on the top of a steep hill. When you reach it you have to climb stairs to the door. Or there is the ramp that is so steep grown men have wept at the thought of pushing an empty push chair up it. Let alone a wheel chair. Cosmic has been hired for the day and takes Cass to deliver her work on the other side of Havensedge. He then drives back to drop her at the surgery. Cass has made a three page list of all her symptoms. From the age of five to the present day she has listed every ailment and every hot flush. Although her dropping off to sleep all evening, every evening, is not considered a symptom. This is normal? Cosmic finds a side road and parks up to wait for her call. Cass climbs the stairs and enters the surgery with her file of ailments. The waiting room is all modern with flashing signs and ping noises to attract the attention to the scoreboard of neon lights and running headlines. Adverts and scores and ping time. The doctor is ready for you. Cass waits past her appointed appointment and is happy that she has time to gather herself after the steps climb and the chair sitting.
The doctor smiles and offers his hand. He says he hasn't seen Cass for years so she must be fit. His face drops as she hands him the three page list of symptoms. He reads the list in silence. Now doctors have a fall back position when they cannot see a bone sticking out of the skin or are met with an obvious symptom. So out comes the blood pressure machine and the blood test appointment is made for some early morning next week. Cosmic will be pleased. To be fair the doctor looks at Cass and her wrist and as usual the swelling has gone down after a day. He offers no suggestions to what any of the ailments Cass has can be caused by. But at least the blood has been set in motion.
Cass is in good spirits and buys fish and chips on the way home to the lighthouse. She drops off to sleep all evening again. In other words New Years continues to suck big time. I watch a DVD and look at the clock. I occasionally glance to see if Cass is still breathing. She is.
HALFWAY DOWN
In the corner and out of the wind sits the bins and the recycling skips. It is the only place that is safe. Safe for the bin and skip to be unaffected by wind. But in the corner a pile of leaves and debris collect and begin to safely put down roots. Literally as the tree growing will prove. Further down on the other side of the bins is a drain. It too is now covered by debris and leaves. I need to rake the rotting brown debris away. This is because it has now created or attracted life that can fly. Little winged portents of doom that fly up the pipe to the bathroom and are drawn to the light. They hang out like grumpy teenagers by the sink overflow before flying off and shouting obscenities and making crude gestures. Although I do concede this may be my imagination. The point is I must go out and clear the leaves from the top of the drain. But it is Saturday. I don't need to explain why Saturday is a day of toast and relaxation. I have had the toast but am not relaxed. I am worrying about the drain cover.
Cass has a sore throat picked up from going to the surgery yesterday. Her neck is sore as well. I go out and clear the drain. Several feet of foot high debris has collected and I scrape it under the nearest thing I can find to a carpet. There is space by the mint plant and some other plant. I pile or the scrapings down there, picking out the paper and rubbish that has blown and mixed into it. A little and often is my new saying. I will do things that have to be done a little and often. Well at least half of that will be true.
Outside it is warm and comfortable in the Sun. I catch myself planning what I would do if I am left alone in the lighthouse and Cass pops off. I have already gone through the no friends to help, so what would I do? The freedom of having no income strikes me. I would stop work which would mean I would have no income. I would spend money I don't have on doing up the lighthouse. Sell it and most of the furniture and stuff inside and buy a small flat somewhere and die before the money runs out. This plan for some reason satisfies me and it’s only later the many and numerous drawbacks come to me. No money and no plan are just two of the problems. A small boat with a motor sputters by and stops. Then another comes into sight. Why is it every time I go out some boat just happens to come along. I retreat wearily inside. I have done my clearing up outside so feel good with myself. The decrepit Cass is hammering and trying to force out century old brackets from a wall. She will suffer for this later.
That evening I watch on DVD the film 'Megamind' and a few episodes of the American TV series the '4400'. Cass sleeps through most of it. Once we have the room upstairs sorted out I can watch stuff up there. That would be a change of scene. I manage to catch Cass in a waking moment and convince her to go to bed. Not that early but at least I can watch....not a thing left but football highlights. Sit through over an hour of dull people talking about other dull people until we actually see twenty odd seconds of what I am waiting for.
Next morning I plan to have a shower early. By half past twelve the next afternoon I decide it is too late for an early shower so will wait so I can have a late one. My mind seems to have stopped processing things properly. Really rather enjoying it. Cass is up and delivers a cup of tea. I no longer ask her how she is.
CROSSING OFF THE POSSIBLES
Going through all the symptoms that Cass has seems to take longer than expected. I have managed to narrow down her illness to fourteen possible complaints. A few fatal and a some near fatal. Most however are manageable given the right treatment. So, having narrowed down the list, I start to go through all the symptoms with Cass. She is in bed in her room and has to shout to make herself heard. Half way down the first list for the first fatal decease I am beginning to be worried. She keeps saying no to the possible symptoms while I have at least seven of them. This goes on for half an hour. At the end we have crossed off a long promising list of ailments for Cass but have had a fair few confirmed for me. I feel dizzy and go to bed.
Next morning I am up first again and clear the dishwasher and make myself some toast. Cass is awake and works but returns to her bed in the afternoon. We have a busy week with appointments and so I decide to walk to the post box with my DVD rental returns and a letter. As Cass has to go out tomorrow she decides to bread shop and stamp shop . If needs be I could do it today but as there is no urgency I decide the walk to the post box is good enough. When I return I am flushed and rosy cheeked. But there was a time I would have turned down the chance to walk even that short way. So it has to be an improvement. It does doesn't it?
At the dentist Cass lies back and the dentist looks in and pokes about. The dentist asks was there anything she was supposed to do for Cass today. This is always a worry when the person who is poking about isn't sure why they are doing it. The check up must be clear. Then an early morning blood test at the doctors and Cass will return in a few weeks time for the results. She is supposed to go out to work today but a slight pain and illness is still around so Cass stays home. Just in time to receive a panicky phone call from somebody who wants something done yesterday. Despite all our efforts the panic from outside the lighthouse still niggles. After my walk to the postbox yesterday my legs are stiff. So not so good after all.
Busy working and manage to stick with it all day. Which is fine until I see pixies dancing on rainbows while they recite poetry. Decide to take a break. But when one door closes another slams shut. However on this occasion I decide to congratulate myself. I have no debt on any credit card for the first time in twenty years. There are bills and things falling down around the lighthouse. But the credit cards are clear. Who knows how long this will last but with everything going on at the moment I rejoice. I rejoice by buying something I don't need via a credit card.
Another day drifts by with work at its centre. But by one in the afternoon I realise I am still not washed or dressed. Time for a break and to cross off another thing on the list. Cass is up if not exactly about. When Cosmic took her to the Doctors for the early morning blood test he confided to me that she looked normal enough. Not sure if that is a good thing or not. Still we will know soon enough as Cass will have to have a blood pressure check up and receive her blood results in a few weeks time. When in doubt reach for the blood pressure tablets. Well I have all sorts of pills I take but have stopped asking why now. I was well into my forties before I realise the term 'pill pusher' didn't mean a normal GP.
Oh yes I was going to have a wash wasn't I? Followed by a piece of toast. Nobody can say I don't know how to live well. Crossing off the possibilities for another lovely day.
