"I love, but do not need,
My fickle heart to bleeed
My jealous hands to grieve
and stomach seethe,
When my love she leaves."
- Who am I? Fucking Shakespeare? Enough bards out there. Too, soppy, too old school. Old school, can be ok tho...Dam! That ass is a sonnet! I should write bout that..."Bouncy bouncy, mangoes in a denin prison. I want to break you out and cover them with.." No, that will never do. Can´t be thinking like that already. Already? Its not so bad I guess. Spose my libido´s fickle if not my heart. Who´s isnt? Is hers? Fuck, I hope not. Is she writing ass poems about some waxed crack Argentinian twat? Yeah, leave that line as it is. Libido doesn´t fit anyway. Too many syllables.
"The leaves are turning, will turn again before i see her.
I want her happy, her dreams near,
Affirming forwards our love brings up the rear" - No no no! What a twat, that's terrible. Come on now. Why the fuck is she just standing there? Maybe she´s waiting for someone. But do you really need to point that thing at me? Like the lighthouse for my ship of infidelity. How I long to crash upon those ample fleshy shores! Irresponsible voluptuousness!! Hmm.
"The leaves are turning, will turn back before I see her.
Fruitless months fall, but ripening anew I fear,
That I will fall for some irresponsible voluptuousness,
For the denim nutured fruit of another."
-Ha!
"I´m locked in her embrace, but own the key.
I turned it in its lock, when she packed her case,
I would have swallowed it, for all I felt free.
But now no wind to chase, the leaves from under my feet,
No rushing tide, to wash her back to me,
No time soon, not unless I bleed,
Not unless I trample, temptations from the tree."
2. Jane :
Packing up again. Always think of the first time. Trying to pack light whilst being prepared for everything that a continent could throw at me. Trying to work out which things I didn´t need. James lying on the bed, completely calm. Horizontal, pragmatic and seemingly impartial. "Something for hot weather, something for cold."......"if you think you´ll use it". More concerned about what music I was taking. Making me a library of alluring memories. Someone should have told me to be careful what I wished for! The nostalgia, the aching domesticity: putting away the books he got me, the clothes he held me in, the little essentials I bought from Boots - all the potential teardrops. Its part of the process I suppose, drying them up. Painfully purging myself of sadness. He´d like that. I knew what I was doing though. Part of the process. He couldn´t have done anything but be calm. Supportive and defensive. Intoxicating. A final dose.
3. James:
Brownie´s not so good today. And what are these old Americans so animated about? Sweeping changes in the 1930s pharmaceutical industry. Love it when old people say "fuck". Magnets for pain control? Arthritis? "What kind of magnets do you use?" Exactly what I´d like to know, good work old American no.1. Fucknuts! Missed it writing that down. Something to do with oppositely charged magnets though. Sounds obvious. Some guy had a clinic and the feds came and shut him down. Media were all over it.
"Why is it illegal?" He´s on fire! "Because it works....The medical profesions don´t make money out of healthy people!" Conspiracy. Bored of eavesdropping now. There´s something very epic and cinematic about old American voices. They were born to narrate, having lived 50 years or so first. Very complementary these two. Maybe thats what they do. Hang around in cafes attracting interest. No.1 speaks very slowly and deliberately. Practically monotone. But what a rich coffee like tone it is! Great timing too. Drops punctuations marks like little bombs of quiet significance. The other guy´s some sort of agitated new age type. Higher pitched; rolls up and down over words gaining intensity until hitting those nasal notes of excitement. Enthusiastic swearer aswell. Unlikely seeming pair, but complementary.
Nasally guy says he´s had pneumonia recently. Seems in good shape though, except for a hacking cough - agitated by flirting with the waitress. Makes his dog bark too. Perhaps in sympathy, or maybe embarrassment. A break in conversation. Are they awkward? Can´t be seen to look over. Back onto the arthritis, maybe we´ll get to the bottom of the magnets now? No. He´s moved on. Something to do with using audio and light waves now: spectrachrome therapy? "It's illegal to practice medicine without a licence." Sense in that. Hence the Feds presumably. "If I were to help you I´d get locked up man....You can experiment on your own body though." Now we´re getting somewhere. Come on monotone, what experiments does he do? Changing the subject! But we´re onto gold! I´ve misjudged you no.1. Not the man of scientific inquisitiveness I thought you were. Attenborough, please resume your seat at the throne of fantasy grand-dads. Forgive me, I won´t be lulled into the arms of an imposter by evocative pronunciation again, I´ve learnt my lesson.
Wonder what no.2´s been doing to himself though? He´s a bit of a live-wire for someone who´s only eaten melon for the last 4 days. Has a youthful ardor about him. Guess that's how you are if you´re conducting medical experiments on your own body. That´s some belief that is. Putting yourself in the way of the consequences. Jumping out of a plane with a theoretical parachute. Pretty noble. Although if he´s ill maybe its just necessity, or desperation. Or a fervent distrust, misguided or otherwise of the alternatives. Still its action. Slapping your dick across the forehead of adversity. Yeah, pretty noble.
