Of course and things through dreams of death in cathedrals and back alleys...
Mother prays from a background pew as a priest holds a knife above my prostrate self...
Father watches as I bone a woman against a brick wall beneath a gutter drips rain water and cream onto my head...
floating between intermittent groups and Thursday’s collection of baggage on the outskirts of a vast urban sprawl...
the brow of a giant hill overlooking the past, the future, all the way down I every direction, with only the clothes I have on for the journey to my destination, wherever I terminate...
brought to my knees
SUPPLICATION
- accumulate
- money
- ego
- nothing
AMEN
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
AN OPPORTUNITY MISSED
'We're going to the Hillgrove,' he said of himself and the woman'd come all the way from Italy to be with him when he collected the belongings he'd left behind at the weekend.
'Nice pub,' I said.
'You ever go there?'
'Not anymore,' I said.
'You barred?'
'No.'
'Oh,' he said, disappointment in his voice. 'I thought you might have a story there.'
FRIDAY SATURDAY SUNDAY
We met in Kino’s. She was there before me.
I put my bag on the chair opposite where she sat and said, ‘I’ll get myself a drink,’ she already had one.
Whilst ordering coffee a man in a skirt came up beside me at the counter.
Back at the table I fiddled with the chairs and my bag before sitting down. I was nervous. I hadn’t seen her over ten years when I’d driven her to Benidorm where I bought a case of Spanish brandy took me two weeks to drink.
‘I usually use next door,’ I said nodding towards the Arts House.
We talked for two hours until after winding down the last twenty minutes we said goodbye and a brief hug.
‘Keep in touch,’ she said.
Saturday we left about nine-thirty arriving Gunnersbry Lane and parking by the sports ground at five to twelve.
From the tube we joined the march at Piccadilly and for the next five hours: walked to and from Hyde Park; stood listening to speakers, a brass band and Show of Hands; perused stalls; bought badges; picked up radical left wing papers and pamphlets; and mingled at Speaker’s Corner.
Sunday I paid for Saturday. Stiff, and up an hour later than planned forgetting to put my watch forward missing the first half of the Archer’s omnibus.
Afternoon on the allotment: planting; weeding; planning; sun; difficult to leave.
'Nice pub,' I said.
'You ever go there?'
'Not anymore,' I said.
'You barred?'
'No.'
'Oh,' he said, disappointment in his voice. 'I thought you might have a story there.'
FRIDAY SATURDAY SUNDAY
We met in Kino’s. She was there before me.
I put my bag on the chair opposite where she sat and said, ‘I’ll get myself a drink,’ she already had one.
Whilst ordering coffee a man in a skirt came up beside me at the counter.
Back at the table I fiddled with the chairs and my bag before sitting down. I was nervous. I hadn’t seen her over ten years when I’d driven her to Benidorm where I bought a case of Spanish brandy took me two weeks to drink.
‘I usually use next door,’ I said nodding towards the Arts House.
We talked for two hours until after winding down the last twenty minutes we said goodbye and a brief hug.
‘Keep in touch,’ she said.
Saturday we left about nine-thirty arriving Gunnersbry Lane and parking by the sports ground at five to twelve.
From the tube we joined the march at Piccadilly and for the next five hours: walked to and from Hyde Park; stood listening to speakers, a brass band and Show of Hands; perused stalls; bought badges; picked up radical left wing papers and pamphlets; and mingled at Speaker’s Corner.
Sunday I paid for Saturday. Stiff, and up an hour later than planned forgetting to put my watch forward missing the first half of the Archer’s omnibus.
Afternoon on the allotment: planting; weeding; planning; sun; difficult to leave.
FREE HAND 230311
Why hasn’t it taken so long to come to my senses?
Omnipotence, denial, idealisation…shields against the onslaught of reality…a moments hesitation…
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello,’ I said.
She was speaking to a customer as I went in, and continued making his coffee saying that if she had a day off she didn’t know what to do with herself so preferred to be working. When she’d finished with him she started making my drink without asking.
No words passed between us until she said, ‘You busy?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘How about you?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
We said more but the exact words unusually elude me as mostly I remember to the syllable the conversations I have and report.
Then I said, ‘What days are your busiest?’
‘Monday and Tuesday,’ she said. ‘For most people it’s the weekend but for us it’s the beginning of the week.’
‘Lunchtime or what part of the day?’
‘Lunchtime,’ she said. ‘Working people…’
‘…who aren’t around at the weekend.’
She smiled.
She put my drink on the counter, turned, went to and rang up the cost on the till, came back and said, ‘Two pounds,’ and held out her hand into which I put two pound coins.
'Thank you,' she said.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Have a nice day,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Bye.’
I opened the door with my free hand.
Omnipotence, denial, idealisation…shields against the onslaught of reality…a moments hesitation…
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello,’ I said.
She was speaking to a customer as I went in, and continued making his coffee saying that if she had a day off she didn’t know what to do with herself so preferred to be working. When she’d finished with him she started making my drink without asking.
No words passed between us until she said, ‘You busy?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘How about you?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
We said more but the exact words unusually elude me as mostly I remember to the syllable the conversations I have and report.
Then I said, ‘What days are your busiest?’
‘Monday and Tuesday,’ she said. ‘For most people it’s the weekend but for us it’s the beginning of the week.’
‘Lunchtime or what part of the day?’
‘Lunchtime,’ she said. ‘Working people…’
‘…who aren’t around at the weekend.’
She smiled.
She put my drink on the counter, turned, went to and rang up the cost on the till, came back and said, ‘Two pounds,’ and held out her hand into which I put two pound coins.
'Thank you,' she said.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Have a nice day,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Bye.’
I opened the door with my free hand.
MORE THAN NOBLE 230311
Where do I go from here?
There are places I can and can’t go depending on what I have and haven’t done up to this point. Experience provides structure through opportunity and limitation.
Such delicious time spent indulging my self-loathing and self-disgust. It makes me feel alive, ploughing this fertile furrow, mining this rich seam, this narcissistic feast, the quality of which has changed recently: it doesn’t last as long but it’s deeper, more profound.
Life isn’t infinite, nothing lasts forever. My appreciation of what I have received leads me to focus my previously self-centred efforts on working to contribute to the life of others and the benefit of the greater whole.
Noble sentiments?
According to Melanie Klein creativity is an act of reparation resulting from anxiety about imagined damage done to the life-giving good object. It emerges from the depressive position in which the individual recognises the object as incorporating what it previously perceived as unconnected good and bad parts. The subject’s mind, having internalised this whole object, can now contain conflict rather than defend against difference through splitting and projection, which leads in turn to discriminating thought and freedom of choice rather than kneejerk reactions and right-wing ideologies. Concern for the welfare of the now whole other is because the subject comes to know that the bad object it hated and wanted to destroy is also the good and loved object. It isn’t hard to see how guilt would arise at this realisation.
Throughout our lives we can return to the paranoid/schizoid position at times of stress and personal threat resorting to primitive defences, in degrees dependent on earlier emotional successes, to ensure our survival.
Achieving the depressive position is the beginning of separation from the object, of becoming independent beings coming to know our own minds. If we fail to make this developmental move in a substantial way we are stuck in dependency which in later life can manifest as (and I’ve taken some leaps here) seeking refuge in drugs and alcohol to escape our difficulties and to sustain our infantile wish to be merged with another.
Dependency is acted out by resorting to and remaining on the bottle. We can witness creativity and self-destruction (an envious attack on the object that gave and nurtured life) on Stokes Croft, which taken in its entirety is a whole object: all life is here, depressingly and otherwise.
So these sentiments aren’t noble, an act of redemption and an acknowledgment of the divine in Stokes Croft.
There are places I can and can’t go depending on what I have and haven’t done up to this point. Experience provides structure through opportunity and limitation.
Such delicious time spent indulging my self-loathing and self-disgust. It makes me feel alive, ploughing this fertile furrow, mining this rich seam, this narcissistic feast, the quality of which has changed recently: it doesn’t last as long but it’s deeper, more profound.
Life isn’t infinite, nothing lasts forever. My appreciation of what I have received leads me to focus my previously self-centred efforts on working to contribute to the life of others and the benefit of the greater whole.
Noble sentiments?
According to Melanie Klein creativity is an act of reparation resulting from anxiety about imagined damage done to the life-giving good object. It emerges from the depressive position in which the individual recognises the object as incorporating what it previously perceived as unconnected good and bad parts. The subject’s mind, having internalised this whole object, can now contain conflict rather than defend against difference through splitting and projection, which leads in turn to discriminating thought and freedom of choice rather than kneejerk reactions and right-wing ideologies. Concern for the welfare of the now whole other is because the subject comes to know that the bad object it hated and wanted to destroy is also the good and loved object. It isn’t hard to see how guilt would arise at this realisation.
Throughout our lives we can return to the paranoid/schizoid position at times of stress and personal threat resorting to primitive defences, in degrees dependent on earlier emotional successes, to ensure our survival.
Achieving the depressive position is the beginning of separation from the object, of becoming independent beings coming to know our own minds. If we fail to make this developmental move in a substantial way we are stuck in dependency which in later life can manifest as (and I’ve taken some leaps here) seeking refuge in drugs and alcohol to escape our difficulties and to sustain our infantile wish to be merged with another.
Dependency is acted out by resorting to and remaining on the bottle. We can witness creativity and self-destruction (an envious attack on the object that gave and nurtured life) on Stokes Croft, which taken in its entirety is a whole object: all life is here, depressingly and otherwise.
So these sentiments aren’t noble, an act of redemption and an acknowledgment of the divine in Stokes Croft.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
ADJACENT PARTS 090311
ADJACENT PARTS
I’ll exchange your spine for my bladder, he said
- You’d split a cat
- Depends how big you are, she said
- Bath’s better
- Painkillers are good, morphine’s especially the one, he said,
- Battlefield medicine’s the one, he said, what it’s all about, not the pharmaceutical medicines
- Indeed, she said, landing on the fucking shore, you’d look a right cunt if you didn’t
SNORTING LAUGHTER
- Good skills, man, show lots of love and get others to do it with really sharp knives
(THERE SHE IS, CROSSING THE ROAD, SHE’S WEARING THE BLUE COAT GOES WITH HER HAIR)
- You’ve got to look like a homeless guy
- That’s your excuse, she said
- Usually I’d be hanging around in a suit today
SHE CAME OVER TO THE TABLE WHERE WE BOTH NOW SAT
-You want your change?
- (singing) ‘What a wonderful world, what a wonderful world, like lemon drops, somewhere over the rainbow, what a wonderful world, (singing) ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo
- There you go, she said, putting her tea on the table in front of her
- Thanks
WE CHATTED A WHILE
‘Can you do me a favour?’ said the man sitting down opposite.
‘How much do you want?’ I said, not wanting a long preamble to the bottom line.
‘Well, I’ve got,’ he said counting the change in his hand, ‘about two eighty and I need fifteen for a bed at the hostel.’
‘Oi,’ said one of the men round the adjacent table, ‘Fuck off,’ to the man asking us for money.
‘I’m just asking,’ he said, ‘I’ll be gone in a minute.’