CHANNEL HOPPING
Of the many odd fears Cass has had over the years, one sticks out more than the other. Her fear of TV screens. Or at least the fear that they suddenly go wrong. The picture is distorted or the picture melts as the old films sometimes appeared to do. One hoped with the arrival of digital pictures that would all end. But as we have no solid digital transmission yet, we tend to only see the screen distort or freeze. Turning the odd digital entertainment into a horror film for Cass. The lack of digital entertainment has led me onto the other path of one of Cass' fears. Loads of televisions in one room. As well as the TV we now have entertainment busting out of the computer. As well as all the i players and Lovefilm we now have Netflix pushing out TV and film streaming. I have been a fan of DVD renting for years. I also buy lots of DVDs. I have yet to be convinced of Blu Ray and 3D and the modern stuff. I just want to watch the film or TV without loads of pointless extras. However with streaming comes the enjoyment of watching stuff as filler. But cheaper than wasting money on satellite channels and all that rubbish. Better to pick and choose than buy an expensive package for only a few programs that one actually wants to watch.
For the last few nights I have been aware that some DVDs I have bought could have been streamed cheaper on computer. But they are few and far between and I have already enjoyed watching long before streaming came into its own. So for instance on a Saturday night I watched a rental DVD of 'Captain America'. A bought episode of 'Lost'. Although now you can stream them on Lovefilm. A stream of 'Warehouse 13' and a whole list of entertainment awaits from the i players on the WEB. I am going to watch 'Bergen' on the BBC and even when one has all the BBC 3s and 4s I will still end up watching stuff when it is convenient for me to do so on i player. But it does mean I have a TV on and the computer streaming both at the same time. Great for me especially as I know when we are supposed to be turned over to digital we will be expected to buy a whole new aerial. So I feel we are being conned and having to pay for things we used to have for free. But the broadcast stuff on the four channels were pretty poor last night. 'Winter Wipeout' is the only thing I watched on terrestrial TV on Saturday. Oh and 'Dads Army'. Yeah a right con. So keeping the TV on is like leaving the radio on. A nice background.
All this watching means that reading is sometimes delayed. I like to read news magazines but am somewhat behind in my reading. Apparently we are about to have an election in these parts according to me dated mags. Other magazines I am more up to date with. But it seems with the reading and the watching I have no time for life. When it comes along and cannot be ignored it is a real intrusion. Still that is how life is I suppose.
Even while watching TV life intrudes. Cass is sitting watching a DVD or falling asleep. She starts to have a turn. She coughs and pants and coughs again and hauls herself off into the kitchen. Oh good I think, perhaps a cup of tea is being made. But no alas by the time the DVD has ended and I am in the kitchen looking for food. Cass is on the stairs collapsed in a swoon and swell. I butter my sandwich and decide what I need to put into it. We all know it is just going to be cheese because I cannot be bothered to walk to the pickle jar. Anyway I mention to Cass that if she wants me to ring an ambulance she should just tap out an SOS on the stairs. By the time I have put on 'The Ship That Died' Cass has made it upstairs. The film was a reminder if one was needed that death intrudes as well as life. Two or three hours later Cass is skipping down stairs feeling better.
It is the day of the dentist and my first visit since Christmas. I need a mould taken of my broken tooth and then I need to have an expensive inlay put in. I am now feeling slightly conned about all this as well. Cass is well enough to go to work so a busy time for Cosmic. In the car he asks Cass if she is swelling or swooning or doing both and she says she is fine. We should know if Cass has anything showing in her blood by next week. On top of that we had a phone call from a social worker telling us the last of the Picayune Uncles would like us to phone him. He is not well or he may just want a talk. In my dentist nerves I wonder why he cannot just phone us.
I am second up in the appointment list in the afternoon for the dentist. So a twenty five minute delay is making me cross. I go in and without a word have an injection while the dentist talks to a receptionist. Eventually when there is a pause in the conversation I tell the dentist through numb lips that I was going to remind her what I needed doing. She says 'sorry' but she know what she is doing. I am glad one of us does I reply. Half an hour later and now with a sore gum and mouth (cheap at half the price) I totter out. I have made an appointment for next week just to finish this short saga. But half nine is the only time available. The day before Cass receives her blood results.
I go home and start work. I think I have watched real life for long enough. A bit of channel hopping is called for. 'The Ship That Died' seems almost a bit of light relief.
WE ARE ON THE TELLY
Those annoying people that stand behind commentators at race courses and wave and smile should be shot. Have they never been on television before? At Caustic Cove we are used to the telly box people coming around and filming. Some years ago we had Poirot being filmed here. Apparently Cosmic met one of the actors and asked them about something concerning something else. I forget the details. But I now have the box set of Poirot I am forever pointing to the screen shouting 'Caustic Cove' at the top of my voice. Even though I am wrong on a few occasions as my enthusiasm takes hold.
This time we had a top Saturday Night show film in Havensedge and drive past Caustic Cove and film in a supermarket in a place called Lovetrench. Lovetrench is a town I used to live in and not that far from where Cosmic has his house cut off to him by the weeds. It was first built in the Fifties as an anti war village. All the road names have war connotations. Flanders Field lane and Haig Avenue and the like pepper the map.
The Saturday Night show had a celebrity team up with a ventriloquist who then team up with a magician. The object of the game is to do a magic trick while performing an act with a dummy. I am not sure if I have that right on the button. So fun and games are had by all and I can shout and point at the screen at local places I recognise. Except when Cosmic and Ethel can clearly be seen in the background waving and smiling at the camera, most embarrassing.
Not that Cosmic is that happy with his TV appearance. While he was there somebody tapped him on the shoulder. Was this his big break back into the business they call show? No it was an old neighbour from the place he once called home. As the weeds are overpowering the house and garden Cosmic was asked to go shares in the payment new fences would cost. "Lucky to catch you" said the neighbour. The word 'lucky' was not the word Cosmic would have chosen.
I learn all this on the way to the dentist. Cosmic is filling me in on the way the magician pulled himself through a wall of savoury snacks and tins of pilchards without the tin wall being disturbed. Cosmic is still talking as I leave the car when we arrive at the dentists. He reminds me to take my walking stick. He knows I only use the stick to climb out of the low sofa in the waiting room, but enjoys telling me that I am a poor old soul. When I am eventually called from the waiting room I haul myself up and one of my spectacle lenses just drop out onto the floor. The dentist's assistant picks it up off the floor and hands it to me. Poor old soul that I am. But she has an emergency at home. Well she needs to buy something to feed the gas metre so I am left with the dentist. My tooth inlay is completed and I am in mild discomfort. I never felt any problems with the tooth until now. I have to wait twenty four hours until I put any pressure on it. We all know that that isn't going to happen. I pay the receptionist a smaller amount than quoted and she tells me that they will send a reminder for a checkup in six months. I tell her that I will ignore it and we both smile politely.
The rain is heavy and Cosmic is kind enough to pick me up. He asks how things went and then goes on about the trick he saw. My teeth and legs ache. Poor old soul.
The following day Cosmic is still talking about the trick he witnessed. Problem is he is early picking Cass up to take her for the results of her blood test. I am nervous and hope that she has some sort of answer to her problems. Her shoulder is bad again after only doing some light work at removing wall screws. For some reason neither of us tell Cosmic he is a quarter of an hour early until we are already at the doctors. Cass struggles out of the car and manages to make it inside. We park up around the next road looking out over the sea. Although a grey day we both start feeling philosophical. I talk about my concern over Cass and life and the future and the present and the past. Cosmic talks about his worry over the house he has lost to the weeds and the problems of being totally alone in the World. This somewhat surprises me. Cosmic seems to have loads of friends around but he makes the point that he is lucky enough to have friends but loneliness is always a problem. Without family there is nobody to really support him. I tell him that I find his comments insulting and we both smile while watching seagulls hover and dive.