4. Jane:
This is what its all about: out for a drink, just me and my book. The only place in town that´s open and not a club where people shreik for joy when Cher comes one. "El Jardin", not much life, except for the Germans, they´re having fun. Still managed to pick a table for two in the corner. Not wanting to take up too much space - be in anyone´s way. So ridiculous, why should I even think about stuff like that? James indulges me in it. Picks the corner tables for me. I´m a retreat for him. I guess he´s a retreat for me, from uncertainty. I´m being unfair, thats just a part of us. And I´ve come out to be around people. Around them, but by myself. Absorb some of their warmth. Put myself in the way of possible company. Sounds pretty lonely, but that´s ok. Thats´s good.
5. James:
Extreme sports something? Its been a good year since Canyoning. Good time of year to read about someone else being cold and wet. But what though? Rafting? So cliché. Parachuting? Nah, there´s no way I´m writing one of those life flashing before your eyes, regrets and resolutions epiphany pieces. And what the fuck else do people talk about whilst falling from planes. No. Maybe Paragliding. Bit more to work with there. More time before you hit the ground. More scope for craic. Maybe there´s some sort of seedy underbelly to it all. All those paragliders returning to earth bursting with adrenalin with no outlet for the imbalance, they just start banging each other left right and centre. Volatile, incestuous jealousies are spawned between rival banging factions! And imagine the poor offspring of such tempestuous union! "The Sky´s Unhappy Underground: Paraglidings´ Unwanted Progeny". But it's probably not like that, is it? My dick always shrivels up after an adrenalin rush. It's probably all hushed talk of mythical thermals, legendary paragliders past and comparing beards round a gas stove of Bachelors soup. Besides, did that Free Running article a few months back. What else?? Come on internet, I´ve seen this all before. Bonzai gardening? Local too. But so boring. "Lockpicking: A guide to losing your keys" - now there was a mistake. Nobody read that. And I still can´t pick a lock. No, slow technical stuff flops. Nothing else like that. No... Done it... Done it... Too similar to Bivoaucing... No... Bee keeping, no fucking way, hate those little bastards. No... Ahhhhh, home micro- brewary! No there´s something indulgent. Be great though. Churning out an endless bonanza of hoppy delights. Impress house guests - oh that's a crisp little number - have you used apricots in this? You raise your glass to your lips, beads of condensation falling voluptuously down the glass, you take a deep pull. Dave from Horfield notices your adams apple stoop to welcome the regal liquid. Easing back into your chair, you emit a satisfied yet modest ¨ahhh¨. Casually, you describe a subtlety of brewing techniques deployed in search of bitter sweet tones, nettle textures, fudgey top notes, a gooseberry and vanilla finish, cinnamon aftertaste, pembrokeshire porters and the elusive "barley nose". Dave from Horfield is taken aback. Afronted, almost. He sips defensively at the alchemy in his glass. He won´t be able to look you in the eye again until he´s got his own operation pumping out the pints. Who wouldn´t want to read a witty initiation into home micro-brewary of a sunday morning? There´d be some hilarious teething problems along the way. Maybe even throw in the odd explosion! Could ask Ed, see what he thinks. Not the best choice after what he said though. No. You can keep your dignity for now Dave from Horfield.
What does he mean ¨indulgent¨anyways? And how can he say that straight off the back of "Knitting Club"?! It was fun, but hardly an indulgent choice! The only thing that could possibly have been construed as indulgent was "Living, Loving, Lap-dancing". But that was ages ago. And one of the best things I´ve written. And Janey suspected me of being a wanker until she read the drafts. Hardly indulgent.
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¨Look, you´re not going to like this, but I´m speaking as a friend, and not as your boss.¨
¨I´d probably take it better coming from my boss¨
¨It goes beyond work Jimmy..¨
¨Is this because I said your nephew´s head was aerodynamic? Because a) I didn´t know it was your nephew and b) he didn´t hear.¨
¨You´re becoming too indulgent with your writing.¨
¨What? I..You gave me a new contract last month didn´t you?¨
¨I said this was as a friend¨
¨Oh, so did you give me the contract as a boss or friend then?!¨
¨Fuck the contract Jimbo. You know exactly what I think of your writing.¨
¨I don´t get it Ed, what you saying?¨
¨Ok. You´ve become quite comfortable over that last 6 months or so haven´t you? Found your style.¨
¨I spose. But what´s wrong with that?¨
¨Nothing, people enjoy reading you. But I´m concerned you´re starting to tie yourself up in knots. I rather miss you at the beginning, when you were out of your depth a bit.¨
¨So I´ve improved and you wish I hadn´t? What´s indulgent about progress?¨
¨Maybe indulgent´s not quite the word. But its a matter of what writing is for you and how...one sec, its Christie...Mon Chere? That´s good news. Ok, one sec, I´m just saying goodbye to Jimbo....Sorry Jim, I wanted to speak to you about this before I left. Look, don´t worry about it. Send me your ideas for next month and we´ll speak in a few weeks when I get back.¨
6. Jane:
My head´s bobbing like a donkey that keeps forgetting its carrot and I´m desperately trying to stay awake. Partly because I don´t want to miss my stop. But mainly cos I don´t want to miss my first glance of the Pacific. So far, geography doesn´t want to give it to me. To my left, a wall of mist. To my right a wall of vegetation. The bus tilts and lurches along but cannot find its way out of the maze. Sylvie, a French girl I´ve met, has long since given in to the engine´s lullaby. She plunges like a metronome from head rest to window, making me feel a bit sick. If James were here I´d leave the poetic descriptions to him. He´d want to stay awake and gawp at the Pacific aswell. And I´d probably end up leaving that to him too. He´d be all warm and comfortable and I´d fall asleep. Afterwards I´d enjoy listening to the story he´d made up to impress me, or maybe himself.