‘I’ll give him a pound,’ I said to her. ‘Have you got one too?’
- I felt a bit anxious, irritated he’d interrupted us, keen to get back to our conversation, annoyed at the man saying ‘Fuck off,’ what did she think and want?
We each gave him a pound and he said, ‘Thanks.’
‘Go on, fuck off.’
‘I’m going, man,’ he said now tucking his shirt in by the door.
‘He must be cold,’ she said, ‘not wearing a coat.’
‘Travelling light,’ I said, embarrassed at a glib comment about someone asking for help and being told to fuck off.
‘That was a bit hostile,’ she said, ‘wasn’t it?’
'I know,' I said. 'He was asking us for help not them.'
I’ll exchange your spine for my bladder, he said
- You’d split a cat
- Depends how big you are, she said
- Bath’s better
- Painkillers are good, morphine’s especially the one, he said,
- Battlefield medicine’s the one, he said, what it’s all about, not the pharmaceutical medicines
- Indeed, she said, landing on the fucking shore, you’d look a right cunt if you didn’t
SNORTING LAUGHTER
- Good skills, man, show lots of love and get others to do it with really sharp knives
(THERE SHE IS, CROSSING THE ROAD, SHE’S WEARING THE BLUE COAT GOES WITH HER HAIR)
- You’ve got to look like a homeless guy
- That’s your excuse, she said
- Usually I’d be hanging around in a suit today
SHE CAME OVER TO THE TABLE WHERE WE BOTH NOW SAT
-You want your change?
- (singing) ‘What a wonderful world, what a wonderful world, like lemon drops, somewhere over the rainbow, what a wonderful world, (singing) ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo
- There you go, she said, putting her tea on the table in front of her
- Thanks
WE CHATTED A WHILE
‘Can you do me a favour?’ said the man sitting down opposite.
‘How much do you want?’ I said, not wanting a long preamble to the bottom line.
‘Well, I’ve got,’ he said counting the change in his hand, ‘about two eighty and I need fifteen for a bed at the hostel.’
‘Oi,’ said one of the men round the adjacent table, ‘Fuck off,’ to the man asking us for money.
‘I’m just asking,’ he said, ‘I’ll be gone in a minute.’
‘I’ll give him a pound,’ I said to her. ‘Have you got one too?’
- I felt a bit anxious, irritated he’d interrupted us, keen to get back to our conversation, annoyed at the man saying ‘Fuck off,’ what did she think and want?
We each gave him a pound and he said, ‘Thanks.’
‘Go on, fuck off.’
‘I’m going, man,’ he said now tucking his shirt in by the door.
‘He must be cold,’ she said, ‘not wearing a coat.’
‘Travelling light,’ I said, embarrassed at a glib comment about someone asking for help and being told to fuck off.
‘That was a bit hostile,’ she said, ‘wasn’t it?’
'I know,' I said. 'He was asking us for help not them.'
A NEED GREATER 140311
A NEED GREATER
Coming in the top entrance he was standing outside his front door shopping bags on the floor around him. She was next to him.
‘They’ve taken my front door mat again,’ he said after we’d said ‘hello’ to each other.
‘How many times is that?’ I said.
- she went back out, to get more shopping, I imagined (literally) –
‘Ten,’ he said, putting a key in the lock.
‘That’s a drag,’ I said.
I got in the lift had arrived and as the door closed laughed to be friendly – a nervous laugh, felt a little creepy, demanding even - when he said, ‘They probably need it more than me.’
Coming in the top entrance he was standing outside his front door shopping bags on the floor around him. She was next to him.
‘They’ve taken my front door mat again,’ he said after we’d said ‘hello’ to each other.
‘How many times is that?’ I said.
- she went back out, to get more shopping, I imagined (literally) –
‘Ten,’ he said, putting a key in the lock.
‘That’s a drag,’ I said.
I got in the lift had arrived and as the door closed laughed to be friendly – a nervous laugh, felt a little creepy, demanding even - when he said, ‘They probably need it more than me.’
MEETINGS WITH FOUR (OF THIRTEEN)
MEETINGS WITH FOUR (OF THIRTEEN)
I hadn’t seen Four for a while then he got in the lift where I stood against the back rail as we made our down to the ground floor.
‘Hello, haven’t seen you for a while,’ he said. ‘How are you?
‘I’m well,’ I said. ‘Though I was ill a few months over Christmas.’
‘What was it?’
‘Flu,’ I said. ‘Well a virus of some sort that included a heavy bout of flu kept me in bed a few days. I had three months of it,’ I said. ‘Took me that long to shake it off.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘One of the cleaners came to work with the flu and gave it to everyone else, though I didn’t get it, but I don’t know why people come in when they’re ill.’
‘No work no pay, is it?’
‘Yes.’.
‘That’s why then.’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
Outside it was windy. I’d known it would be.
Four put his hand to his head, said, ‘I’d better hold to my hat or I’ll lose it.’
‘I love the wind,’ I said. ‘Getting blown about…’
‘Hmm,’ he said or something.
In the lift on the way back a little later Cee with a bucket and mop.
‘Still windy out there?”
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I love it.’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ I said reaching the front door to the block Four was holding open for me from since I passed the last lamppost on the right.
‘You’ve just missed the lift,’ he said. ‘But it’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Thank you,’ I said again.
Through the door I expected him to follow but when he didn’t him holding it open for me was extra special.
I hadn’t seen Four for a while then he got in the lift where I stood against the back rail as we made our down to the ground floor.
‘Hello, haven’t seen you for a while,’ he said. ‘How are you?
‘I’m well,’ I said. ‘Though I was ill a few months over Christmas.’
‘What was it?’
‘Flu,’ I said. ‘Well a virus of some sort that included a heavy bout of flu kept me in bed a few days. I had three months of it,’ I said. ‘Took me that long to shake it off.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘One of the cleaners came to work with the flu and gave it to everyone else, though I didn’t get it, but I don’t know why people come in when they’re ill.’
‘No work no pay, is it?’
‘Yes.’.
‘That’s why then.’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
Outside it was windy. I’d known it would be.
Four put his hand to his head, said, ‘I’d better hold to my hat or I’ll lose it.’
‘I love the wind,’ I said. ‘Getting blown about…’
‘Hmm,’ he said or something.
In the lift on the way back a little later Cee with a bucket and mop.
‘Still windy out there?”
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I love it.’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ I said reaching the front door to the block Four was holding open for me from since I passed the last lamppost on the right.
‘You’ve just missed the lift,’ he said. ‘But it’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Thank you,’ I said again.
Through the door I expected him to follow but when he didn’t him holding it open for me was extra special.
Friday, March 11, 2011
070311
BANDANA MAN 070311
Wellian rang.
‘You at home?’
‘I’m in a shop on Stokes Croft,’ I said. ‘You wanting coffee?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t got any money.’
‘You want to come up to mine?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Shall I meet you there or on Stokes Croft?’
‘Stokes Croft,’ I said. ‘If you walk up I’ll finish here and we’ll go up to mine.’
‘Okay,’ he said.
The man leaning on the counter reading a paper was shooed off by the man serving when I made to pay.
Outside the shop I saw Wellian standing by the lights the other side of the road. I was surprised because he usually walks slowly and I expected to have to wait for him.
Back at mine I made coffee.
‘I’ve just dropped my bike off,’ he said.
‘Who’d you get?’ I said and he said, ‘Bandana Man.’
Wellian rang.
‘You at home?’
‘I’m in a shop on Stokes Croft,’ I said. ‘You wanting coffee?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t got any money.’
‘You want to come up to mine?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Shall I meet you there or on Stokes Croft?’
‘Stokes Croft,’ I said. ‘If you walk up I’ll finish here and we’ll go up to mine.’
‘Okay,’ he said.
The man leaning on the counter reading a paper was shooed off by the man serving when I made to pay.
Outside the shop I saw Wellian standing by the lights the other side of the road. I was surprised because he usually walks slowly and I expected to have to wait for him.
Back at mine I made coffee.
‘I’ve just dropped my bike off,’ he said.
‘Who’d you get?’ I said and he said, ‘Bandana Man.’
050311
SOMETHING IS MISSING 050311
Something is missing. There is an absence at the heart, in the words.
The position is schizoid.
What is shown does not reflect what lies in the mind, evidence of discomfort, vanity, a cover-up.
So what is missing?
Part-object relating takes a part and calls it whole. Whole-object relating takes the parts as a whole. The latter unlike the former puts two and two together and suffers the consequences.
When I first wrote about where I live and the people I share it with it was to be connected. Now I find myself writing to distance and hide, to create a false self, to ingratiate, to make out.
The role of the artist, as I see it, is to make work that penetrates, exposing relationships between whole objects while resisting the urge to rationalise and soften the blow. Being an artist isn’t fun, it is work.
What is missing is memory of this and the power to remember.
Yes, I can read your thoughts...because
I am human too.
Something is missing. There is an absence at the heart, in the words.
The position is schizoid.
What is shown does not reflect what lies in the mind, evidence of discomfort, vanity, a cover-up.
So what is missing?
Part-object relating takes a part and calls it whole. Whole-object relating takes the parts as a whole. The latter unlike the former puts two and two together and suffers the consequences.
When I first wrote about where I live and the people I share it with it was to be connected. Now I find myself writing to distance and hide, to create a false self, to ingratiate, to make out.
The role of the artist, as I see it, is to make work that penetrates, exposing relationships between whole objects while resisting the urge to rationalise and soften the blow. Being an artist isn’t fun, it is work.
What is missing is memory of this and the power to remember.
Yes, I can read your thoughts...because
I am human too.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
010311
QUESTION GO
‘See ya,’ she said as I left the laundry after putting my washing in one of the washing machines.
The lift’d stopped the floor below mine before arriving and the door opening to let me in and showing a woman holding an empty laundry bag.
- irritated, I don’t want no trouble -
She followed me walking out the lift on the fifth floor.
The man’d been talking to CT, and pointing at the laundry times on the wall, held the door as I pushed it open and gestured me in.
- all the years I’ve lived here, shared the lift, passed him in and out of the block, not a word to each other since I said, ‘Hello,’ and he didn’t return it, now this…
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Morning,’ said O sitting on the bench.
‘Hello,’ I said.
At the washers I said about the full right-hand machine, ‘That yours?’ to the woman’d shared the lift.
‘Yes,’ she said.
She emptied the machine and put her clothes in the extractor. I filled the machine.
The causal racism from others I’ve experienced in the laundry came to mind. It could be mine. I felt some relief when O said, ‘You want the dryer?’ to the woman.
‘This one free?’ said CT to me of the machine I hadn’t used.
‘Yes,’ I said.
He put one dirty cloth in and went to the storeroom where I expected he’d get more, at least I hoped, because one cloth a wash seems a lot for a little. It wasn’t something I’d find out.
‘See ya,’ said O. ‘Bye,’ I said, leaving.
On my way to the lift, at the double doors, I wondered if I might’ve stayed longer in the laundry, had a chat, I heard voices from the laundry and let my question go.