Cass rings us and we pick her up. Any news on her blood tests? Any reason why she keeps having strains and swelling and swooning fits? Needless to say the blood tests have shown she has blood pressure and the usual problems but nothing else to explain her strains. So the nurse suggests exercise and diet and pills. Cass also is given a pamphlet on strains and diet. All worthless and a waste of paper. I went through all this years ago and ignored most of the rubbish as I knew exercise and the lack there of was the problem. But I was showing no signs of anything. Doctors really don't solve problems but just keep on creating them. Still Cass decides to take a walk from the chemist do the top of a hill. Cosmic picks her up from there.
When we are home Cass joins me in a shopping spree. I cut out all my choccy treats in support of her. Then we cut down on the salty treats. I refuse to cut down on cheese and bread. Frankly I don't find life so appealing as to make it go on any longer than I have to. Cass decides to do a little exercise and cut down on late night snacks in the future. I agree as she finishes off the laundry washing and then goes upstairs to check on things we need to order. I am sat down by the computer shouting instructions. We finish the shopping and I suggest Cass can go outside and start tidying the garden which is in a hell of a state. Maybe she could join Silas in our weed war. Both of these suggestions are met with silence. Cass remembers we have a walking machine somewhere and she can bring that in. I hope she is careful if she does bring it in. Don't want her straining anything else.
PAIN, PAIN AND YET MORE PAIN
Oh well go to the Doctors with a complaint and come away with blood pressure pills. If it wasn't so painful it would be funny. Cass has a night from hell the first night after her blood pressure results. A sore throat and then after she had taken the pills and gone to bed, she had a night of coughing, fainting, cramps and more muscle pain. Next day she is walking about with a stick. I am not feeling too clever thank you for asking and stay in bed until late. Just a touch of a cold. But when I do rise to greet the day this is what welcomes me. Cass phones the doctors for some advice and he is busy so will call her back. By the time the afternoon has set in we still have had no phone call so Cass writes a letter with all the gory details laid out. I say at least it is handy to have everything written down so I can sue them after Cass is dead. Trouble is I now have to go out and post the letter.
Doctor phones in the evening and leaves a message. Cass is still walking about with a stick and feeling a bit better. But the following morning she reports an awful night with muscle agony and so I have to clean out the washing machine and clean up the....no I guess I shouldn't complain. Cass phones the chemist who say the muscle problem could be a side effect to the drugs. I take the same kind of drug but don't have the pain. Cass then phones the doctor again and reports all that has gone on. The doctor isn't there and I have no idea what has been decided. I am about to ask when Cass cries out. Is it pain or muscle agony? I reach for the phone to call an ambulance. But it turns out she has turned her attention to the television which is showing Murray playing Djorkovic at tennis. So I return the phone to its rightful position.
The shopping arrives and I have to deal with the many bags alone. Needless to say Cass wants a cup of tea and decides to move some glasses from the spot where I am about to put the cup only at the last minute. I swear at her. Cass is not a good patient and I am not a good carer. Back to the shopping.
I am very proud of myself as I go through the shopping list and bags and put things away. Cass wants a bread roll without anything with it, another drink and a scone. I swear at her and am still proud of my skills of staying on my feet today and completing some difficult tasks.
The evening brings no call from the doctors and Cass decides to stop the pointless medication that helps nothing but has side effects that aggravate her symptoms. Who would have thought it? Another failure from the medical world. Although to be fair it is only our experience with GPs that have been bad all through our lives. In the evening I have a roll and a sandwich and a drink and relax. I watch a bit of football which is dire and find out about the tennis. Well here is hoping tomorrow is better and Cass is nearer feeling a bit better at least. With any luck at least we may return to the point we were at before the doctor was involved. Then we can start again.
AND RELAX
As the week limps on Cass feels a little better each day. From bed ridden and riddled with pain to walking with a stick to feeling well enough to go out to work. The doctor phones after receiving a letter sent by Cass and Cass makes an appointment with him. We know the doctor is just covering his back but we live in hope. Meanwhile another letter to the doctors has been sent by Cass with a request to keep it on her file. Doctors have a habit of losing notes and letters. In between Cass orders a bottle of Vitamin D tablets. Well she heard something about them and I read something about them so they may help. When they come I take one a day and by the end of the week feel better than I have for some time. So does Cass and she visits the GP and tells him where he can put his prescription and he offers no advice except to take her blood pressure. As she is feeling better her blood pressure is better than mine. He warns her about the problems of not taking the prescription drugs she doesn't need and he still ignores the initial symptoms. While Cass is feeling well she says she will see how the Vitamin D pills manage her symptoms. After all it is more than the Doctor has managed to suggest. By the evening I await her symptoms to worsen. She doesn't cough so much and her throat seems so so despite having to go out in minus three degrees. Although Cosmic had to wait in a car for her so that could not have been great either. By the evening her arm is hurting but so far not badly. We shall wait until the morning.
During the day we test the TVs upstairs on the other TV aerial for digital reception. The relief is it seems to be as good as the other aerial. What happens come switch over time is anybody’s guess. Meanwhile I manage to take off the wall brackets and the final screws that started the Cass pain problem in the first place. We wait and hope that Cass is over a problem started four months ago. No thanks to the doctors. At least today was better for all and we achieved things. Now it is a waiting game. Depending on how bad the cold is tomorrow I may pop out.
Cold night and the temperature struggles to rise above freezing all day. I am awoken by the door bell but can find nothing and nobody there. I dress and go out and return tired. I put my overcoat and gloves and hat and shoes away. Sit down and start working on the computer. Cass asks if I could post something for her. I put my shoes, coat, gloves and hat back on and go to the post box. Despite the minus temperatures I do not feel too bad. Nevertheless I stick on the heating when I return. Cass is brave enough to ask Cosmic for a lift early next week to go to work. He says that is fine as he has left the heating on in his empty house. Yes with the weeds and thorns dying back in the winter he managed to hitch a lift with a weed patrol and fight his way to the door. But it was all he could do to reach a heater and return with the patrol. Cosmic hasn't done any cutting yet but he feels proud to have at least reached his house. So a better week for all. We also know there is a patrol of weed fighters called The WTF (Weed Transport Fighters). So hurrah for us all. Every able-bodied person is called to fight the weedy menace. So that lets me out then.
A good week then. So let's all just take stock and breath and relax. Feels good doesn't it?
THE LAST OF THAT GENERATION
Our Uncle, our late Mum's brother died yesterday. He was in his nineties and been in bed for the last few months. Cass had phoned him nearly every day and he was aware of the past but a bit distant when it came to the recent past. He couldn't remember his conversations with Cass or even that they had had conversations. In the last week when Cass was herself recovering from illness, she had promised herself that she would keep phoning him. But life always interrupts good intentions. So she didn't and was about to phone when she received the call. So our Uncle becomes the last of the previous generation to go. So we are now the generation ready to move on. It has always been odd for me as I have been the youngest. I only met my maternal grandmother out of my grandparents but she died when I was very young. Now I am part of the older generation. I feel very comfortable being here.