The green and white box collapses for a moment as we dip down into a small village. Then returns as we dive back into the hillside. I try to focus on the green side. Leaves and branches winding out of the smokey hillside, the same every time I open my eyes. I can´t tell if I´m blinking or passing in and out.
Finally, filling a V where the hills fall away, I spy the Pacific. Its grey and barren, and worth the struggle.
7. James:
What would Janey have thought? I didn't even think about it being sexual, or least about it being real. I went in there as me, but it was research, something done for some other purpose. How'd I have justified it to her though? Just assumed I would. If I even thought about it. What if I'd found something I'd liked, would that be cheating then? Was it cheating anyway? She'd probably have just laughed at the idea of someone trampling over me with high heels. I'd probably have convinced her it was research. But what if it was the other way round, would I want her going somewhere and being whipped about? Or rubbing herself off whilst watching some leather-clad scene or other? Fuck no! Whatever the reason. Such an idiot.
Why did I freeze up like I did though? It wasn't because of Janey, not to begin with anyway. I should have just said, "Its my first time and I'm curious to see what its all about." But that would have been the truth. It didn't leave any room for maneuver. That's what panicked me. I think. The lack of possible escape or, or control. But that's also what doesn't make sense. I'm no control freak, how could I be? All I do is submit myself to the requirements, rules, social etiquette and sensations of different experiences then write about it. I'm an agendered participant, not a real one. I'm not doing it for my own reasons - like the real ones - just to look into something and find a story. I don't have to question or to justify my involvement in a month of knitting, free running, fossil hunting or getting to know lap-dancers. The justification is always prescribed. A protection of sorts. But when I got there, it just wasn't there. The cloak of disinterest dissolved by the question, "What do you like?" Had I subconsciously come to find that out? Not really. So how could I pretend? The moment had been born and it was real. It was me, there. But I wasn't me. I couldn't have been - I'm not interested in S&M, or finding out if I might be, I was out of my depth and had nothing with which to fight it, no disguise with which to suppress it. Yet there I was, all skin an bones, my under-cover clothes around my ankles.
So thoughtless and foolhardy! I could have made something really good out of interviews, they could have been anonymous, people would probably have been up for it. Why did I have to put myself in there? It shouldn't have been about my experience of it - funny paragraphs about my yelps and discomfort, the awkwardness it created. How was that going to probe the impulse that unites people who are into S&M? How could it be me when I don't have that impulse. What a twat. And what a twat if I'd been able to go through with it. It could only have been done mockingly. Is that the way I'm going?
I can't face it, but I should go back, do the piece on interviews. Redeem myself somehow. Break some taboos. Maybe I do have that impulse, maybe everybody does - just manifest in different expressions. Might have got at that through talking to people. Perhaps some people find it sinister because there's some recognition of some distant impulse in themselves to punish or be punished. I was petrified. But more of being found out for being a fake - or becoming one. That was the choice, the walls closing in me. And I did nothing to confront it. Knew I had nothing. What authority do I have to write about anything? Thinking I can charm my way through any situation. From what resevoir does this self confidence flow? The security of a job I enjoy? Some early successes in life. A girl who ticks all the boxes. But that's all just comfort. What have I actually done. What real experiences have I had? What hardships overcome? What have I really proved, what resources have I given myslf to draw upon?
Need shaking up. A kick up the arse. I need to confront something, some part of my arrogance. No melodrama though, I'm not a total cunt yet. One step at a time...One step at a time...
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What do I like? What do I like? How hadn't I anticipated this? Of course I'd have to like something. What the fuck else am I doing here? Paralysed, can't speak, can't blink even. All the moisture's frozen, eyes are locked open, no hope of disguise. She can see straight into me. But she doesn't identify me as an imposter. All that's not panic has drained out. She just assumes its my first time. She's taking my hand. Seen it all before. But now I'm not an imposter: it is my first time and I am terrified. No undercover detective twat journalist cover to fall back on. I worry what signs my sweaty palm is giving away as she leads me through layers of curtains that seem to strip away any remaining residues of confidence, dulling any reflexes that could spark a recovery. I'm a child in a laberynthine nightmare, warily led because I can't get out alone.
The room is dark. There are other people but I can't really see what they're doing, can't process anything. My hand is swapped from one less sweaty, less trembly one to another. "This is Lea, she'll look after you." I raise my head to meet the eyes of my executioner. Janey! It's Janey! Back in the Blind Cafe, the first time I saw her. Well not saw her, but made out her silhoette. Her cheeks slipping down into her stubborn chin. The oily light of her eyes just visible, or imagined, blinking atop the cliffs as she read me the menu. Would I like any thing else? I knew exactly what I wanted. It was easy to make jokes as I chased my food about in the dark. Her laugh half-suppressed and irresistible. Her voice said welcome to comfort. Suddenly I'm back in the current obscurity and this new mistress is looking at me a little concerned. I'm not sure how long it is since I was delivered to her. I'm going to have to speak. But I can't pretend, I have nothing with which to defend any part I might begin to play. If I start now it will be real. I will speak. Things will occur. The consequences will be mine. I run.