‘See ya,’ she said as I left the laundry after putting my washing in one of the washing machines.
The lift’d stopped the floor below mine before arriving and the door opening to let me in and showing a woman holding an empty laundry bag.
- irritated, I don’t want no trouble -
She followed me walking out the lift on the fifth floor.
The man’d been talking to CT, and pointing at the laundry times on the wall, held the door as I pushed it open and gestured me in.
- all the years I’ve lived here, shared the lift, passed him in and out of the block, not a word to each other since I said, ‘Hello,’ and he didn’t return it, now this…
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Morning,’ said O sitting on the bench.
‘Hello,’ I said.
At the washers I said about the full right-hand machine, ‘That yours?’ to the woman’d shared the lift.
‘Yes,’ she said.
She emptied the machine and put her clothes in the extractor. I filled the machine.
The causal racism from others I’ve experienced in the laundry came to mind. It could be mine. I felt some relief when O said, ‘You want the dryer?’ to the woman.
‘This one free?’ said CT to me of the machine I hadn’t used.
‘Yes,’ I said.
He put one dirty cloth in and went to the storeroom where I expected he’d get more, at least I hoped, because one cloth a wash seems a lot for a little. It wasn’t something I’d find out.
‘See ya,’ said O. ‘Bye,’ I said, leaving.
On my way to the lift, at the double doors, I wondered if I might’ve stayed longer in the laundry, had a chat, I heard voices from the laundry and let my question go.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
SATURDAY 260211
WANTED
Coming out of Ashley News taking a couple of drinks form a small bottle of water I’d bought because I knew I’d need to wash down a couple of solpadeine in town, I saw a young woman and young man crossing at the end of City Road on their way down Stokes Croft.
She looked at me, I looked away, and when we were about passing she said, ‘Excuse me,’ and stepped in front of me.
‘Yes,’ I said, thinking, ‘Clear complexion, a line of blue eye shadow above blue eyes…beautiful…’
‘Do you know if there’s a greasy spoon nearby?’ she said.
‘You’ve been up there? I said with a slight nod of my head.
‘Yes.’
Turning towards North Road I said, ‘There’s…no, that’s gone…oh, yes, er…if you go down the subway through the roundabout and come up opposite, straight over?’
‘Ok,’ she said.
I spoke to him as well as her even though it was she had asked me.
‘Ok,’ I said, ‘there’s a café, “The Flipper” I think it’s called, that might be a greasy…’
‘Thanks,’ she said smiling.
I watched them walk off then turned, made my way down Moon Street.
‘I could have said, “You mean double egg and chips greasy?” to clarify what she and they wanted.
In Broadmead, sitting on a bench in the Hub.
‘It’s something,’ he said, ‘a sermon while you’re shopping.’
He’d sat down the other end of the bench being careful of the small pool of rain water was there.
‘Do you mind?’ I said.
‘No, no,’ he said turning to me, white hair, hands resting on the top of a walking stick.
In the middle of the Hub a man holding a bible, raised voice proclaiming…’Jesus…there is no religion but Jesus…know Him…’ Two men walking round him offering leaflets to passersby, most of whom declined unlike me…
‘There used to a man down there,’ he said, pointing the direction of Tesco.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But he’s more animated…’
‘And louder,’ he said. ‘But I still didn’t understand a word.’
On the way home I made to check the menu in the café I’d directed the young couple to wondering if it was a greasy spoon. But I didn’t get that far because before close enough I saw them sitting there in a window seat heads close, talking, and to avoid being seen by them I went back the way I’d come.
Coming out of Ashley News taking a couple of drinks form a small bottle of water I’d bought because I knew I’d need to wash down a couple of solpadeine in town, I saw a young woman and young man crossing at the end of City Road on their way down Stokes Croft.
She looked at me, I looked away, and when we were about passing she said, ‘Excuse me,’ and stepped in front of me.
‘Yes,’ I said, thinking, ‘Clear complexion, a line of blue eye shadow above blue eyes…beautiful…’
‘Do you know if there’s a greasy spoon nearby?’ she said.
‘You’ve been up there? I said with a slight nod of my head.
‘Yes.’
Turning towards North Road I said, ‘There’s…no, that’s gone…oh, yes, er…if you go down the subway through the roundabout and come up opposite, straight over?’
‘Ok,’ she said.
I spoke to him as well as her even though it was she had asked me.
‘Ok,’ I said, ‘there’s a café, “The Flipper” I think it’s called, that might be a greasy…’
‘Thanks,’ she said smiling.
I watched them walk off then turned, made my way down Moon Street.
‘I could have said, “You mean double egg and chips greasy?” to clarify what she and they wanted.
In Broadmead, sitting on a bench in the Hub.
‘It’s something,’ he said, ‘a sermon while you’re shopping.’
He’d sat down the other end of the bench being careful of the small pool of rain water was there.
‘Do you mind?’ I said.
‘No, no,’ he said turning to me, white hair, hands resting on the top of a walking stick.
In the middle of the Hub a man holding a bible, raised voice proclaiming…’Jesus…there is no religion but Jesus…know Him…’ Two men walking round him offering leaflets to passersby, most of whom declined unlike me…
‘There used to a man down there,’ he said, pointing the direction of Tesco.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But he’s more animated…’
‘And louder,’ he said. ‘But I still didn’t understand a word.’
On the way home I made to check the menu in the café I’d directed the young couple to wondering if it was a greasy spoon. But I didn’t get that far because before close enough I saw them sitting there in a window seat heads close, talking, and to avoid being seen by them I went back the way I’d come.
Friday, February 25, 2011
STANDING
Mrs Throat was standing, with two other women, on the white line runs down the middle of Stokes Croft. Traffic passed in front and behind them and they appeared unaffected by its proximity…
…three women…
Mrs Throat on the left. On the right the oldest of the three, her hands in the pockets of a thigh length camel coloured coat open, flapping in the breeze. Between these two, can of White Ace in one hand, shoulder length hair blowing gently into her red face, the woman who looked in charge…talking.
‘She stands in the middle of the road,’ I thought of Mrs Throat from behind the glass where I sat watching. ‘She with women. She stands for things that make her shout.’
…three women…
Mrs Throat on the left. On the right the oldest of the three, her hands in the pockets of a thigh length camel coloured coat open, flapping in the breeze. Between these two, can of White Ace in one hand, shoulder length hair blowing gently into her red face, the woman who looked in charge…talking.
‘She stands in the middle of the road,’ I thought of Mrs Throat from behind the glass where I sat watching. ‘She with women. She stands for things that make her shout.’
Friday, February 18, 2011
FAIR EXCHANGE
The writer came to my flat. We stood on the balcony. He smoked a cigarette.
‘Wow,’ he said, ‘this is incredible. I’ve never seen Bristol like this. Everything looks different from up here, what an amazing view.’
‘It is isn’t it,’ I said and pointed. ‘That’s the back of Cromwell Road, you wouldn’t think it’d be there.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘you get the sweep of Gloucester Road,’ he said, ‘how it curves,’ he said. ‘And there’s Stokes Croft and Rhadika,’ he said, ‘I like that.’
We stood on the balcony.
After a short while I said, ‘What is it you want?’
He told me what he’d done the last few years, a potted history, how it led to what he was doing and what he planned the next few years.
As I watched and listened, ‘This is a performance,’ I thought, ‘just for me, between the two of us.’
CREEPY
‘The usual?’ she said when I arrived at the counter.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
Sit down. Take out notebook. Start writing.
Outside the Arts House I’d taken a leaflet said, ‘DEFEND PUBLIC SERVICES,’ from a young man walked in after she’d brought me my coffee and had a brief chat about the night before.
The young man walked up to the counter, ‘You have expensive cakes here,’ he said. ‘Have I got enough for a cake and coffee?’
Stop writing. Get up. Walk to counter.
‘I’ll buy you a cake,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen you outside talking to people, giving out leaflets.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Which one do you want?’
‘What have you got?’
‘We have these just in,’ she said, the woman serving, bringing form under the counter into view a clingfilm covered sponge cake.
‘I’ll have a piece of that,’ he said.
‘How much is it?’ I said.
‘Two pounds,’ she said.
Pay her. Walk back to table. Sit down.
Later, ‘That was nice of you,’ she said, ‘buying him the cake.’
‘Felt a bit creepy,’ I said.
The writer came to my flat. We stood on the balcony. He smoked a cigarette.
‘Wow,’ he said, ‘this is incredible. I’ve never seen Bristol like this. Everything looks different from up here, what an amazing view.’
‘It is isn’t it,’ I said and pointed. ‘That’s the back of Cromwell Road, you wouldn’t think it’d be there.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘you get the sweep of Gloucester Road,’ he said, ‘how it curves,’ he said. ‘And there’s Stokes Croft and Rhadika,’ he said, ‘I like that.’
We stood on the balcony.
After a short while I said, ‘What is it you want?’
He told me what he’d done the last few years, a potted history, how it led to what he was doing and what he planned the next few years.
As I watched and listened, ‘This is a performance,’ I thought, ‘just for me, between the two of us.’
CREEPY
‘The usual?’ she said when I arrived at the counter.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
Sit down. Take out notebook. Start writing.
Outside the Arts House I’d taken a leaflet said, ‘DEFEND PUBLIC SERVICES,’ from a young man walked in after she’d brought me my coffee and had a brief chat about the night before.
The young man walked up to the counter, ‘You have expensive cakes here,’ he said. ‘Have I got enough for a cake and coffee?’
Stop writing. Get up. Walk to counter.
‘I’ll buy you a cake,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen you outside talking to people, giving out leaflets.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Which one do you want?’
‘What have you got?’
‘We have these just in,’ she said, the woman serving, bringing form under the counter into view a clingfilm covered sponge cake.
‘I’ll have a piece of that,’ he said.
‘How much is it?’ I said.
‘Two pounds,’ she said.
Pay her. Walk back to table. Sit down.
Later, ‘That was nice of you,’ she said, ‘buying him the cake.’
‘Felt a bit creepy,’ I said.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN
Double take.
Take One.
It’s him. He’s back. In town. Been over twenty years since the last time I saw him when he was walking out the saying, ‘If you don’t want it here,’ he said, ‘I’ll take it somewhere wants it.’
Now he was standing outside the further of the two charity shops at the top of the subway exit comes out opposite the Flipper fish bar the Broadmead side of James Barton.
Flat cap; shades; grey beard. I’d know that chin and nose anywhere.
What’s he doing back in town?
Take Two: THINK OF ME
Walking to the flats from direction Ninetree, close to one of the flowerbeds near the entrance coming toward me three neighbours: Throat/Throat’s girlfriend/Throat’s brother.
I wondered if she’d look at me, say hello, or at least nod, after our few and significant exchanges the three months Throat’s been away in hospital. More than nothing she turns and bows her head away from me as we pass.