The icy rain hits and slides down the window. The drops keep apologising as they make their slide. Not sure if they are rain, sleet or snow. It is around freezing and we have received a package. It is a Digital DVD and receiver. So I excitedly wait for the magic. I know because we have tested it, that this aerial does pick up digital radio and a few digital TV stations. We are all ready for the big switch over. However the new machine tells me we have no digital signal. Yes we have I tell it. I tested it yesterday on the same make DVD digital tuner as you are. But the machine will just not believe me. So we will have to test the machine on the other aerial. Now we have done this before for the second DVD digital machine and found it fine. So when we tested it on the other aerial we knew the machine worked. But by testing the second machine. Cass took out the first DVD digital tuner (which is also a video combi) and then put it back again after we tested the second machine. But she made a few small errors in her scart socket so I was left all Saturday afternoon trying to re tune a machine I had already tuned thinking it would be easy. But I failed and I was in a mood because I didn't know why nothing was working. Then Cass checked the back of the TV and nervously admitted it was a minor connection problem. Right then the first tuner combi now works on the first aerial. The second digital tuner doesn't work in Cass' room because of her funny wiring that she has rectified by ordering new wire and connections. But the second digital tuner does work in my room on the same aerial as hers. But the third digital tuner doesn't work in my room so we will have to test it on the other aerial and disconnect the first digital combi and remember to re connect it properly. How much clearer can it be? Clearer than my picture is now as it seems to be less clear than it was before all this started.
The new digital DVD tuner works on the other aerial so there is nothing wrong with the machine. Right so that leaves us with re testing the second machine on my television with the second aerial knowing it did work. I shall be asking questions later so pay attention. Right then the second machine that did work is re tested and receives NO SIGNAL. So it isn't the third machine at all but the signal that has become a will o the wisp. So we may yet have to pay out for a new aerial. So from one day to the next we just don't know what is working and what isn't. So the machines work and the second aerial has worked but doesn't at the moment. But we now have the ware with all and are ready for the big switchover knowing that it may all go dark. Oh well a weekend well wasted then. Time to watch a BBC program that we pay a license fee for but cannot pick up yet on digital, on the computer. Not a good time to be a member of the older generation.
RIDING INTO THE ZONE
The clock on the wall says it's time to call so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here with a song and a tale and a fear not to fail. First up the oldie but goodie. Clodagh Rodgers and 'Come back and shake me'.
Odd song when you think about it. Not sure it would go down too well nowadays. She seems to be asking to be treated like a play thing as she is wasted after a night on the tiles. We didn't look too deeply into lyrics in those days. Everything seemed innocent, even the drugs, sex and rock and roll. Still I mustn't harp on about the past. It is just I have been back to my weed infested house and felt a bit sad and nostalgic. The weeds died back enough for vehicles to start patrolling and allowing people to ride with them on the back of a truck. So I had a lift and managed to fight my way to the door of my house and put the heating on. A few days later a took the heating off and collected my post. Yes somehow the bills still managed to be posted there despite my clear instructions for them to be delivered to Ethel's place where I find myself now residing. I also managed to take a few things that could attract the wrong sort of interest and now the place looks a bit sorry for itself. I began to feel nostalgic for the good times I had had there. Then realised the fact was I hadn't actually had any good times there. So I guess I will have to find room for all my stuff somewhere else and then do the place up and sell it. Not sure who would buy it but hopefully by the time it is ready to go on the market, the weeds and the recession will have eased enough. Goodness knows where I will end up.
Took Cass to work the other day and She is looking better. Although standing in minus four for me to pick her up may not have been ideal. Still good to know she is ignoring anything the GP says as he hasn't actually suggested anything useful. The Picayune mentioned that both he and Cass are starting to take Vitamin D tablets. So I ordered some too. Not sure why but as I don't actually see the Sun from one year to the next then what harm can they do? Felt ok since I started taking them so we will see. Anyway saw The Picayune walking in Caustic Cove the other day. May have only been to the post box but believe me when I tell you he has rung me up before now for a lift even for that. So there may be something in this new miracle cure.
On our way to give Cass a lift to her work we found that parts of Havensedge had suffered from heavy snow. Well not that heavy but enough for it to still be gathered in mounds where people had cleared away paths and drives. Yet on the coast half a mile away we had nothing. Although we did have the cold. Bernie and Ethel have the heating on all the time and I feel a bit sick with the heat. Step outside or pop into the Lighthouse and it is as cold as a freezer. The Picayune says he doesn't turn on the heating unless it drops below ten degrees inside the Lighthouse. I think I may have found the reason for the illness to Cass.
WEIGHING UP THE SITUATION
I am not stupid you know? I know why they engineer situations so we don't often turn up in the same room. Even when by some poor judgement we do end up in the same space, I know why you don't look at me. I know why you pretend I just don't exist. Although I have caught you glancing over to me once or twice when you think I am looking the other way. But the disdain and disgust on your face even when you catch sight of me out of the corner of your eye is never hidden. You don't even pretend to hide your repulsion. I suppose I used to take it personally. Well you would wouldn't you? But you are as much reacting to yourself than me. I am a constant reminder of your failure.
Oh yes I have heard it all before. Amongst the lies and excuses and simpering denials. There are truths in some of what you say. Which is why I never understood why you even think of blaming me. But I am like a mirror held up to your own past. A past that has been littered with mistakes by others as much as by you. So why take it all so personally? Somebody once said 'I wouldn't fear death if I had never suffered life'. Very melodramatic I grant you. But then it is the sort of thing I expect you to say. Oh it was you who said it. Well anyway the fact is we are what we are. If you are attacked by a lion and you are at a time in your life that you can run away then you run away. If you are old and can't run then you are eaten. Or if you are young enough to think you can take on the lion then you are eaten. If you are old enough to hide, you will survive. Life is just what interrupts the time you spend here. Life can be ended by a germ that you will never see. Or you will survive the mountain falling on top of you.
Which brings me to the whole point of you ignoring me. What is the worst that can happen if you actually try and communicate with me? I don't think we will ever be friends. But why must we be enemies? If you see something so awful in me then fine and we can go on doing what we are doing. But you may be surprised at what you see. No there will be no moment of bliss or clarity. No Road to Damascus moment. You will probably see what you expect and fear to see. But then that changes nothing. It is not like you haven't been told things in the past by so called experts that have come to nought. So why not just ignore what I say if you don't like it. Step by step, do what you want to do. Ignore me or treat what you see in me as a warning. Or do nothing and never talk to me again. It is up to you in the end.
So what have you decided to do? Hey I may not even bother to say or do anything. Just the shock of you coming close enough to communicate with me may make me go all funny. Anyway I will leave it to you. But what ever happens don't hate me or fear me or whatever it is you do. Treat me simply as what I am. I am not going to run away anymore. The ball is in your court.
The Picayune wondered when weighing scales became so lippy.
BEVERLEY POPS IN
Is anybody here?
Anybody?
Fair enough.
I suppose it is fairly usual for people to become too busy to sit down and write about all the exciting things that are happening when there are no exciting things happening. Even dull and boring things are hard to find when nothing happens. As the internal monologue recorder of the Picayune one would think I would be the first to know how he was going on. But all I hear and have heard for the last week is the word HUNGER. He apparently is trying to lose weight after stepping on some new scales. All I heard since then was weeping and grinding of teeth. We haven't had this experience for some time. But it follows that the Picayune will panic for a week, lose a few pounds, decide the pain isn't worth it and then return to normal. So he is out of the picture for now.