8. Jane:
She's not even reading her book: her eyes aren't moving. She's contemplating something. Nostalgising perhaps - she's got that melancholy look of remembering. Remembering's always melancholy, bittersweet: the fond memories make one glad for having had those moments yet sad at their passing, the miserable ones the opposite. Wonder what she's thinking back to? Probably things from home. Like me. Yes, I imagine she's thinking about the decisions she's made; the directions that's set her in; how she could change the things she's dissatisfied with. How she can change herself. We're clearly kindred! I wonder if she's happy? She should be - she's lucky enough to be able to come here, to put herself next to beautiful things. I should be. But it's not that easy - changing oneself - freeing up dormant parts. That's always melancholy too. You've got to kill the parts of you that prevent the bits you want to live from growing. Even if you don't like them, they're still parts of you. Don't think I'm much of a killer. Don't feel any different. Well, there are moments - surges. That feeling that comes over me, on buses normally, that whatever happens, I'll be alright. That's what I came looking for, well part of it. Just a pure state of being. There's nothing much else to do on buses. Funny though, that's also exactly what I left to get away from: that feeling of not living, just being. Well, part of it. Not pursuing anything, luxuriating in familiar routines until that's all you want, but it's not really, just getting too attached to it all, then getting defensive about it - a night out with some new people, a gig, trip somewhere, all threatening to disrupt that easy domesticity.
Its a singular feeling that comes on; clears out all others and makes the bus a benign prison. Everything external is sucked out of me and dumped in piles that may be a house, a hill, a pile of bananas, a sleeping dog. I'm moving and they can get back in. There's nothing left but me. All of a sudden its clear that I have nothing to fear from myself. It takes me to realise that I am my own guard before I can drop it. I start to like myself. To trust myself. The failings and disappointments that made me defensive haven't gone anywhere - they are in the past, they are part of what has made the person I now like, they are surmountable, I can enjoy them even. I'm happy.
But I get to my destination, I get off the bus and the invasion begins again. I have to find a place to stay. people want to take me to one place or another. I should be firmer with them. I must look rough. I stop for a coffee. I'm disgusted by the harassed tone of my voice as I order it. A fellow lone gringo throws me a friendly smile. I should smile back. I could start a conversation. I'm sposed to be opening myself up to experience, not shutting it off. I'm failing again and the guard begins to rise. Well, not always. It's a tendency, things keep it at bay. Like James. Easy to love yourself when you feel loved. But that's not enough. Its too easy. Makes me lazy. All the same I'm flipping between wanting to run back to that and enjoying being here. Natural I spose, but I can't tell if I'm making much progress. I'm being independent. Walking around in the mountains, swimming in waterfalls, getting stared at in places where they don't see gringos much, eating guinea pig - all on my own. But what does it amount to? Do I rely any less on knowing James is there for security? Do I like myself anymore? I guess I should at least be proud of myself for doing something about it. But I feel like all I did was buy a plane ticket.
9. Jane
Jane: Thanks for coming with me.
Stella: Don´t worry about it - its horrible going to the hospital on your own. And i needed to get out of the hostel anyway, been going crazy couped up in there with all this rain. You still feeling the same? Hmmm, well if you´re going to be sick or anything like that just pick a target that isn´t me. Maybe that guy, he looks half dead already, maybe it´ll wake him up a bit.
Jane: You´d make a lovely nurse.
Stella: I wanted to be one once! Don´t think I´d have had the patience tho.
Jane: So what do you do?
Stella: Well, I was teaching in a primary school
Jane: Don´t you need a lot of patience for that?
Stella: Yeah, but you get to take your frustrations out on the naughty ones. Probably shouldn´t say that! Well, I dunno - when I started, obviously I knew they´d have to fear you a bit when it came to discipline. I thought a strict policy of doing exactly what I said I would when it came to warnings and punishments would be enough. But after a while, with the persistent offenders, it only showed up how limited my options were for making life uncomfortable for them. I know it sounds a bit, harsh, but without a system for discipline, none of them learn anything.
Jane: No, no, I agree, I spose. Well, I don´t know anything about it really. So are you a bit of a dragon then?
Stella: I am now, yeah - they buy into the pantomine of it more. I guess with kids, there´s more fear in uncertainty.
Jane: Not just kids.
Stella: Yeah. like old people being less scared of death. Aren´t we being profound!
Jane: Makes a change from asking someone where they´ve been travelling so far and then nodding and say "Oh, ok", "Yeah, someone told me it was really nice there."
Stella: Actually, I´m not sure that´s right - about the old people. So what about you, what do you do?
Jane: I´m a curator. Well, assistant curator.
Stella: Oh yeah? So you´re the one who decides which paintings go where and what to say about them?
Jane: Something like that. Although the temporary exhibitions often come with instructions from the lending gallery or museum. Lots artists insist on certain display conditions too. How did you know it was art?
Stella: I didn´t think about it. Although now I do I can definitely see you hanging paintings more than putting dinosaur bones together or something!
Jane: Yeah, I always hated puzzles and lego and things like that when I was a kid.
Stella: Oh my God, Lego was all my brother thought, did or talked about for a few years. Poor little Kyle.
Jane: Why poor?
Stella: Its a long story.
Jane: Perfect for being stared at by sick Colombians in a hospital waiting room!
Stella: Ok, well once I caught him making, and forced to admit to making, "a lady´s part". It was hideous. And I wouldn´t have know either - I thought he was doing the grand canyon or something, except that he was drawing the pubes on with a pen when I caught him (laughs) he went beetroot!