Later reading I heard coming from outside the flat:
‘…slash me. Rape me. Make me cut my hair. Then tell me you don’t want me…’ – his low rumblings punctuate the fluctuating volume and intensity of her voice – ‘so what? So fucking what you cunt? You sleep with me and then your off to score because you’re using again, you cunt…oh yes you are, we know what’s your first love, don’t we?..don’t you fucking lie…’ – responsibility – ‘…you don’t know what it is, you cunt…so what, so I slept with a few people I went out drinking with, you weren’t around, not like you…oh yes you did, just because I’m not the fifteen anymore…’ – rumbling muttering – ‘…fuck off, beating me even when I had a child in my arms…’ – ‘…yes you did, go on, you know you want to, go on, twist it, go on, tighter, you know you want to…’ – muttering – ‘…yeh, that is you, you cunt, you want to do something but you’re too frightened…fuck off, look at me, fucking look at me: scarred, short haired, raped up bitch. That’s what you think of me…’
Take One.
It’s him. He’s back. In town. Been over twenty years since the last time I saw him when he was walking out the saying, ‘If you don’t want it here,’ he said, ‘I’ll take it somewhere wants it.’
Now he was standing outside the further of the two charity shops at the top of the subway exit comes out opposite the Flipper fish bar the Broadmead side of James Barton.
Flat cap; shades; grey beard. I’d know that chin and nose anywhere.
What’s he doing back in town?
Take Two: THINK OF ME
Walking to the flats from direction Ninetree, close to one of the flowerbeds near the entrance coming toward me three neighbours: Throat/Throat’s girlfriend/Throat’s brother.
I wondered if she’d look at me, say hello, or at least nod, after our few and significant exchanges the three months Throat’s been away in hospital. More than nothing she turns and bows her head away from me as we pass.
Later reading I heard coming from outside the flat:
‘…slash me. Rape me. Make me cut my hair. Then tell me you don’t want me…’ – his low rumblings punctuate the fluctuating volume and intensity of her voice – ‘so what? So fucking what you cunt? You sleep with me and then your off to score because you’re using again, you cunt…oh yes you are, we know what’s your first love, don’t we?..don’t you fucking lie…’ – responsibility – ‘…you don’t know what it is, you cunt…so what, so I slept with a few people I went out drinking with, you weren’t around, not like you…oh yes you did, just because I’m not the fifteen anymore…’ – rumbling muttering – ‘…fuck off, beating me even when I had a child in my arms…’ – ‘…yes you did, go on, you know you want to, go on, twist it, go on, tighter, you know you want to…’ – muttering – ‘…yeh, that is you, you cunt, you want to do something but you’re too frightened…fuck off, look at me, fucking look at me: scarred, short haired, raped up bitch. That’s what you think of me…’
Saturday, February 12, 2011
FOLK CLUB
Folk Club at BD’s last night. Four of us throughout the evening including the D who wanted to hang with me before her girlfriend arrived on their way back to Denmark. She’s gone to the bus stop to meet her and I’m feeling irritated, my space about to be invaded.
The D sits. The D reads. The D talks.
We have discussions. We go for coffee.
They’re back, I hear them come in. I’ll be careful what I say and do so I don’t give my game away…
Mentalizing is inferring a person’s mental state from their behaviour. Mentalizing is an imaginative, intuitive, and rapid emotional reaction to the mass of information each of us is subject to at any one time.
But not everyone can mentalize. Without this ability emotional regulation is impaired leading to relationships characterised by impulsive and unpredictable behaviour lacking in empathy – the state of mind this indicates? You work it out…
The D sits. The D reads. The D talks.
We have discussions. We go for coffee.
They’re back, I hear them come in. I’ll be careful what I say and do so I don’t give my game away…
Mentalizing is inferring a person’s mental state from their behaviour. Mentalizing is an imaginative, intuitive, and rapid emotional reaction to the mass of information each of us is subject to at any one time.
But not everyone can mentalize. Without this ability emotional regulation is impaired leading to relationships characterised by impulsive and unpredictable behaviour lacking in empathy – the state of mind this indicates? You work it out…
Thursday, February 10, 2011
GAVE 090211
She spent two hours painting me as I sat for two hours in mostly the same position but reading the first hour writing the second.
She painted with oils on a canvas had, what was meant to be money-making erotic art which had failed to sell and that she’d bought on the cheap.
‘You should have a camera filming you,’ she said, when she found out what I did for a living during a discussion on the importance of arriving on time.
I told her what had happened…
‘What time’s it open?’ said the woman closest me of the two with children in pushchairs.
‘Eleven,’ I said.
‘It’s eleven now,’ she said, ‘and there’s no one in there.’
‘They should be along in a minute,’ with little faith it being true.
‘We’ll come back later,’ said her friend. ‘Shall we?’
They left toward town.
‘Wonder if they’ll be back?’ I said.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But that’s what happens when you say you’ll be somewhere at a certain time and then you’re not.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you get given what you gave.’
She painted with oils on a canvas had, what was meant to be money-making erotic art which had failed to sell and that she’d bought on the cheap.
‘You should have a camera filming you,’ she said, when she found out what I did for a living during a discussion on the importance of arriving on time.
I told her what had happened…
‘What time’s it open?’ said the woman closest me of the two with children in pushchairs.
‘Eleven,’ I said.
‘It’s eleven now,’ she said, ‘and there’s no one in there.’
‘They should be along in a minute,’ with little faith it being true.
‘We’ll come back later,’ said her friend. ‘Shall we?’
They left toward town.
‘Wonder if they’ll be back?’ I said.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But that’s what happens when you say you’ll be somewhere at a certain time and then you’re not.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you get given what you gave.’
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
MORNING
Lift floor wet. Mopped.
Out at the fifth floor. Fifth floor, from lift to laundry, wet. Mopped.
No caretaker. No one in the laundry. Except me.
It’s quiet. A note on my right hand machine: SORRY - OUT OF ORDER.
One machine is enough.
Wash done, extractor for all, dryer for all but trousers for which I want no shrinkage.
Folding my dried clothes standing at the folding table where the bench used to be overlooks the city. The sound of washers on spin. Sunlight through the four south facing windows of the laundry. Hot air rising from vents on rooftops.
The D texts: I’ll be in between half 3 and 4. My train leaves at 12.12 from leeds. You around or am I busing it?
Reply: You’re bussing it. You want me to meet you somewhere?
Reply: Bus stop in town? So you can carry a bag? Bout 4ish? You not got a car?
Reply: yes got car, rather not drive. See you at bus stop 4ish
Reply: Cool, ok
Out at the fifth floor. Fifth floor, from lift to laundry, wet. Mopped.
No caretaker. No one in the laundry. Except me.
It’s quiet. A note on my right hand machine: SORRY - OUT OF ORDER.
One machine is enough.
Wash done, extractor for all, dryer for all but trousers for which I want no shrinkage.
Folding my dried clothes standing at the folding table where the bench used to be overlooks the city. The sound of washers on spin. Sunlight through the four south facing windows of the laundry. Hot air rising from vents on rooftops.
The D texts: I’ll be in between half 3 and 4. My train leaves at 12.12 from leeds. You around or am I busing it?
Reply: You’re bussing it. You want me to meet you somewhere?
Reply: Bus stop in town? So you can carry a bag? Bout 4ish? You not got a car?
Reply: yes got car, rather not drive. See you at bus stop 4ish
Reply: Cool, ok
Sunday, February 6, 2011
CLEANING
The D’s back on Tuesday so I’ve been cleaning.
Cleaning all the china in the bathroom.
Cleaning the kitchen.
Cleaning her room. Putting clean sheets on her bed and a clean cover on her duvet.
When she get’s back, as we walk from the bus stop, where I’ll meet her, to the flat, I’ll apologise, say, ‘Sorry, I didn’t have time to do any cleaning.’
Cleaning all the china in the bathroom.
Cleaning the kitchen.
Cleaning her room. Putting clean sheets on her bed and a clean cover on her duvet.
When she get’s back, as we walk from the bus stop, where I’ll meet her, to the flat, I’ll apologise, say, ‘Sorry, I didn’t have time to do any cleaning.’
Saturday, February 5, 2011
PHONE CALL
Her phone rang. She answered her phone.
‘Oh, hi Kate, yes,’ she said. ‘Look,’ soon after, ‘my phone’s fucked…yeh…just saying in case it cuts out…yeh…doesn’t hold a charge and cuts out without warning…yeh…I spoke to her yesterday and apparently Olive’s she’s not being buried til Friday…no, not this Friday, next Friday…I know, but that’s…yeh…yeh, I know but that’s what happens…I visited her every week…yes…now they…yes, every week, and now they say I only did it for what I’d get…I know…I know, but that’s not why...no, no...Kate...yes, but now they all want a piece…yeh, exactly, that’s what I think…it’s all about them…look, Kate, I’m gong to go now because my phone…yes…I don’t have much charge and I want to save what I’ve got and I should be there about half hour…yes, is that okay?...good, I’ll see you then…yes, ok…bye…yes, ok…yes, bye…bye.’
‘Oh, hi Kate, yes,’ she said. ‘Look,’ soon after, ‘my phone’s fucked…yeh…just saying in case it cuts out…yeh…doesn’t hold a charge and cuts out without warning…yeh…I spoke to her yesterday and apparently Olive’s she’s not being buried til Friday…no, not this Friday, next Friday…I know, but that’s…yeh…yeh, I know but that’s what happens…I visited her every week…yes…now they…yes, every week, and now they say I only did it for what I’d get…I know…I know, but that’s not why...no, no...Kate...yes, but now they all want a piece…yeh, exactly, that’s what I think…it’s all about them…look, Kate, I’m gong to go now because my phone…yes…I don’t have much charge and I want to save what I’ve got and I should be there about half hour…yes, is that okay?...good, I’ll see you then…yes, ok…bye…yes, ok…yes, bye…bye.’
Friday, February 4, 2011
SHE’S COMING THIS WAY
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Crossing.
Crossing the road.
Crossing the road to get to the Here shop.
Halfway across.
Halfway across the road on the respite island from where I see her coming towards me.
She is wearing a coat with the hood pulled up frames her face, our eyes meet…
…our eyes meet, a faint smile from her, tentative, exploratory, what with our history, a flickered smile back, I barely felt it, I hope she got it
- since we talked I’ve seen more of her -
…drop off, then down Stokes Croft, Moon Street, Brunswick, bottom of the M32, Wade Street, Great George through the estate, Cabot toilets, the post office, Pret for coffee and a read, Portland, Brunswick, Moon Street…
…top of Moon Street, she’s coming this way
Crossing.
Crossing the road.
Crossing the road to get to the Here shop.
Halfway across.
Halfway across the road on the respite island from where I see her coming towards me.
She is wearing a coat with the hood pulled up frames her face, our eyes meet…
…our eyes meet, a faint smile from her, tentative, exploratory, what with our history, a flickered smile back, I barely felt it, I hope she got it
- since we talked I’ve seen more of her -
…drop off, then down Stokes Croft, Moon Street, Brunswick, bottom of the M32, Wade Street, Great George through the estate, Cabot toilets, the post office, Pret for coffee and a read, Portland, Brunswick, Moon Street…
…top of Moon Street, she’s coming this way
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
IN OR OUT
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘There’s so many to choose from and I’ve never had a cake from here, I walk past everyday and see them and I’ve thought, “Hmm, yum,” but never come in and bought one but I saw the offer and had to come in I couldn’t resist it. Is it still on?’