Now Cass I have heard moving about. The Picayune keeps enquiring if she is awake. Not sure if this means Cass is ill still poorly or just asleep all the time or just looks asleep. But she seems to be as active if not more so then the Picayune. So it remains a bit of a mystery.
Haven't heard Cosmic for some time. I did hear from his internal monologue recorder that he was looking at the building work going on next door to Beverley. There were toilets and baths and bits of wood in the front garden. So Cosmic was feeling that he should have his place done up while the builders can actually battle their way through the weeds. But this would mean Cosmic actually climbing out of the comfortable hole he has found himself buried in. No doubt he will eventually do something. Besides he is busy planning to go out with the Weed Patrols. He hasn't yet but he will. Well he probably will.
As for the others I have heard nothing. Which is a good thing. HUNGER. Sorry that was the Picayune again. He has such a slow metabolism that he will be dead for days before his body bothers to react to it. His stomach already thinks it is all over. So that is a good thing. Oh wait a moment. Stepping up on the scales.
We will be back to normal soon. The Picayune is wailing and weeping again and saying lots of rude words. Most of the words I don't think actually exist. I think he is complaining that the machine is broken. Sweet really how the Picayune tries so hard to believe that this time will be different. What's happening now? Oh yes I think Cass has dropped off again. Nothing to see here then. Move along.
CATCHING A BREAK
I am sitting by a bed. In the bed is a figure swathed head to toe in bandages. They have one leg hoisted up in a sling and an arm held up in another sling. They look like something out of the novel 'Catch 22'. I am ignoring the patient and eating grapes. Everytime somebody passes the bed I catch hold of their hand and start crying. I ask them why it had to happen to me? I tell them I cannot catch a break and that life is always bringing me down. When I wake up my heart is doing a skippity skip and irregular. I know where this is all coming from.
I knew that if I maintained my efforts I could lose weight in the early days. But even I was shocked that I dropped half a stone in less than two weeks. Problem is the weight has now stuck there for a few more days and I am losing the will to keep on with the strain. Then I have a few heart skippity skips that last a few hours. On top of that I have a kidney stone pain. I have in the past had a couple of these pains that last an agonising twenty four hours. This time the pain is more intense and makes me want to be physically sick on several occasions. The pain only lasts around six hours. But I am wasted for the next few days. Just as I am recovering and decide to lay off the vitamin D tablets for a while, Cass suggests we have a nice piece of Gammon. Lovely I say and we have a great meal with salad. Then I notice Cass has gone out of her way not to talk to me. She starts to go upstairs when I am downstairs and visa versa. When I mention it we just laugh. But then she talks a few words to me and it sounds as if Cass has just returned from a tough time at the dentists. Her speech is slurred and she has trouble making herself understood. I gather her cheek and lips are numb and that she has felt this coming on for a day or two. I look at her and she seems alright and she assures me she feels fine. For some reason I make her count backwards from twenty and dictate the alphabet. As far as I can understand her she appears fine except for her speech.
As doctors seem to be useless for us we look up her symptoms on the Internet. People do seem to have suffered the same problem without knowing what is wrong despite going to their doctors and having tests. So what appears to be a stroke may not be. I am in two minds. Do I rush Cass to the Accident and Emergency or wait. Cass seems to be in no distress and even finds it mildly amusing. She covers her anxiety well. But not well enough. I am left with no option but to wait until the next morning. But there is no change and again Cass claims to feel just fine. At least I think that is what she is saying. Tomorrow we have arranged for Cosmic to give her a lift to work. Not sure how that is going to work if there is no change?
While Cass cleans up the gammon dish downstairs I cannot decide what I should do today. Panic or go out and clean up outside or stay in and feel distressed. Why did this have to happen to me? I can't seem to catch a break at the moment.
CATCHING A BREAK PART TWO
I am sitting by a bed. I am not eating grapes but am moaning. Cass is feeling fine except for her slurred speech but she too is now feeling uncomfortable. We have been in Accident and Emergency for six hours. When we first arrived we had to walk for miles until we found the right desk to talk to. The desk was a nice wooden one behind as glass window. Then we were sent on another walk only to find we had turned the wrong corner and walked through off white doors and not bright white doors and turned right and second left and not right and third left. Eventually an irate nurse found us and said she had been hunting high and low for Cass. I was ready to settle myself down but then I had to follow Cass being wheeled on a trolley all over the place. First for a head scan and then an x ray and then a Doctor saw us. Not good news but not awful news when the tests came back. A small bleed in the brain. However Cass smarted at being told she would have to stay in hospital overnight. Something she has never had to do since childhood. So having been told she was going to be transferred to a ward I hung around thinking it would be a few hours.
Six hours of sitting and waiting and then finding water because none was provided. Then hoping that this trolley was for us but seeing some other poor soul being wheeled away. A&E in any hospital must be a lot like the old Bedlam. The groans and the moans and the cries for help. All ignored as the smiling nurses carry on with their jobs in hand until the moans are placated. Eventually Cass is moved into a corridor and then moved further up the chain to a ward. I run behind her trolley like a demented puffing old steam train. Through corridors and into lifts and out of lifts and through more corridors and into another lift and out and along more corridors. Not a good day to wear two sweaters and a scarf. Down more corridors in and out of lifts and then we arrived at a ward. The nurses and staff could not have been more helpful. Except for the long long wait. Cass fortunately found a lovely woman next to her in the ward who had had three strokes in her life and looked and sounded fine. But she warned Cass and scared her rotten with tales of future problems. However Cass took all this with a pitch of salt and then was terrified of a nightie that was provided. It was at this point I bid farewell and went in search of a lift. Now Cosmic had parked the car in a car park and given me the ticket. Fortunately he knew somebody in the area and said he would visit them overnight and so the car was mine for as long as I needed it.
Hospitals are very large and have many lifts. By the time I had left Cass and left her as worried for me as I was for her. I looked for the car park but found myself at the front of the Hospital. Which would have been fine but Cosmic had distinctly told me that he had parked in the Delilah car park at the rear of the hospital. So instead of retracing my steps through the hospital I decided to go around it. Up one of the steepest slopes known to man I arrived at what I hoped was the right car park and tried to remember the instructions of where it was. After several stops for breath and to allow the sweat to drip into the scarf drip tray I had thoughtfully provided for myself. I eventually found the car and had to go down three flights of steps to have the ticket run through the machine. I couldn't see a place for my credit card but had a twenty pound note on me. The machine coughed up the change reluctantly.
Finally settled in the lighthouse I took stock of the day. My mind began to replay the incidents I wish to forget. By eleven thirty I had drank several glasses of water and orange and had retired for the night. Needless to say worry and cramp, which at times feel like the same thing, began to bother me during the night. But by next morning I had decided on my course of action and how best to spend the day. I had even made ready the toothbrush and toothpaste and soap ready to take with me to hospital. After phoning around the immediate work commitments. Despite being the end of the month people were very understanding. I phoned the hospital. Cass was well enough to come to the phone and said she had spoken to the specialist and was awaiting more tests. But she sounded so much better and told me not to bother to come to visit as she hoped to be sent home sometime today. So relieved and leaving her to finish off a nice hospital lunch I phoned Cosmic and told him about the events of the last twenty four hours. Cosmic would wait at the hospital when I picked Cass up if that was what was going to happen. If not he was happy to make his own way home.