Jane: Oh no.
Stella: It gets worse. So, he slams his hands over it and squeals, "Its not a human´s!"( laughing) He was so embarrassed, I´ve never seen someone look so desperate. He made me promise not to tell mum and dad. I didn´t tell, but I told my sister. She made him put it back together and said he had to make the male "compliment" and that he´d better do it more justice than he had done the female one or she would tell mum and dad.
Jane: Poor little guy!
Stella: I know. At the time tho, we just thought we had something we would always be able to use over him, that we´d be able to get our way in every argument. So anyway for a couple of weeks or so he´s secretly working away in his bedroom at night on this lego dick. We were terrible, we kept saying that if it wasn´t life like enough we´d tell. The pressure made him ill though. Mum and dad noticed how evasive and weird he was and he even got a day off school for it. So eventually he comes into our room one night and wakes us up to tell us, "It's finished." We jumped out of bed and we already pissing ourselves laughing as he shuffled us into his room, begging us to be quiet. But when we got in there, we were speechless. It was incredible!
Jane: How big was it? Oh, God, that was uncouth!
Stella: About this high. Definitely a scaled up model! But it was so detailed. He´d made like, little seams of different coloured bricks to give it veins and it had this kinda delicate foreskin and everything. We we dumbfounded - here was the finest lego penis ever created and we were the only people who would ever see it! I was sort of proud of him, and then felt really bad about making him do it. I mean, he must have got pictures or diagrams from somewhere. He couldn´t have done it from life - he was only 10 or so at the time. Imagine this terribly shy little boy going into the library to try and secretly photocopy the rude bits from a biology book or something. It must have nearly killed him.
Jane: Aww, you were horrible!
Stella: I know. When we saw how much work he´d put into it and how must distress it must have caused him, we both felt it too. He was crying, out of fear or relief, and we apologised there and then - which was something that almost never happens in our family. We helped him disassemble it. It was strange actually. A weird bonding moment. The three of us sitting there on the floor his bedroom, breaking up this incredible lego dick we´d made him build. Probably the only time I´ve really felt close to him.
Jane: Wow, that must have really given you a new perspective on lego!
Stella: Yeah it really did. I could actually see the point of it more. Like, if I´d made something like that I´d be really proud of it. And so when he made a boat or spaceship or something normal, I could understand the satisfaction he got out of it. And maybe a bit how making things out of lego kind of helped him understand the world, or process it or something.
Why did you hate lego?
Jane: I´m not sure, I suppose it frustrated me that there was a perfectly good model all broken into little pieces, waiting to be put together again. I guess I don´t have much patience either.
Stella: Or you´re a perfectionist.
Jane: What makes you say that? I mean, I probably am, but
Stella: You said it frustrated you having a perfectly good thing broken up, altho, doesn´t lego give you the possibility of making something perfect?
Jane: Yeah, but I didn´t see the point when, at most, all it took was a long time to put it all back together again.
Stella: Or some patience.
Jane: Or some patience. And bearing in mind of course that I didn´t have a terrified little brother to make me a majestic penis to get me into it!
Stella: - Laughing - I´m so glad you weren´t in my class!
Jane: Oow, why?
Stella: You´re a questioner. Its a good thing - but you were probably one of those kids who needs a load of reasons for anything before you´ll get on with it.
Jane: I probably was a bit of a nightmare. I think I was quite stubborn. Definitely much more strong willed when I was at school, college even.
Stella: You don´t think you´re strong willed now?
Jane: I´m not sure. Sometimes I look back to when I was 17 or so and miss having, or well, being sassy.
Stella: - Laughs -
Jane: No I mean, confident, well no, sassy, why not! But I´m also embarressed of the way I acted sometimes. Unaware, y´know?
Stella: Yeah, but I think everyone looks back on themselves like that..
Jane: No, you´re right. I spose I just feel disconnected from all that. Like, I still identify with that 17yr old completely, and see her as me. But I´m someone different now aswell and I wonder how that other person would do things differently if they were me now - if they´d let themselves get into situations or, be more proactive - sighs - I´m sorry I´m being pathetic
Stella: Don´t be silly, just sounds like you´ve got some regrets. Who doesn´t?
Jane: Not regrets exactly, it, it would be a long story too and I´m not even quite sure how it goes yet. Anyway, you said you were working in a primary school, how come you came out here?
Stella: Oh, well that would definitely count as pathetic - I broke up with my boyfriend, or well, he broke up with me.
Jane: What´s pathetic about that?
Stella: Well, its a bit cowardly isn´t it? I´ve run away, or at least that´s what my family thinks and its probably what people at work suspect.
Jane: Maybe you´ve run to something?
Stella: It would be nice to see it that way. But I never really had any desire to come here before, I´ve got no desire to find myself or anything like that. I was very happy with who I was and my situation at home. I just couldn´t bare the thought of having to bump into him or his family around town and hearing about him from our friends. I mainly came out here cos it was far away and there would be no associations with him here.
Jane: But you´ve come to a place where you don´t know anyone and don´t speak the language and that´s not cowardly.
Stella: Given how much I feared the alternative it was.
Jane: Well, even if you ran away, why is that bad?