‘Which one?’ said the man’d been listening from behind the counter.
‘The two-ninety for a regular coffee and any cake,’ she said.
The offer stood.
I was waiting as my coffee was made. ‘Triple shot?’ she’d said when I’d said, ‘Black coffee to take away, thanks.’ I hadn’t planned a triple but seeing she asked showing she remembered which made me noticed and feel warm, said, ‘Yes.’
‘Tell me what they all are?’ she said and peered round the front of the display case giving me a clear view of her profile reminded me of H.
Well,’ he said, and starting from the middle shelf and at the end furthest from the door, pointing at each one in turn.
‘There’s coffee and cream; chocolate…’
- like the woman, I’d admired the cakes in Café Excellence and now was enjoying the tour by proxy -
‘…double chocolate; caramel…’ down to the bottom shelf…
…then…
‘What’s that one?’ she said pointing to the top shelf.
‘That’s an almond tart,’ he said.
She asked for a couple of reminders.
‘You’re making so difficult,’ she said. ‘They all look so good…what about the coffee, what can I have?’
- respite -
‘Any regular,’ he said. ‘Black. With milk. Cappuccino. In or out.'
‘Oo,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a cappuccino and the cake I'll have, er…a double chocolate.’
'In or out?'
‘Which one?’ said the man’d been listening from behind the counter.
‘The two-ninety for a regular coffee and any cake,’ she said.
The offer stood.
I was waiting as my coffee was made. ‘Triple shot?’ she’d said when I’d said, ‘Black coffee to take away, thanks.’ I hadn’t planned a triple but seeing she asked showing she remembered which made me noticed and feel warm, said, ‘Yes.’
‘Tell me what they all are?’ she said and peered round the front of the display case giving me a clear view of her profile reminded me of H.
Well,’ he said, and starting from the middle shelf and at the end furthest from the door, pointing at each one in turn.
‘There’s coffee and cream; chocolate…’
- like the woman, I’d admired the cakes in Café Excellence and now was enjoying the tour by proxy -
‘…double chocolate; caramel…’ down to the bottom shelf…
…then…
‘What’s that one?’ she said pointing to the top shelf.
‘That’s an almond tart,’ he said.
She asked for a couple of reminders.
‘You’re making so difficult,’ she said. ‘They all look so good…what about the coffee, what can I have?’
- respite -
‘Any regular,’ he said. ‘Black. With milk. Cappuccino. In or out.'
‘Oo,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a cappuccino and the cake I'll have, er…a double chocolate.’
'In or out?'
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
THE MYSTERY OF THE LAUNDRY BENCH IS SOLVED
I saw her jump when I opened the door to go in to the laundry. She was sitting on the bench folding a pair of large white knickers. Her laundry trolley was next to her.
‘Morning,’ I said.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said.
‘I made you jump,’ I said, ‘when I came in.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
I loaded the machines and we didn’t speak. I thought of saying something about the weather, it getting colder, but didn’t.
Then I said, ‘You don’t use the folding tables, then?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t stand for more than two minutes. It’s my hip,’ she said, ‘if I stand for too long I have to sit down which is why I’m over here.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
I closed the washer doors, put the powder in the top and selected the programme with the dial: half load for one, full the other, and pressed the on button on both. i hung my bag off the two door handles as if to protect or assert ownership.
‘Well, bye,’ I said. ‘See you later.’
‘Bye,’ she said, folding a pair of the dark blue trousers she wears.
When I went down to take my laundry out the washers and put it through the extractor then into the dryer the caretaker was mopping the floor and the walls.
‘Morning,’ I said.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Alright?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
I watched him work as I leaned against the extractor.
‘They’ll be in to finish the tiles tomorrow,’ he said, ‘level them, smooth the grout.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Oh, yes, I can see…like there?’ I said pointing.
‘I’m surprised they did that one,’ he said, ‘I didn’t put it on the sheet and if you don’t put it on the sheet they don’t usually do it.’
‘That’s good of them,’ I said.
I watched him a bit more.
‘Do you know why they moved the bench over there?’ I said. ‘I was talking to O earlier, who’s in here a bit earlier and she said she couldn’t use the folding tables anymore because she can’t stand long enough so she sits on the bench and I made her jump when I came in this morning and she’s said she feels a bit exposed sat there which is why I don’t sit there anymore, not that I sat there much but, you know...’
‘Someone asked them to do it,’ he said.
‘Is one person all it took?’
‘Depends who it is,’ he said.
‘Who was it?’ I said.
‘It’s the woman from India,’ he said but I said I thought she spoke Spanish and was from South America, Colombia maybe, she told me in the lift, or something…anyway, he maintained India but wherever we new who we meant.
‘What happened for her to say something?’
‘She said she’d been verbally abused when the bench was over there and she’d feel safer if it was by the door, not so hemmed in.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘She’s got a voice, you know, so people listen…’
‘Ah,’ I said.
‘That’s what you want though, isn’t it?’ he said, ‘people to have a voice?’
‘True,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think the move was a good one.’
‘I haven’t had anyone come up to me and say they think it was a good idea,’ he said.
And with that, he put the mop in the bucket and left the laundry without a word further.
‘Morning,’ I said.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said.
‘I made you jump,’ I said, ‘when I came in.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
I loaded the machines and we didn’t speak. I thought of saying something about the weather, it getting colder, but didn’t.
Then I said, ‘You don’t use the folding tables, then?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t stand for more than two minutes. It’s my hip,’ she said, ‘if I stand for too long I have to sit down which is why I’m over here.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
I closed the washer doors, put the powder in the top and selected the programme with the dial: half load for one, full the other, and pressed the on button on both. i hung my bag off the two door handles as if to protect or assert ownership.
‘Well, bye,’ I said. ‘See you later.’
‘Bye,’ she said, folding a pair of the dark blue trousers she wears.
When I went down to take my laundry out the washers and put it through the extractor then into the dryer the caretaker was mopping the floor and the walls.
‘Morning,’ I said.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Alright?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
I watched him work as I leaned against the extractor.
‘They’ll be in to finish the tiles tomorrow,’ he said, ‘level them, smooth the grout.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Oh, yes, I can see…like there?’ I said pointing.
‘I’m surprised they did that one,’ he said, ‘I didn’t put it on the sheet and if you don’t put it on the sheet they don’t usually do it.’
‘That’s good of them,’ I said.
I watched him a bit more.
‘Do you know why they moved the bench over there?’ I said. ‘I was talking to O earlier, who’s in here a bit earlier and she said she couldn’t use the folding tables anymore because she can’t stand long enough so she sits on the bench and I made her jump when I came in this morning and she’s said she feels a bit exposed sat there which is why I don’t sit there anymore, not that I sat there much but, you know...’
‘Someone asked them to do it,’ he said.
‘Is one person all it took?’
‘Depends who it is,’ he said.
‘Who was it?’ I said.
‘It’s the woman from India,’ he said but I said I thought she spoke Spanish and was from South America, Colombia maybe, she told me in the lift, or something…anyway, he maintained India but wherever we new who we meant.
‘What happened for her to say something?’
‘She said she’d been verbally abused when the bench was over there and she’d feel safer if it was by the door, not so hemmed in.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘She’s got a voice, you know, so people listen…’
‘Ah,’ I said.
‘That’s what you want though, isn’t it?’ he said, ‘people to have a voice?’
‘True,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think the move was a good one.’
‘I haven’t had anyone come up to me and say they think it was a good idea,’ he said.
And with that, he put the mop in the bucket and left the laundry without a word further.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
STONE THE CROWS
‘Stone the crows,’ I said quietly to myself as I stepped out from her maisonette into the cold along the walkway led back to my place.
‘Stone the crows,’ wondering if anyone other than me said that anymore, and wishing my Dad had been a different kind of man might have been more use to me both then and now.
She’d texted earlier: Hi it’s me. Do you have any paracetamol (or solpadol, cocodamol, codrydamol or similar) please? I am stuck in bed with arthritis :(
I texted: Yes, I do, I’ll bring some round. Still have key shall I let myself in?
She texted: Yes please!:-)
When I let myself in and said, ‘Hello, it’s me,’ she said, ‘Woof, woof.’
‘Where is he?’ I said.
‘With Kay,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t get out much with me like this.’
‘They alright?’ I said when I gave her the meds.
She read the box. She said, ‘You want some of these?’
I took the proffered box: Tramadol. Took a strip out, ten tabs. Re-proffered the box.
EXPOSED
If only the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
‘Is anyone sitting there?’ she said pointing at the seat opposite where I sat in the Arts House.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I’m leaving so you can sit here.’
I stood up. I closed my book.
‘I’ll sit there then,’ she said. ‘In the reading corner.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘before anyone else does.’
I hated myself..
‘Hmm,’ she said weakly, my fate sealed.
I put my book in my bag.
She put a dog-eared copy of “Catch-22” on the table.
I put my coat on.
Embarrassed, my head down, I left the café, crossed the road, up Ninetree, then left along Dove Street where I felt more than usually exposed.
‘Stone the crows,’ wondering if anyone other than me said that anymore, and wishing my Dad had been a different kind of man might have been more use to me both then and now.
She’d texted earlier: Hi it’s me. Do you have any paracetamol (or solpadol, cocodamol, codrydamol or similar) please? I am stuck in bed with arthritis :(
I texted: Yes, I do, I’ll bring some round. Still have key shall I let myself in?
She texted: Yes please!:-)
When I let myself in and said, ‘Hello, it’s me,’ she said, ‘Woof, woof.’
‘Where is he?’ I said.
‘With Kay,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t get out much with me like this.’
‘They alright?’ I said when I gave her the meds.
She read the box. She said, ‘You want some of these?’
I took the proffered box: Tramadol. Took a strip out, ten tabs. Re-proffered the box.
EXPOSED
If only the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
‘Is anyone sitting there?’ she said pointing at the seat opposite where I sat in the Arts House.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I’m leaving so you can sit here.’
I stood up. I closed my book.
‘I’ll sit there then,’ she said. ‘In the reading corner.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘before anyone else does.’
I hated myself..
‘Hmm,’ she said weakly, my fate sealed.
I put my book in my bag.
She put a dog-eared copy of “Catch-22” on the table.
I put my coat on.
Embarrassed, my head down, I left the café, crossed the road, up Ninetree, then left along Dove Street where I felt more than usually exposed.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
GETTING CHILLY 230111
‘My partner had some swelling round his throat,’ she said putting her hand there to indicate where she meant as if her words were insufficient.
‘Glands?’ I said.
‘They took him in the other day and found a lump at the back of his throat,’ she said. ‘Actually in his throat,’ she pointed into her now open mouth. ‘He’d come out and then he complained, which he does a lot of by the way, he couldn’t swallow or eat anything without it hurting, so they took him back in and they just phoned me.’
The lift arrived. We both got out. Still talking…
‘Is he going to be alright?’ I asked, weakly…this is a major conversation with her…
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘They called me in so I’m going there now when I’ve dropped this shit off,’ shopping in bags.