Later that night Cass phones. A further scan has found a problem in her neck that needs an operation. Fear and confusion hits us both and I try to reassure her. She knows nothing about when or where the operation will take place and as she cannot now take the Vitamin D tablets, is in pain with muscle cramps. My heart goes out to her which I would give willingly to stop this awful fear. I try and make the conversation as a matter of fact as I can. Cass fears everything from being paralysed to being in agony. What can I say to her accept to say how good it was they found the problem before she came home? Blah blah blah.
I pray for Cass to be brave and confident. God is somewhere and we could catch a break Lord. My mind spins with everything from where the hell her ward is in the hospital to what we should do if she is unable to move to what toothbrush to take her. I go to bed early and hope that tomorrow brings better news. What ever happens I shall visit her. Please God we have positive news to talk about.
CATCHING A BREAK PART THREE
I drive to the hospital giving myself three hours to play with. I had phoned the ward earlier and was told that Cass was still well. I was given the visiting hours but told not to worry to stick to them. As it happened the car park usually impossible to park in allowed one space right at the top level for me to park in. I thanked my luck and began the arduous journey down. Now I am not a stupid man but trying to follow the signs to the front of the hospital became impossible. So I ended up in a secure area with a locked gate banging to be let out. The man who had to have a pass key told me it was easy to get to where I was going to. What I should have done was take the second blah at the junction with whatsit and then crossed the thingy by the thingy and then gone blah and then gone through.....I left the man still talking as I made my way right round the huge hospital to find my way to the front. After a sit down on a wall, I conjured up enough energy to make it to my destination. Remembering to use the soapy stuff by the door. Still at a loss and finding the information desk unmanned I searched for a sign and found what I was looking for.
Gasping and sweaty I walked into the ward to find the bed Cass had occupied empty. I was then shown to a side ward with two beds and Cass and the friend she met on that first night were happy chatting away. Her friends husband sat in a chair reading. At first I didn't recognise our new best mate but after sitting down and managing to calm my senses I was happy to join in the long conversation. Sadly for Cass her friend was about to learn that she had been discharged. Leaving Cass still waiting to find out her fate. The operation that yesterday seemed a certainty now had doubt placed around it. Although we later learnt that Cass was to have an MRI scan the following day. So another day at least in hospital. I was shocked that no medication had yet been provided bar some pain killing tablets. But other than a few aches and the slight problem with her speech Cass was at least still well. Although her news that the main artery to her brain had a problem that they were going to operate on but now were not sure, filled me with dread. Later another patient wandered in and began talking about her experience which was awful but still a mystery as to why it occurred. The evening meal was about to be served so the chat was broken up.
Four and a half hours after I had arrived I said goodbye promising to come in the next day. The long walk back to the car was still a sweaty nightmare and the losing of the car park ticket between ticket machine and car helped not at all. I searched on the floor and up stairs and asked people if they had seen it. Eventually the ticket was found in a place I had searched a dozen times. However I had spent so long finding the thing that the car park refused to let me out until I had paid again. So armed with a list of things Cass needs and the hope we learn better news tomorrow, I went to bed after a sandwich and gammon role. It will be another long night.
CATCHING A BREAK PART FOUR
Feeling tired and somewhat emotional I have a shower and prepare everything I have to take for Cass. I wait a little longer to go to her knowing that she is having an MRI scan this morning. When I arrive at the car park I am again lucky to find a spot right at the top of the multi storey. Now I know which building to head for I find the signs as easy to read as a normal person. Instead of half an hour from car park to ward, I am sitting with Cass in ten minutes. She still looks well and is talking even better than yesterday. Her scan was even earlier than we thought due to a cancellation and she is expecting the results any moment. A new girl arrived early in the morning with back problems and will be allowed to leave soon. So another person Cass has talked to and now loses. She is soon moved to another side ward as the men's ward is overflowing and they need her bed. The new lady in the new side ward for Cass doesn't look up as we enter. Turns our she is blind and nearly deaf. Meanwhile the nurse arrives and asks Cass if she needs any pain killers. Cass has taken a couple of pills that any bathroom cabinet has tucked away. But she is fine. The nurse sighs deeply as his patient needs little help from him. He says the Consultant is still around and he will try and find out what is happening with the MRI scan results. The hours tick by and finally after three and a half hours I leave Cass with her meal and naturally annoyed. The nurse agrees that as Cass is taking no medication she is simply filling up a bed. If an operation is needed than why not tell her? If not lets get the hell out of here.
I make my way to the car park with ease up a slope and a few flights of steps. I may have struggled with the walk a few days ago but I am used to scaling a side of a mountain in my wanderings. There is even a car park attendant to take my ticket and feed it into the machine. If only Cass would have found out what was happening to her this would have been a perfect day. So it is unlikely we will hear anything over the weekend. Frustration is loaded onto frustration. I am running out of things to say to her on my visits. But again hope we hear something soon. How hard is it for a decision to be made and the patient informed?
Next morning Cass phones to tell me an operation for early next week has been arranged. A nurse found out this morning and passed on the news. Cass explains that they will use a local anaesthetic as she has to be awake to talk to them during the procedure. We both know this is in case the blockage in the neck they are trying to clear breaks off and damages some other part of the brain. But at least we now know. I head into visit her later in the day and she is sounding upbeat and fit. Although without her vitamin D pills the pains in her joints are slowly returning. Her companion in the side ward is to leave and head back to her nursing home. So Cass loses another partner. But Cass is given permission to leave for a few hours if she signs a waver. I joke she could come home and do the wages and some work. Not too far from what she would like to do. I ask Cass to make a list of instructions for a wages program I have never seen on her computer and the washing machine. She will phone me tomorrow to talk through the wages. But I am pleased that having arrived home I manage to find her computer under a whole pile of papers and bits and bobs and set everything up ready for her phone call. I have a good meal and am now starting on food that Cass bought for herself. I tell myself I am doing her a favour as the food would just be going off. I even manage to do most of my washing. Another good day and lets hope they now keep on coming.
Next morning Cass phones to say she has been moved to a single room on the ward. When I visit her the room is cool and has its own toilet. Even the nurses pop in just to cool off from the otherwise boiling wards. Cass is told her operation will be sometime in the next few days. Everything will be explained to her nearer the time. As we have already discovered, communication isn't the Doctors strong point. It will be interesting if the operation helps with the pains she has been suffering off and on. Still that is all in the future. Just thank the Lord that today was another good day. An end to one of the worst weeks in our life. I never am a great believer in hope but have grabbed onto it like a drowning man hangs onto some drift wood. So far prayers have been answered. A long way to go and we are bound to have some poor days. This time last week I had yet to discover Cass felt there was a problem. I had yet to discover she had a problem with her speech. I dare not look too closely at this time next week. Just enjoy a good end to an awful week.
I hope some of this makes sense
CATCHING A BREAK REDUX
The morning seems to have calmed itself after a night of wind and rain. I have slept fitfully and am still half asleep when I rise from my bed. But I manage to dress and do some work on the computer. Bank sites that are there for my convenience continue to make the easy things hard. Still I muddle through and am pleased by the conclusion of my tasks. I row over to the car and pump up the tyres. Returning to the lighthouse I hear the phone ring and manage to catch it. Cass is telling me that the doctors have seen her and she will have the operation almost definitely tomorrow. So at last we have something settled.