Stella: Because I was happy with my life. Happy with my life outside of things with Carl and I did nothing to try and keep it. And it hasn´t worked anyway. Every new place, I imagine what it would be like if he was there with me. End up thinking about the past almost whenever I´m alone.
Jane: I know what you mean, but I suppose its just a habit and it will change.
Stella: Perhaps, but however hard I try to block him out he´s still there. I still think about what he´d like here and not. I can even recognise some of my attitudes or sort of things I say as his. Parts that are now me but came from him, I can´t imagine that going away.
Jane: ...
Stella: So you´ve had a break up recently too?
Jane: No, no I haven´t. I´m sorry, I suppose I don´t really know wat you´re going through at all. I just came away to, well to have some time away.
Stella: So he´s waiting for you?
Jane: Yeah. There was nothing wrong between us. I just needed to feel... it sounds ridiculous or cliché, but I suppose, to be my own person again.
Stella: Ha! How dramatic we are! No, but loads of people get like that in relationships, just most don't do anything about it. I used to get frustrated with Carl for it, or maybe more at myself, but it came his way! In the end though, I more or less accepted that despite wanting things that I couldn't have with a fairly settled life and despite having had plans that changed because of becoming settled, I was happy. Just realised that you can´t have it all. But I guess there´s no choice now.
Jane: Well then maybe you´re getting somethign back then. The opportunity for all the other stuff?
Stella: Yeah, I suppose. Sorry I´m being so negative.
Jane: Don´t worry about it. I´m not sure I´m doing a great job of being sensitive about it!
Stella: It's just good to feel okay talking about it. Feel quite embarrased about it all in general.
Jane: Why on earth would you feel embarrassed about it?
Stella: You know, the whole pathetic jilted woman thing. Don´t want that stereotype to be real.
Jane: Would it be any different if you were a man?? Look, these things happen - how can you be expected to feel one way or another? Of course it gonna hurt and, at least you´re doing something about it - what more can you do?
Stella: Dunno, something that seems to have an effect! 487, you´re next.
Brownie´s not so good today. And what are these old Americans so animated about? Sweeping changes in the 1930s pharmaceutical industry. Love it when old people say "fuck". Magnets for pain control? Arthritis? "What kind of magnets do you use?" Exactly what I´d like to know, good work old American no.1. Fucknuts! Missed it writing that down. Something to do with oppositely charged magnets though. Sounds obvious. Some guy had a clinic and the feds came and shut him down. Media were all over it.
"Why is it illegal?" He´s on fire! "Because it works....The medical profesions don´t make money out of healthy people!" Conspiracy. Bored of eavesdropping now. There´s something very epic and cinematic about old American voices. They were born to narrate, having lived 50 years or so first. Very complementary these two. Maybe thats what they do. Hang around in cafes attracting interest. No.1 speaks very slowly and deliberately. Practically monotone. But what a rich coffee like tone it is! Great timing too. Drops punctuations marks like little bombs of quiet significance. The other guy´s some sort of agitated new age type. Higher pitched; rolls up and down over words gaining intensity until hitting those nasal notes of excitement. Enthusiastic swearer aswell. Unlikely seeming pair, but complementary.
Nasally guy says he´s had pneumonia recently. Seems in good shape though, except for a hacking cough - agitated by flirting with the waitress. Makes his dog bark too. Perhaps in sympathy, or maybe embarrassment. A break in conversation. Are they awkward? Can´t be seen to look over. Back onto the arthritis, maybe we´ll get to the bottom of the magnets now? No. He´s moved on. Something to do with using audio and light waves now: spectrachrome therapy? "It's illegal to practice medicine without a licence." Sense in that. Hence the Feds presumably. "If I were to help you I´d get locked up man....You can experiment on your own body though." Now we´re getting somewhere. Come on monotone, what experiments does he do? Changing the subject! But we´re onto gold! I´ve misjudged you no.1. Not the man of scientific inquisitiveness I thought you were. Attenborough, please resume your seat at the throne of fantasy grand-dads. Forgive me, I won´t be lulled into the arms of an imposter by evocative pronunciation again, I´ve learnt my lesson.
Wonder what no.2´s been doing to himself though? He´s a bit of a live-wire for someone who´s only eaten melon for the last 4 days. Has a youthful ardor about him. Guess that's how you are if you´re conducting medical experiments on your own body. That´s some belief that is. Putting yourself in the way of the consequences. Jumping out of a plane with a theoretical parachute. Pretty noble. Although if he´s ill maybe its just necessity, or desperation. Or a fervent distrust, misguided or otherwise of the alternatives. Still its action. Slapping your dick across the forehead of adversity. Yeah, pretty noble.
4. Jane:
This is what its all about: out for a drink, just me and my book. The only place in town that´s open and not a club where people shreik for joy when Cher comes one. "El Jardin", not much life, except for the Germans, they´re having fun. Still managed to pick a table for two in the corner. Not wanting to take up too much space - be in anyone´s way. So ridiculous, why should I even think about stuff like that? James indulges me in it. Picks the corner tables for me. I´m a retreat for him. I guess he´s a retreat for me, from uncertainty. I´m being unfair, thats just a part of us. And I´ve come out to be around people. Around them, but by myself. Absorb some of their warmth. Put myself in the way of possible company. Sounds pretty lonely, but that´s ok. Thats´s good.