‘Well,’ I said, preparing myself, ‘I hope he’s okay.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘So do I.’
We spoke once before but since, nothing.
They fight, shout at each other. He’s thrown her out of the flat and she threatened to cut his throat…the one she was just telling me about.
Today, I started the conversation in the lift, saying, ‘Getting chilly.’
‘Glands?’ I said.
‘They took him in the other day and found a lump at the back of his throat,’ she said. ‘Actually in his throat,’ she pointed into her now open mouth. ‘He’d come out and then he complained, which he does a lot of by the way, he couldn’t swallow or eat anything without it hurting, so they took him back in and they just phoned me.’
The lift arrived. We both got out. Still talking…
‘Is he going to be alright?’ I asked, weakly…this is a major conversation with her…
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘They called me in so I’m going there now when I’ve dropped this shit off,’ shopping in bags.
‘Well,’ I said, preparing myself, ‘I hope he’s okay.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘So do I.’
We spoke once before but since, nothing.
They fight, shout at each other. He’s thrown her out of the flat and she threatened to cut his throat…the one she was just telling me about.
Today, I started the conversation in the lift, saying, ‘Getting chilly.’
OUR WAY OUT 210111
A regular gets in on his regular floor on the way down. It took long enough to come up to me. Two stops, extended for ‘goodbyes.’
He looked at me before getting in and standing at the front on the right. He nodded, I raised my eyebrows.
‘I’d be alright,’ he said, ‘if I wasn’t so broke.’
I laughed but nervous, ‘Shit, don’t tap me I the lift.’ I don’t give to anyone in the flats or who I know or think lives there if they ask me outside.
‘You off for a beer?’ he said.
‘Coffee,’ I said, smiling.
‘Expensive,’ he said.
.It’s my one vice,’ I said, lying.
‘Oh,’ pause, ‘I suppose with all these cafes around,’ a nod towards Broadmead.
‘I go around here,’ I said.
‘Still,’ he said, ‘expensive.’
‘I’m getting out,’ I said, ‘and it’s somewhere to spend an hour or two.’
‘It’s good to get out,’ he said. I didn’t think he was trying to reassure me. ‘Especially if you don’t work,’ he said, ‘like I don’t.’
He held the doors open for me on our way out.
He looked at me before getting in and standing at the front on the right. He nodded, I raised my eyebrows.
‘I’d be alright,’ he said, ‘if I wasn’t so broke.’
I laughed but nervous, ‘Shit, don’t tap me I the lift.’ I don’t give to anyone in the flats or who I know or think lives there if they ask me outside.
‘You off for a beer?’ he said.
‘Coffee,’ I said, smiling.
‘Expensive,’ he said.
.It’s my one vice,’ I said, lying.
‘Oh,’ pause, ‘I suppose with all these cafes around,’ a nod towards Broadmead.
‘I go around here,’ I said.
‘Still,’ he said, ‘expensive.’
‘I’m getting out,’ I said, ‘and it’s somewhere to spend an hour or two.’
‘It’s good to get out,’ he said. I didn’t think he was trying to reassure me. ‘Especially if you don’t work,’ he said, ‘like I don’t.’
He held the doors open for me on our way out.
CONVERSATION 180111
‘Thanks. Great. Phew. Thanks,’ he said, as breathless and capitalised as that.
‘Okay,’ I said, keeping my cool.
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking up the position on the right hand side at the front of the lift. ‘That’s great.’
He’d come into view as the doors were closing but on seeing him I pressed the button opened the door, held the lift.
‘It’s frustrating,’ he said, ‘isn’t it, when you come in and the lift is just leaving or just left…’
‘…and it goes all the way to the top or close to it,’ I said, ‘as often as not.’
‘Still,’ he said, ‘it isn’t long to wait, is it?’
‘About a minute and a half straight up and down no stops in between,’ I said. ‘Longer, obviously, if it picks up or drops off a couple or few.’
‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d missed the rain but I got out the underpass and whoosh, downpour. I’m soaked, look at me.’
I looked at him.
‘I was on Dove Street after the café and deluge,’ I said. ‘I got wet too.’
The lift stopped, door opened, he got out.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Bye.’
‘Bye,’ I said.
I’ve seen him in the block through the years. This was the first time we’ve had any kind of conversation.
‘Okay,’ I said, keeping my cool.
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking up the position on the right hand side at the front of the lift. ‘That’s great.’
He’d come into view as the doors were closing but on seeing him I pressed the button opened the door, held the lift.
‘It’s frustrating,’ he said, ‘isn’t it, when you come in and the lift is just leaving or just left…’
‘…and it goes all the way to the top or close to it,’ I said, ‘as often as not.’
‘Still,’ he said, ‘it isn’t long to wait, is it?’
‘About a minute and a half straight up and down no stops in between,’ I said. ‘Longer, obviously, if it picks up or drops off a couple or few.’
‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d missed the rain but I got out the underpass and whoosh, downpour. I’m soaked, look at me.’
I looked at him.
‘I was on Dove Street after the café and deluge,’ I said. ‘I got wet too.’
The lift stopped, door opened, he got out.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Bye.’
‘Bye,’ I said.
I’ve seen him in the block through the years. This was the first time we’ve had any kind of conversation.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
IT'S NOT UNUSUAL 130111
'Oh,' she said,' 'hello.'
'Hello,' I said.
I'd seen the back of a white coat disappear into the entrance of the flats on my way back from Kino and wondered who it might be going in, if I'd want to share a lift with them.
'Bit cooler today,' she said.
We'd always said hello but since our laundry times overlap we pass the time of day, say 'Goodness,' after the caretaker comes in has a moan.
'My daughter,' she said, 'phoned from Greece last week said it was forty-two degrees...'
'That's hot,' I said.
'I said it was sunny here but she got back yesterday and said she started shivering as soon as she got off the plane.'
'After forty-two degrees I can imagine,' I said. 'Talking of heat, is the dryer working properly,' pointing.
She got up from the bench and walked to the left hand dryer, put her hand on the glass.
'It's okay now,' she said, 'but I had to press the lighter switch earlier.'
'How many times has it broken down?' I said.
'I don't know,' she said, 'but it's not unusual.'
'Hello,' I said.
I'd seen the back of a white coat disappear into the entrance of the flats on my way back from Kino and wondered who it might be going in, if I'd want to share a lift with them.
'Bit cooler today,' she said.
We'd always said hello but since our laundry times overlap we pass the time of day, say 'Goodness,' after the caretaker comes in has a moan.
'My daughter,' she said, 'phoned from Greece last week said it was forty-two degrees...'
'That's hot,' I said.
'I said it was sunny here but she got back yesterday and said she started shivering as soon as she got off the plane.'
'After forty-two degrees I can imagine,' I said. 'Talking of heat, is the dryer working properly,' pointing.
She got up from the bench and walked to the left hand dryer, put her hand on the glass.
'It's okay now,' she said, 'but I had to press the lighter switch earlier.'
'How many times has it broken down?' I said.
'I don't know,' she said, 'but it's not unusual.'
IT HAPPENS
He was sitting on the low wall of the further of the two flowerbeds in front of the entrance to the block as I came back from Broadmead. He waved, I nodded.
He followed me in. I behaved like he hadn't not sure he lived here and didn't want to ask. He stood behind me as I stared at the tiles to the left of the lift.
'Hello,' I said.
'How long you lived here?' he said.
'Ten years,' I said. 'You?'
'Six months.'
'You like it?'
'I don't know,' he said. 'I lived in supported housing before so it's different from that.'
'A bit more challenging, I imagine?'
'Yet, having to cook for myself and pay all the bills.'
I got in the lift and pressed for my floor, wondered what he'd do. By the time the door'd closed and the lift was on the way up he hadn't pressed a button.
'Might he come up with me see, where I live,' I thought...
...he pressed...
'I still get help,' he said. 'Not as much though.'
'Independent living,' I said.
'I used to do it alright,' he said. 'I was a plumber but, you know...'
...a moment...
'Yes,' I said, 'it happens.'
He followed me in. I behaved like he hadn't not sure he lived here and didn't want to ask. He stood behind me as I stared at the tiles to the left of the lift.
'Hello,' I said.
'How long you lived here?' he said.
'Ten years,' I said. 'You?'
'Six months.'
'You like it?'
'I don't know,' he said. 'I lived in supported housing before so it's different from that.'
'A bit more challenging, I imagine?'
'Yet, having to cook for myself and pay all the bills.'
I got in the lift and pressed for my floor, wondered what he'd do. By the time the door'd closed and the lift was on the way up he hadn't pressed a button.
'Might he come up with me see, where I live,' I thought...
...he pressed...
'I still get help,' he said. 'Not as much though.'
'Independent living,' I said.
'I used to do it alright,' he said. 'I was a plumber but, you know...'
...a moment...
'Yes,' I said, 'it happens.'
COMPANY
- I find out what he's doing by looking online when I get an e-mail saying there's a message for me;
- we have brief encounters when we walk out the door at the same time or one of us is already out there, a conversation develops if I don't run from a friendly, 'Hello;'
- she mocks me because I am a man; I wonder what she might be like to sleep with; her lips are thin but she has a sharp turn of phrase that excites me;
- no matter how hard I try, walking the route three times despite the obvious dangers as darkness descends, I cannot find the tandem he lent me;
- 'Do you want a poke?' he said coming up behind me in the alley way ran alongside the back garden of the cafe whose owner had propositioned me only minutes previous. 'No,' I said, kicking at him. 'But he might,' pointing at the cafe owner who was watching from his garden the scene unfold;
- what I am, except to a few people, is irrelevant, making myself so through unrestrained comments and behaviour at inappropriate times and wrong places; a little containment would go a long way but it escapes me at moments that dilute impact and weaken the desire for my company.
- we have brief encounters when we walk out the door at the same time or one of us is already out there, a conversation develops if I don't run from a friendly, 'Hello;'
- she mocks me because I am a man; I wonder what she might be like to sleep with; her lips are thin but she has a sharp turn of phrase that excites me;
- no matter how hard I try, walking the route three times despite the obvious dangers as darkness descends, I cannot find the tandem he lent me;
- 'Do you want a poke?' he said coming up behind me in the alley way ran alongside the back garden of the cafe whose owner had propositioned me only minutes previous. 'No,' I said, kicking at him. 'But he might,' pointing at the cafe owner who was watching from his garden the scene unfold;
- what I am, except to a few people, is irrelevant, making myself so through unrestrained comments and behaviour at inappropriate times and wrong places; a little containment would go a long way but it escapes me at moments that dilute impact and weaken the desire for my company.
FRIDAY 14TH
WAITING
He was sitting on the floor and leaning against the reinforced glass was outside his flat as I left for my flat the first time.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Alright?’ he said, though I know it’s not a question.
When I got back a couple of hours later he was still there.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Alright?’ he said.
A couple more hours passed until I left my flat the second time.
‘Hello,’ I said, and by way of development waiting for the lift, ‘Still there?’
He smiled and got up slowly pulling his coat around him as he walked toward me.
‘Lost your key?’ I said.