Despite my extra activity of visiting her I still do not feel hungry and so decide to eat late again after I return from the hospital. I am out the door when the phone rings again. Cass is now saying that all bets are off. Apparently they have just informed her of the same thing they told her the first night in casualty. They now say that they are unable to operate at the moment because they need to give her blood thinning drugs during the operation and as she has a bleed in her brain that would seem a nonsensical thing to do. But as they knew this from day one why has it taken until now to state the bleeding obvious? Cass is now told she can go home and eat well and exercise and they will arrange an appointment with her for various things.
As far as I can understand. Now I am no medical genius here. But Cass went into hospital on Tuesday and was given tests and things and they told her what was wrong. She was taken into the hospital and after a week is going home. In that time she has had tests and scans. The doctors have given her information that is muddled and confused when they have managed to give her any information at all. Cass has received no medication bar the odd pain killer. Which she will still have to take as the pains she experienced before the Vitamin D tablets are coming back. Cass is told not to take the vitamin D tablets. Had she stayed home then other than the tests, what has she missed out on?
One has to love the NHS and the wonderful staff they have. But communication at the top to the patient is appalling. Cass now sits in the lighthouse and is looking as well as she did when she first went into hospital. Her speech improves and then slurs when she feels tired. However slur or not at least she can communicate. Something the medical staff could learn from. So no instructions to see the idiot GP. No instructions as yet for any appointments. We are told they will be arranged and passed onto us in the next few days. We wait with interest.
Cass is now at home. In pain but at home. Thank God that we have come this far. Thank God for the helpful medical staff. God help those still in hospital or sick tonight. God help the doctors to learn to communicate. As they are so busy maybe they could employ a patient liaison officer. Would save in the long run. About a week of bed blocking at least in our case.
THAT’LL BE THE DAY
Cosmic announces he is to star in an off off West End musical extravaganza. It is a story written by Seventies disgraced comedian Barry Sortafter. Mister Sortafter was, if one cares to remember, a big name on the club scene back in the day. He even made it onto television in his short lived comedy series. Sadly 'Who'll Sort it out after Barry' never made it to a third episode. Then soon after the news of his nightly dalliance with a mystery woman with a box of exotic fruits and an underage skipping rope display team hit the headlines. Barry Sortafter was no longer sort after but shunned from polite show business society. His latest attempt to hit the big time is to write a musical based around Calvin Moonsoil's songs. Cosmic as one of the backing singers of Calvin Moonsoil and the only one signed up so far to perform, is the first screw in the wall, so to speak. Anyway this means Cosmic has found digs nearer the rehearsal studio and has said that the car is ours. Seeing as we were using it more than he was, paying the bills for it and generally only had him as a walk on part, this seems fine to us all. Besides while Cosmic's house is a prisoner of the weeds. He might as well go on and chase his dreams.
However much I try to feel enthusiastic about Cosmics big chance I find it hard to take seriously. It may well be because I am thinking about other things right now. Cass has an outpatients appointment and is feeling very tired and slow of thought. From a day of looking and sounding bright when she first came out of hospital. Cass now has spent the few days since in bed or sleeping in a chair. She has done some work she tells me and we she may learn something at her appointment. But somehow I doubt it. Life after all is a chemical reaction that eventually loses the spark. Right now I feel spark less myself.
Without Cosmic I have nobody to talk to. Interesting that his rehearsals start soon and he tells me that the musical will have Calvin Moonsoil's songs written around a story about mopeds. The story will be set in the Sixties and the songs will fit into the life and times of Maurice Moped and his rider. Well it may be a great success. But I still find it hard to put my finger on the reality of the last few weeks. Cass ill and Cosmic pretending to be a singing moped. This may be final proof that I have had the stroke and all this is just my brain running amok.
Another early night and Cass tells me to make sure that she is awake in time to go to the hospital for her appointment the next morning. I am all worried out and so dismiss any of the niggles and concerns that I already went through last week. I am even too tired to have a shower. So I go to bed and read.
Next day Cass returns from her appointment a little happier in the going. Operation is still on and she learns that the bleeding had stopped in her brain. I celebrate by eating too much and now have a stomach ache. Life is all in the translation.
PLANNING AND THE VIEW
Plans are not worth the brain power it takes to make them. I keep trying to plan what to do but it goes into a big pile of pending rubbish. So I go out and do some bread shopping and check on Cosmic's house and come back to the lighthouse. Cass has moments of eating and sleeping and then working. Her speech has gone back to being slow. Although without the drunken slurring she sounds better than she did. The more Cass talks the better she sounds but as we have no conversation needs it becomes hard for her to keep up the practice. But on the whole we are in a better position than last week. Although with no medication or advice I am still wondering what the week in hospital was for. However if nothing else it gave us piece of mind and a step closer to the operation. While it is only her speech that is at all noticeable we should be grateful. Cass has also taken to texting people instead of talking to them. She has become very nimble fingered on the phone. Every cloud so to speak.
The view from the lighthouse is wonderful at the moment. The view has always been there but I for one have always tended to look at it but not notice it. No point in having plans and missing the view. So I have been trying to forget all the things that have to be done and just appreciating the peace. Work is plentiful and I ask Cass how to do certain parts of the work that she usually does. Just so I have some idea. However I soon become bored with the effort and so suggest that we go out for a drive.
I drive up to a local suicide spot with nice views. The council has decided to put parking pay machines there. So if you want to end it all you still have to pay for the privilege of taking the car. To have it towed away after the deed would be such a disgraceful epitaph. We stay and sit on a bench and watch the mist drift in. There is a man kite surfing in a field and later a farmer rounds up his sheep using a posh go cart thingy. Cass says she felt a bit sick in the car. So we head home.
I had forgotten how busy the roads can be when the rush hour starts at four in the afternoon and doesn't end for three hours. We are involved in a traffic jam that despite my best efforts at taking a short cut still ends up us taking two and half hours for a twenty minute journey. By the time we arrive back at the lighthouse Cass is tired and goes to bed. I don't see her until the following evening. Although she still manages to go and make herself something to eat during the day. She is not an invalid so I am not waiting on her. She tries to practice some words while we are watching television. The word 'oil' becomes a surprising high fence for her to scramble over. But after a great deal of effort she manages to say the word. However other longer words come easily. At least some do and some don't.
Another appointment with another department with another specialist in a few weeks time comes in the post. We are also short of shopping. A day on the computer to order stuff is required. I plan to do that at some point while looking at the view. A view that right now looks a shade misty still.
COSMIC AND THE HOP, SHUFFLE, STEP
The clock on the wall says it's time to call so let's truck on down to the latest sounds. Cosmic here playing songs from our back catalogue, if you pardon the expression. My first few days of rehearsal for the new musical seemed to go well enough. The opening songs to the first act are all taken from our best selling album 'Madman in the Rowing Boat'. A few words have had to be changed to match the plot to the musical. A man in a rowing boat who is a bit mad is washed up on a beach. He is found by a passer by walking her dog. She helps him out of the boat and then rings her friend who has a moped. I play the friend with a moped. And ride onto the stage on a pretend moped and sing and dance the big opening number. The words have been changed to
'So here is the mad man in a rowing boat.
Always seems to struggle to stay afloat.
A madman taken by the tide
Just a long for the ride'
Then I dance with my moped. It all seems a long way from the original concept album we first envisaged. But I am told that if enough people remember the songs then any old rubbish can be put on stage and people will come. While it may have worked for Abba and Queen I am not convinced it will work for the music of Calvin Woodsoil. Still the money has been put into it and we open in three weeks. I have invited as many people as I can for the opening night. So far only a few have said they would definitely be coming. The Picayune was kind enough to say that he now is picking up some of the digital TV channels so he may be too busy to come. Although I am sure he was just covering for the sake of his sister. We were all shocked to hear about her illness. Mind you our phone call had been cut short as Cass had The Picayune's dinner ready for him. Still I hope they can both come.