5. James:
Extreme sports something? Its been a good year since Canyoning. Good time of year to read about someone else being cold and wet. But what though? Rafting? So cliché. Parachuting? Nah, there´s no way I´m writing one of those life flashing before your eyes, regrets and resolutions epiphany pieces. And what the fuck else do people talk about whilst falling from planes. No. Maybe Paragliding. Bit more to work with there. More time before you hit the ground. More scope for craic. Maybe there´s some sort of seedy underbelly to it all. All those paragliders returning to earth bursting with adrenalin with no outlet for the imbalance, they just start banging each other left right and centre. Volatile, incestuous jealousies are spawned between rival banging factions! And imagine the poor offspring of such tempestuous union! "The Sky´s Unhappy Underground: Paraglidings´ Unwanted Progeny". But it's probably not like that, is it? My dick always shrivels up after an adrenalin rush. It's probably all hushed talk of mythical thermals, legendary paragliders past and comparing beards round a gas stove of Bachelors soup. Besides, did that Free Running article a few months back. What else?? Come on internet, I´ve seen this all before. Bonzai gardening? Local too. But so boring. "Lockpicking: A guide to losing your keys" - now there was a mistake. Nobody read that. And I still can´t pick a lock. No, slow technical stuff flops. Nothing else like that. No... Done it... Done it... Too similar to Bivoaucing... No... Bee keeping, no fucking way, hate those little bastards. No... Ahhhhh, home micro- brewary! No there´s something indulgent. Be great though. Churning out an endless bonanza of hoppy delights. Impress house guests - oh that's a crisp little number - have you used apricots in this? You raise your glass to your lips, beads of condensation falling voluptuously down the glass, you take a deep pull. Dave from Horfield notices your adams apple stoop to welcome the regal liquid. Easing back into your chair, you emit a satisfied yet modest ¨ahhh¨. Casually, you describe a subtlety of brewing techniques deployed in search of bitter sweet tones, nettle textures, fudgey top notes, a gooseberry and vanilla finish, cinnamon aftertaste, pembrokeshire porters and the elusive "barley nose". Dave from Horfield is taken aback. Afronted, almost. He sips defensively at the alchemy in his glass. He won´t be able to look you in the eye again until he´s got his own operation pumping out the pints. Who wouldn´t want to read a witty initiation into home micro-brewary of a sunday morning? There´d be some hilarious teething problems along the way. Maybe even throw in the odd explosion! Could ask Ed, see what he thinks. Not the best choice after what he said though. No. You can keep your dignity for now Dave from Horfield.
What does he mean ¨indulgent¨anyways? And how can he say that straight off the back of "Knitting Club"?! It was fun, but hardly an indulgent choice! The only thing that could possibly have been construed as indulgent was "Living, Loving, Lap-dancing". But that was ages ago. And one of the best things I´ve written. And Janey suspected me of being a wanker until she read the drafts. Hardly indulgent.
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¨Look, you´re not going to like this, but I´m speaking as a friend, and not as your boss.¨
¨I´d probably take it better coming from my boss¨
¨It goes beyond work Jimmy..¨
¨Is this because I said your nephew´s head was aerodynamic? Because a) I didn´t know it was your nephew and b) he didn´t hear.¨
¨You´re becoming too indulgent with your writing.¨
¨What? I..You gave me a new contract last month didn´t you?¨
¨I said this was as a friend¨
¨Oh, so did you give me the contract as a boss or friend then?!¨
¨Fuck the contract Jimbo. You know exactly what I think of your writing.¨
¨I don´t get it Ed, what you saying?¨
¨Ok. You´ve become quite comfortable over that last 6 months or so haven´t you? Found your style.¨
¨I spose. But what´s wrong with that?¨
¨Nothing, people enjoy reading you. But I´m concerned you´re starting to tie yourself up in knots. I rather miss you at the beginning, when you were out of your depth a bit.¨
¨So I´ve improved and you wish I hadn´t? What´s indulgent about progress?¨
¨Maybe indulgent´s not quite the word. But its a matter of what writing is for you and how...one sec, its Christie...Mon Chere? That´s good news. Ok, one sec, I´m just saying goodbye to Jimbo....Sorry Jim, I wanted to speak to you about this before I left. Look, don´t worry about it. Send me your ideas for next month and we´ll speak in a few weeks when I get back.¨
6. Jane:
My head´s bobbing like a donkey that keeps forgetting its carrot and I´m desperately trying to stay awake. Partly because I don´t want to miss my stop. But mainly cos I don´t want to miss my first glance of the Pacific. So far, geography doesn´t want to give it to me. To my left, a wall of mist. To my right a wall of vegetation. The bus tilts and lurches along but cannot find its way out of the maze. Sylvie, a French girl I´ve met, has long since given in to the engine´s lullaby. She plunges like a metronome from head rest to window, making me feel a bit sick. If James were here I´d leave the poetic descriptions to him. He´d want to stay awake and gawp at the Pacific aswell. And I´d probably end up leaving that to him too. He´d be all warm and comfortable and I´d fall asleep. Afterwards I´d enjoy listening to the story he´d made up to impress me, or maybe himself.
The green and white box collapses for a moment as we dip down into a small village. Then returns as we dive back into the hillside. I try to focus on the green side. Leaves and branches winding out of the smokey hillside, the same every time I open my eyes. I can´t tell if I´m blinking or passing in and out.
Finally, filling a V where the hills fall away, I spy the Pacific. Its grey and barren, and worth the struggle.