‘What it is,’ he said, ‘is I leant my key to my niece’ – she’s his niece? – ‘and she said she’d be back and I said to her, I said, “Don’t lock the bottom lock,” but she did and now I can’t get in so I’ve got to wait for her to get back and I thought it’d be this morning but she still isn’t back yet and I’ve been waiting the whole day…’
‘I noticed,’ I said, and the lift arrived and I said, ‘I’ve got to go.’
As the door of the lift slid closed I saw him walk back to where he’d wait for how long I don’t know because he wasn’t there when I got back later.
He was sitting on the floor and leaning against the reinforced glass was outside his flat as I left for my flat the first time.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Alright?’ he said, though I know it’s not a question.
When I got back a couple of hours later he was still there.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Alright?’ he said.
A couple more hours passed until I left my flat the second time.
‘Hello,’ I said, and by way of development waiting for the lift, ‘Still there?’
He smiled and got up slowly pulling his coat around him as he walked toward me.
‘Lost your key?’ I said.
‘What it is,’ he said, ‘is I leant my key to my niece’ – she’s his niece? – ‘and she said she’d be back and I said to her, I said, “Don’t lock the bottom lock,” but she did and now I can’t get in so I’ve got to wait for her to get back and I thought it’d be this morning but she still isn’t back yet and I’ve been waiting the whole day…’
‘I noticed,’ I said, and the lift arrived and I said, ‘I’ve got to go.’
As the door of the lift slid closed I saw him walk back to where he’d wait for how long I don’t know because he wasn’t there when I got back later.
LOVELY
The sun was out, the sky was blue when I did my laundry at eight this morning. The Big O wasn’t there so I had a choice of machines.
I put the washing on and went back upstairs. I had porridge (with tahini and honey) for breakfast, took a bath, and mended the washing stand.
Downstairs: laundry from the extractor to the washing bag without using the dryer.
The door opened and Kay came in.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘A bit better this morning, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s lovely.’
I put the washing on and went back upstairs. I had porridge (with tahini and honey) for breakfast, took a bath, and mended the washing stand.
Downstairs: laundry from the extractor to the washing bag without using the dryer.
The door opened and Kay came in.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘A bit better this morning, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s lovely.’
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
MY DAY, THIS DAY
OPEN WARFARE
The notice in the lift said the communal electrics – corridor lights, stair lights, laundry, lift – would be down, switched off from nine-thirty this morning while a new meter was installed. ‘Sorry for any inconvenience,’ it said, ‘The Caretaking Team.’
When I opened the door to the laundry, half expecting my fob not to work – having read the new rules CT’d taped on the wall above the rinsing sinks, ‘There’s space there,’ I’d said last week pointing,’ that informed users of the laundry that fobs would only work at each persons allotted time, she jumped from the seat, surprised.
‘Only me,’ I said. ‘Thought I’d get in early before the cut off.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘yes.’
‘Not much privacy there,’ I said, nodding at the bench where she’d sat back down.
The bench had been moved a few weeks ago and she said the last time I’d seen her here and asked her if she knew why it’d been moved.
‘Someone complained,’ she said.
‘How many’d it take?’ I said.
We agreed that the bench’s new position was both exposing and inconvenient as being where it was now meant it was in full view of the fifth floor entrance and a folding table had been moved in the far corner from the dryer.
When I got back later to pick up my washing Olive was still there even though she’d said, ‘I’ll probably be gone,’ when I said, ‘See you later,’ when I’d left after checking the wash had taken. She was folding her mostly pastel coloured clothes, though she wore her usual dark polyester slacks.
‘I put it in the dryer,’ she said of my wash. ‘It’d finished, so I thought I’d put it in the dryer,’ slightly defensive, concerned…Had she done the right thing?
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Thank you,’ reassuring.
I started taking my damp clothes out of the dryer and dropping them without folding into my laundry bag.
Behind me Kay, with the hennared hair and facial piercings, was loading a couple of the washers.
‘You do know about the electric going off at nine-thirty?’ I said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Oh, no, are they?’
Olive got up having finished folding and packing her wash in her trolley and said, ‘I’m off.’
‘Bye now,’ I said, then turned back to Kay. ‘You’ll have time for the wash,’ I said, ‘but you’ll have to mke your own plans for drying.’
‘When’s it back on?’ she said. ‘How long’s it off for? I could come down after…’
‘If you do you’ll have to stay with it because you’ll be in someone else’s time and they might take it out or worse,’ I said, ‘I’ve had things nicked form here before.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You take someone’s time it’s like open warfare.’
AFTER BREAKFAST, BEFORE LUNCH
On my way out down by lift, CT was there wiping the walls.
‘Getting out before the electric goes off?’ he said.
‘I’m off to work,’ I said. ‘That’s why I was in the laundry earlier, get it done.’
…a couple of floors passed...
‘How long’s it off for?’ I said. ‘A few hours?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, and turned to read the notice. ‘It doesn’t say,’ what I knew already, ‘Inconvenient though.’
They do apologise for that,’ I said.
‘Even so,’ he said, ‘why couldn’t they do it after everyone’s at work and after the kids are at school?’
‘Indeed,’ I said, what I say when I don’t know what else to say.
As I walked out the block I thought that from nine-thirty for a few hours was minimally inconvenient for the civilised amongst us flat dwellers as it was both after breakfast and before lunch.
The notice in the lift said the communal electrics – corridor lights, stair lights, laundry, lift – would be down, switched off from nine-thirty this morning while a new meter was installed. ‘Sorry for any inconvenience,’ it said, ‘The Caretaking Team.’
When I opened the door to the laundry, half expecting my fob not to work – having read the new rules CT’d taped on the wall above the rinsing sinks, ‘There’s space there,’ I’d said last week pointing,’ that informed users of the laundry that fobs would only work at each persons allotted time, she jumped from the seat, surprised.
‘Only me,’ I said. ‘Thought I’d get in early before the cut off.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘yes.’
‘Not much privacy there,’ I said, nodding at the bench where she’d sat back down.
The bench had been moved a few weeks ago and she said the last time I’d seen her here and asked her if she knew why it’d been moved.
‘Someone complained,’ she said.
‘How many’d it take?’ I said.
We agreed that the bench’s new position was both exposing and inconvenient as being where it was now meant it was in full view of the fifth floor entrance and a folding table had been moved in the far corner from the dryer.
When I got back later to pick up my washing Olive was still there even though she’d said, ‘I’ll probably be gone,’ when I said, ‘See you later,’ when I’d left after checking the wash had taken. She was folding her mostly pastel coloured clothes, though she wore her usual dark polyester slacks.
‘I put it in the dryer,’ she said of my wash. ‘It’d finished, so I thought I’d put it in the dryer,’ slightly defensive, concerned…Had she done the right thing?
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Thank you,’ reassuring.
I started taking my damp clothes out of the dryer and dropping them without folding into my laundry bag.
Behind me Kay, with the hennared hair and facial piercings, was loading a couple of the washers.
‘You do know about the electric going off at nine-thirty?’ I said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Oh, no, are they?’
Olive got up having finished folding and packing her wash in her trolley and said, ‘I’m off.’
‘Bye now,’ I said, then turned back to Kay. ‘You’ll have time for the wash,’ I said, ‘but you’ll have to mke your own plans for drying.’
‘When’s it back on?’ she said. ‘How long’s it off for? I could come down after…’
‘If you do you’ll have to stay with it because you’ll be in someone else’s time and they might take it out or worse,’ I said, ‘I’ve had things nicked form here before.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You take someone’s time it’s like open warfare.’
AFTER BREAKFAST, BEFORE LUNCH
On my way out down by lift, CT was there wiping the walls.
‘Getting out before the electric goes off?’ he said.
‘I’m off to work,’ I said. ‘That’s why I was in the laundry earlier, get it done.’
…a couple of floors passed...
‘How long’s it off for?’ I said. ‘A few hours?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, and turned to read the notice. ‘It doesn’t say,’ what I knew already, ‘Inconvenient though.’
They do apologise for that,’ I said.
‘Even so,’ he said, ‘why couldn’t they do it after everyone’s at work and after the kids are at school?’
‘Indeed,’ I said, what I say when I don’t know what else to say.
As I walked out the block I thought that from nine-thirty for a few hours was minimally inconvenient for the civilised amongst us flat dwellers as it was both after breakfast and before lunch.
Monday, January 10, 2011
A GREATER WHOLE
The creation of an object that can be passed to another and held by them, left somewhere to be found or lost forever, is, nevertheless, an offering from their interior of its creator to the world outside.
The schizoid artist, and the schizoid mind lends itself to artistic pursuits as it favours attention towards what lies within, either seeks to maintain possession of or disparages the completed work, so as to minimise the trauma of what was once inner and a part of being outer and apart from.
For the work that’s made it’s not so bad but for the child born of the schizoid mother who turns from indifferently from them after birth or who cannot let go of them sufficiently for their progeny to fulfil their potential, it is mostly a disaster.
She occupied herself with a novel as the cord was cut. He said they called for him quickly when they saw her reaction and credit where credit’s due, he came running.
I'd known Ruby a while, knew she was genetically male, that with time and effort she'd achieved the convincing appearance of a woman.
Today, as I was sitting in the Arts House café, having chosen to work there rather than Kino, which was crowded, and anyway I don’t like the seating so much, it’s a bit rigid and affords becoming trapped in a corner having to ask strangers, ‘Excuse me,’ to get out, Ruby sat down opposite.
I was reading Fairbairn and she said, ‘I read a paper of his about schizoid personalities,’ and we got talking.
The schizoid personality employs splitting as a defence which means cutting is involved and that’s how we got to…
…Ruby said she’d wondered about her defences against her gender confusion and had been thinking at one time of resorting to reassignment to solve her dilemma. But, instead of consigning herself to less than she was, she decided to keep her penis, and extend, as she put it, her masculine and feminine parts into a greater whole.
The schizoid artist, and the schizoid mind lends itself to artistic pursuits as it favours attention towards what lies within, either seeks to maintain possession of or disparages the completed work, so as to minimise the trauma of what was once inner and a part of being outer and apart from.
For the work that’s made it’s not so bad but for the child born of the schizoid mother who turns from indifferently from them after birth or who cannot let go of them sufficiently for their progeny to fulfil their potential, it is mostly a disaster.
She occupied herself with a novel as the cord was cut. He said they called for him quickly when they saw her reaction and credit where credit’s due, he came running.
I'd known Ruby a while, knew she was genetically male, that with time and effort she'd achieved the convincing appearance of a woman.
Today, as I was sitting in the Arts House café, having chosen to work there rather than Kino, which was crowded, and anyway I don’t like the seating so much, it’s a bit rigid and affords becoming trapped in a corner having to ask strangers, ‘Excuse me,’ to get out, Ruby sat down opposite.
I was reading Fairbairn and she said, ‘I read a paper of his about schizoid personalities,’ and we got talking.
The schizoid personality employs splitting as a defence which means cutting is involved and that’s how we got to…
…Ruby said she’d wondered about her defences against her gender confusion and had been thinking at one time of resorting to reassignment to solve her dilemma. But, instead of consigning herself to less than she was, she decided to keep her penis, and extend, as she put it, her masculine and feminine parts into a greater whole.