Barry Sortafter has sat in on a few of our early rehearsals. His writing style can be best described as fluid. He likes to drink while he re writes everything from stage directions to song lyrics. I am told that this is normal. One of the dancers who says she was in 'Cats' says that musicals are always hectic and confusing and ever changeable at this stage of the proceedings. Although I later learn that she was never actually in the musical 'Cats' but just into cats. By the afternoon of each day everybody is exhausted and there is a distinct dip in energy. Still I am ever hopeful we will be ready on time.
Early signs from the box office are good. We have sold twelve tickets so far for the public opening. Looking forward to it all. But feeling very nervous as I am still unsure of so much of what it is I am supposed to be doing. The dancer who is into cats says this is normal at this stage in the proceedings for new musicals. Although I later learn she is receiving all her expert opinion from a documentary about musicals from the television. This is actually her first job since leaving Madame Dance's Dance School. This is less impressive when I learn that she left the dance school when she was sixteen years of age and is now twenty nine. One cannot fault her enthusiasm. Just her sanity.
At least with all this activity I have lost four pounds in weight. But am brought down to Earth when The Picayune told me he has lost over a stone in six weeks. Still I prefer my style of weight loss to his. Oh well here is hoping things can continue to go well. I have put a lot on hold to make this a success. Apparently the latest rumour is the Producers are looking for more money to put into the show. They keep smiling at me for some reason. I feel like a lobster in a lobster pot. Hop shuffle step.
SKATING ACROSS A REFLECTION
The yachts and boats skated across the smooth mirror that was the sea. Bright and happy in their movement. Unhurried and deliberate in the executions of their twists and turns. This was a happy day for them. This was a good day to be alive. The Picayune sat in the car looking out at the picture perfect scene and scowled to himself. All seemed well with the World but on those boats and yachts were the disease that is the human being. All huddled together and dirty and selfish and wrapped in an empty cure. The Picayune was aware that the day he could look out on such a picture perfect vista and take in only the purity of it. Would be the day he would turn the switch to off. While he could still feel hate for the World there was proof he was still alive. Still deeply unhappy but alive. The mobile phone on the passenger seat buzzed and The Picayune picked it up. Cass was ready for pick up from the hospital. For the last couple of days Cass had been for a scan and a meeting with yet another specialist. They had found something on the scan that shouldn't be there but may or may not be of any significance. Except Cass would have to see yet another specialist. She was suffering aches and pains again, possibly triggered from the intrusive nature of some of the tests. Now she had had a meeting with a specialist who asked her how her speech therapy was going? What speech therapy Cass asked? She was then told that she would need to be given aspirin before any operation to water down the blood and Statins for the high cholesterol. Cass reminded the specialist how allergic Cass was to both aspirin and the statins she was given before. Another hole in the notes where the hope drips through and her GP notes had no mention of the letters Cass had written to the GP, that itemised in detail the weeks that had led up to the stroke.
After a bit of shopping The Picayune and Cass returned home to the lighthouse. A street light where The Picayune parks the car was still not working. Several emails and forms have been sent via the web. Nothing is done though. Delays in the journey to and from Hospital were not helped by the queues at the petrol stations that stretched along busy roads. Odd that people ignore everything the Government says yet suddenly trusts them over advice about petrol. Or at least seems to blame them for making them queue. The Picayune looked at humanity in all its glory and hated it as he hated himself for being part of it. Although secretly he thought he was probably better than most of it.
Another appointment to see a specialist put on the calendar and waiting for more letters to drop through the letter box arranging yet more. The advert that says speed is the key when dealing with strokes didn't really think it through did it? The Picayune offered to speed things up by smothering Cass with a nice big cushion. She declined and tried to tell him where he could stick the cushion. Eventually she managed to convey in words what she was trying to say after about the third attempt. Helped along by a few words of doubtful origin. But Cass could have been in a worst state than she was. Things could always be worse than they were. So no real panic. No real advice and no real progress.
Skating across the reflections of the past The Picayune came across an empty space. A space that had yet to be filled. So he put this moment there and began singing a Kate Bush song.
BUBBLE
It is easier floating around up here in a bubble then it used to be. There was a time when however much one wanted to be in the bubble one just couldn't find a way in without popping it. The bubble was there and there were always a few to choose from. But somehow there was never a way in. As one grows older the bubbles become easier to enter. People you don't know become less important and sometimes more important depending on the mood of the day. So here I am floating about in a bubble and realising that I am done with everything else. Routines are important and one sort of sticks with them. But the lighthouse is like Gormenghast and continues to fall apart bit by bit. While that used to be important I realise that we are of the age when we all begin to fall apart. Cass has been to the hospital and has had the results of the blood test. She returns at sometime in the future for another ct scan to discover what and how her cancer can be treated. But her problem in her neck and the stroke mean that she has decided to fall apart all in one go. There are times she talks about settling everything and making things simple for me when she goes. But she isn't going anywhere yet and her depressed state of mind will give way to the bubble soon enough. Her tiredness comes and goes as does her depressed state of mind. My bubble and her coping without the need for my help means I can float about being aware yet pushing anger at the slow medical assistance and hatred at the gormless GP who did nothing when something could have been done. I am due out of my bubble to see the Practice Nurse soon. How I would like to burst their bubbles. But they are immune to such things. Ignorance is a fine defence for the stupid. They never see what problems their stupidity causes others. Thankfully the experience of the past hardens us to expecting anything more.
So how deep do you think the hole is exactly? I can try and throw something down it and wait for the sound of the something hitting the bottom. While that should help me it doesn't. I have no idea how I am supposed to work out the depth of the hole by the length of time an object takes from being released at the top to hitting the bottom. If I had listened at school or had any interest in life I may have made some sort of effort to know these things. Instead I know that Queen Victoria may have had a child by John Brown her servant. But then may not have done depending on the tale teller. While I am in my bubble looking down into a hole I am willing to read and listen and soak up anything and everything that doesn't actually effect me. That is what is nice about the bubble. That is what is nice about the mystery hole. It is the not knowing and having no control of the direction the bubble floats that gives one a freedom. Hey it's not my fault. I have no control anymore. I just live here.
Although it has to be said it is never a good idea to go to sleep in a bubble. You wake up wanting to go to the toilet and the lack of air leaves you with a headache. Fact is you end up with aches and pains all over the place. So that is the bubble exposed as a miracle cure then. In the cold light of day the bubble just leaves a wet, dripping atmosphere of self loathing. Better to reach the same feeling through alcohol. More expensive but at least after a few drinks you feel you deserve the pain. After struggling with my socks I take a look at work. We had a bit on our plates last month so finished the work late. This month the work has arrived late and has to be finished early. I take a look at the wages and can find problems straight away. My head hurts and I will need to talk to Cass. She is downstairs catching up on a DVD she slept through yesterday evening. I am torn between starting the day and running away from it. Suddenly the computer I am working on comes up with a disconnection problem. It has to be said. The bubble for today has well and truly burst before I had a chance to blow it up to a large enough size to hide in. With the failure of the bubble goes the failure of the metaphor. Plus I can see the hole becoming even bigger. Time has come to test the depth of the hole.