Friday, January 7, 2011
LOCATION LOCATION
Reich says we construct an armour of muscle and bone that mirrors personal trauma and psychological defences. That our body expresses through posture, gait, skin, hair, teeth, and other meaningful parts, a history of individual experience within a cultural context.
Because everything is connected everything is a communication.
She touches my body and a specific memory comes to mind. The tender place by my right scapula is a somatised issue I haven’t yet put into words.
When I say what’s on my mind, psychic toxins are liberated from me. To keep silent is to be vulnerable to becoming the location of a symptom of social discord.
What is true of my body is true of where I live, is true of Stokes Croft.
Because everything is connected everything is a communication.
She touches my body and a specific memory comes to mind. The tender place by my right scapula is a somatised issue I haven’t yet put into words.
When I say what’s on my mind, psychic toxins are liberated from me. To keep silent is to be vulnerable to becoming the location of a symptom of social discord.
What is true of my body is true of where I live, is true of Stokes Croft.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
PARALLEL THINKING
The horrors arrived towards the end of my sleep. They came out from there, hung around until a few hours after waking.
Three separate lines of thought running in parallel.
She spoke, 'Didn't you hear what I said? Weren't you listening?'
'Did you say something?' I said.
Three separate lines of thought running in parallel.
She spoke, 'Didn't you hear what I said? Weren't you listening?'
'Did you say something?' I said.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
SKIMMING
The therapeutic frame, attachment in relationship, sitting on the sofa, reading, in the Arts House cafe.
Four people walk in. A woman young enough to be my daughter/me to be her sugar-daddy. Two women looked like in their fifties a man the same. They sit down in the corner window seat the other side from where I sneak discrete a regular glance. The older women either side of the young and the man at the end nearest the counter from where he gets up to buy drinks a few minutes after sitting down.
The young woman cries. On and off. Why's she crying?
- could be someone died
- could be she just broke up
- could be she didn't get what she wanted
The women put hands on her shoulders, round her shoulders. The man leans in wanting a piece, wanting a part, a few lines to feel okay - surfing, skimming off her tears.
Four people walk in. A woman young enough to be my daughter/me to be her sugar-daddy. Two women looked like in their fifties a man the same. They sit down in the corner window seat the other side from where I sneak discrete a regular glance. The older women either side of the young and the man at the end nearest the counter from where he gets up to buy drinks a few minutes after sitting down.
The young woman cries. On and off. Why's she crying?
- could be someone died
- could be she just broke up
- could be she didn't get what she wanted
The women put hands on her shoulders, round her shoulders. The man leans in wanting a piece, wanting a part, a few lines to feel okay - surfing, skimming off her tears.
Monday, January 3, 2011
FALLING
‘I’m still in bed,’ she said when I phoned at half one.
‘If it makes you feel any better,’ I said, ‘I didn’t get up til twelve.’
‘It does,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
It was snowing lightly when I looked out the window after the sound of the text saying, ‘It’s snowing,’ arrived and woke me.
A little later sitting in my front room having left uneaten half my breakfast bowl of porridge and unusually drinking a coffee before tea was when I phoned her.
‘I’m watching Downton Abbey,’ she said. ‘They’ve been showing the whole series in one go.’
‘Nice binge,’ I said.
We talked TV and films a while. I stood up from the sofa, walked to the door opened to the balcony and saw Easton in the mist of the light snow she said was still falling.
‘If it makes you feel any better,’ I said, ‘I didn’t get up til twelve.’
‘It does,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
It was snowing lightly when I looked out the window after the sound of the text saying, ‘It’s snowing,’ arrived and woke me.
A little later sitting in my front room having left uneaten half my breakfast bowl of porridge and unusually drinking a coffee before tea was when I phoned her.
‘I’m watching Downton Abbey,’ she said. ‘They’ve been showing the whole series in one go.’
‘Nice binge,’ I said.
We talked TV and films a while. I stood up from the sofa, walked to the door opened to the balcony and saw Easton in the mist of the light snow she said was still falling.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
THE PEPPERDINE
'Look,’ I said as we pulled into a parking space at Slimbridge. ‘It’s Vicky Pepperdine.'
A few minutes ago she said, ‘There’s a space there, go there, don’t park on the mud. Why are you parking there when there’s a space there?’
‘That isn’t a space,’ I said, ‘that’s the way into the overflow.’
‘Oh.’
Now she said, ‘Who’s Vicky Pepperdine?’
‘She’s in that hospital sitcom with Jo Brand,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘the one who shags the male nurse?’
‘No, that's the sister, she’s the uptight doctor…’
‘The one always plays by the book?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
As I paid, ‘My card’s taking a hit today,’ I said having filled up with fifty-three pounds worth of petrol, ‘You may as well,’ she said, ‘before the increase,’ and I said, ‘That was the headline on the Post just now.’
I entered my pin, turned, whispered, ‘Look, there she is.’
‘How do you know it’s her?’
‘I recognise the voice,’ I said. ‘And she’s wearing a lime green puffer jacket, stands out a bit. Thank you,’ to the woman handed me a receipt, ‘No, don’t look…’
‘You just said…’
‘Ok, but be discreet…’
Round the site she took photographs of swans, geese and ducks, ‘Listen to the crows,’ she said.
‘No sign of the Pepperdine,’ I said as we sat drinking coffee bought from the kiosk near the Zeiss Hide and ate the sandwiches she’d made earlier. ‘I’m going to call it “The Lesser Spotted Pepperdine,”’ I said, ‘should be easy to spot with the lime green puffer.’
‘Why do they call them, “lesser”?’ she said. ‘Is it because they’re smaller?’
‘Probably,’ I said. ‘In this case not seen as often as expected considering the lime green puffer.’
We walked round some more then made our way to a place to view the four o’clock feeding but changed our minds about going in because it was so crowded.
‘Let’s go up the tower,’ she said.
On our way I said, ‘I’ve just seen the Pepperdine,’ she wasn’t that interested and kept walking, ‘she was in the café, obviously her feeding time as well, we could watch her instead of the birds.’
We didn’t of course. I’d turned quickly away when I spotted the lime green puffer having thought during the afternoon, ‘What a drag being recognised and stared at by people like me when you’re out and about…’
A few minutes ago she said, ‘There’s a space there, go there, don’t park on the mud. Why are you parking there when there’s a space there?’
‘That isn’t a space,’ I said, ‘that’s the way into the overflow.’
‘Oh.’
Now she said, ‘Who’s Vicky Pepperdine?’
‘She’s in that hospital sitcom with Jo Brand,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘the one who shags the male nurse?’
‘No, that's the sister, she’s the uptight doctor…’
‘The one always plays by the book?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
As I paid, ‘My card’s taking a hit today,’ I said having filled up with fifty-three pounds worth of petrol, ‘You may as well,’ she said, ‘before the increase,’ and I said, ‘That was the headline on the Post just now.’
I entered my pin, turned, whispered, ‘Look, there she is.’
‘How do you know it’s her?’
‘I recognise the voice,’ I said. ‘And she’s wearing a lime green puffer jacket, stands out a bit. Thank you,’ to the woman handed me a receipt, ‘No, don’t look…’
‘You just said…’
‘Ok, but be discreet…’
Round the site she took photographs of swans, geese and ducks, ‘Listen to the crows,’ she said.
‘No sign of the Pepperdine,’ I said as we sat drinking coffee bought from the kiosk near the Zeiss Hide and ate the sandwiches she’d made earlier. ‘I’m going to call it “The Lesser Spotted Pepperdine,”’ I said, ‘should be easy to spot with the lime green puffer.’
‘Why do they call them, “lesser”?’ she said. ‘Is it because they’re smaller?’
‘Probably,’ I said. ‘In this case not seen as often as expected considering the lime green puffer.’
We walked round some more then made our way to a place to view the four o’clock feeding but changed our minds about going in because it was so crowded.
‘Let’s go up the tower,’ she said.
On our way I said, ‘I’ve just seen the Pepperdine,’ she wasn’t that interested and kept walking, ‘she was in the café, obviously her feeding time as well, we could watch her instead of the birds.’
We didn’t of course. I’d turned quickly away when I spotted the lime green puffer having thought during the afternoon, ‘What a drag being recognised and stared at by people like me when you’re out and about…’
Saturday, January 1, 2011
MOVING ON
Experience has taught me that age and wisdom don’t always walk hand in hand down Stokes Croft.
Standing at the top of the stone steps that led down to a rain wet cobbled market square, I heard what sounded like angels singing. When I got to the square I saw the singing wasn't angels but a choir sitting outside a derelict pub partly obscured by a low mist. A little further on in the shadow of a Chinese takeaway she was waiting for me. I waved and walked over to her.
‘I can do it,’ I said when she asked about the offer'd been made me. 'It'll just take some effort and organisation, is all.'
I'd answered the phone when it rang late last night.
‘You available?’ a man's voice said.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll be in touch when it's time,’ he’d said.
‘Is that all?’ she said. ‘Didn’t he say anything else?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘that was all he said.’
I woke thinking about what I’d achieved and if I might achieve more and what it might be...
‘Don’t you know what it means?’ he said from across the table in the new Café Kino’s as I flicked through a small children's book had Danish words above pen and ink illustrations on each page.
‘I can understand everything just by looking at the pictures,’ I said.
To one side of me on the right of the table was a rack of back issues of a magazine I’d written and published a few years ago.
A young woman put a cup of black coffee in front of me before taking the rack of magazines away.
‘Where are you taking them?’ I said.
‘To where they belong,’ she said, ‘with those memories of yours we keep out back.’
‘Oh,’ I said..
‘Oh, indeed,’ she said. ‘It really is time you moved on.’
Standing at the top of the stone steps that led down to a rain wet cobbled market square, I heard what sounded like angels singing. When I got to the square I saw the singing wasn't angels but a choir sitting outside a derelict pub partly obscured by a low mist. A little further on in the shadow of a Chinese takeaway she was waiting for me. I waved and walked over to her.
‘I can do it,’ I said when she asked about the offer'd been made me. 'It'll just take some effort and organisation, is all.'
I'd answered the phone when it rang late last night.
‘You available?’ a man's voice said.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll be in touch when it's time,’ he’d said.
‘Is that all?’ she said. ‘Didn’t he say anything else?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘that was all he said.’
I woke thinking about what I’d achieved and if I might achieve more and what it might be...
‘Don’t you know what it means?’ he said from across the table in the new Café Kino’s as I flicked through a small children's book had Danish words above pen and ink illustrations on each page.
‘I can understand everything just by looking at the pictures,’ I said.
To one side of me on the right of the table was a rack of back issues of a magazine I’d written and published a few years ago.
A young woman put a cup of black coffee in front of me before taking the rack of magazines away.
‘Where are you taking them?’ I said.
‘To where they belong,’ she said, ‘with those memories of yours we keep out back.’
‘Oh,’ I said..
‘Oh, indeed,’ she said. ‘It really is time you moved on.’
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)