7. James:
What would Janey have thought? I didn't even think about it being sexual, or least about it being real. I went in there as me, but it was research, something done for some other purpose. How'd I have justified it to her though? Just assumed I would. If I even thought about it. What if I'd found something I'd liked, would that be cheating then? Was it cheating anyway? She'd probably have just laughed at the idea of someone trampling over me with high heels. I'd probably have convinced her it was research. But what if it was the other way round, would I want her going somewhere and being whipped about? Or rubbing herself off whilst watching some leather-clad scene or other? Fuck no! Whatever the reason. Such an idiot.
Why did I freeze up like I did though? It wasn't because of Janey, not to begin with anyway. I should have just said, "Its my first time and I'm curious to see what its all about." But that would have been the truth. It didn't leave any room for maneuver. That's what panicked me. I think. The lack of possible escape or, or control. But that's also what doesn't make sense. I'm no control freak, how could I be? All I do is submit myself to the requirements, rules, social etiquette and sensations of different experiences then write about it. I'm an agendered participant, not a real one. I'm not doing it for my own reasons - like the real ones - just to look into something and find a story. I don't have to question or to justify my involvement in a month of knitting, free running, fossil hunting or getting to know lap-dancers. The justification is always prescribed. A protection of sorts. But when I got there, it just wasn't there. The cloak of disinterest dissolved by the question, "What do you like?" Had I subconsciously come to find that out? Not really. So how could I pretend? The moment had been born and it was real. It was me, there. But I wasn't me. I couldn't have been - I'm not interested in S&M, or finding out if I might be, I was out of my depth and had nothing with which to fight it, no disguise with which to suppress it. Yet there I was, all skin an bones, my under-cover clothes around my ankles.
So thoughtless and foolhardy! I could have made something really good out of interviews, they could have been anonymous, people would probably have been up for it. Why did I have to put myself in there? It shouldn't have been about my experience of it - funny paragraphs about my yelps and discomfort, the awkwardness it created. How was that going to probe the impulse that unites people who are into S&M? How could it be me when I don't have that impulse. What a twat. And what a twat if I'd been able to go through with it. It could only have been done mockingly. Is that the way I'm going?
I can't face it, but I should go back, do the piece on interviews. Redeem myself somehow. Break some taboos. Maybe I do have that impulse, maybe everybody does - just manifest in different expressions. Might have got at that through talking to people. Perhaps some people find it sinister because there's some recognition of some distant impulse in themselves to punish or be punished. I was petrified. But more of being found out for being a fake - or becoming one. That was the choice, the walls closing in me. And I did nothing to confront it. Knew I had nothing. What authority do I have to write about anything? Thinking I can charm my way through any situation. From what resevoir does this self confidence flow? The security of a job I enjoy? Some early successes in life. A girl who ticks all the boxes. But that's all just comfort. What have I actually done. What real experiences have I had? What hardships overcome? What have I really proved, what resources have I given myslf to draw upon?
Need shaking up. A kick up the arse. I need to confront something, some part of my arrogance. No melodrama though, I'm not a total cunt yet. One step at a time...One step at a time...
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What do I like? What do I like? How hadn't I anticipated this? Of course I'd have to like something. What the fuck else am I doing here? Paralysed, can't speak, can't blink even. All the moisture's frozen, eyes are locked open, no hope of disguise. She can see straight into me. But she doesn't identify me as an imposter. All that's not panic has drained out. She just assumes its my first time. She's taking my hand. Seen it all before. But now I'm not an imposter: it is my first time and I am terrified. No undercover detective twat journalist cover to fall back on. I worry what signs my sweaty palm is giving away as she leads me through layers of curtains that seem to strip away any remaining residues of confidence, dulling any reflexes that could spark a recovery. I'm a child in a laberynthine nightmare, warily led because I can't get out alone.
The room is dark. There are other people but I can't really see what they're doing, can't process anything. My hand is swapped from one less sweaty, less trembly one to another. "This is Lea, she'll look after you." I raise my head to meet the eyes of my executioner. Janey! It's Janey! Back in the Blind Cafe, the first time I saw her. Well not saw her, but made out her silhoette. Her cheeks slipping down into her stubborn chin. The oily light of her eyes just visible, or imagined, blinking atop the cliffs as she read me the menu. Would I like any thing else? I knew exactly what I wanted. It was easy to make jokes as I chased my food about in the dark. Her laugh half-suppressed and irresistible. Her voice said welcome to comfort. Suddenly I'm back in the current obscurity and this new mistress is looking at me a little concerned. I'm not sure how long it is since I was delivered to her. I'm going to have to speak. But I can't pretend, I have nothing with which to defend any part I might begin to play. If I start now it will be real. I will speak. Things will occur. The consequences will be mine. I run.
8. Jane:
She's not even reading her book: her eyes aren't moving. She's contemplating something. Nostalgising perhaps - she's got that melancholy look of remembering. Remembering's always melancholy, bittersweet: the fond memories make one glad for having had those moments yet sad at their passing, the miserable ones the opposite. Wonder what she's thinking back to? Probably things from home. Like me. Yes, I imagine she's thinking about the decisions she's made; the directions that's set her in; how she could change the things she's dissatisfied with. How she can change herself. We're clearly kindred! I wonder if she's happy? She should be - she's lucky enough to be able to come here, to put herself next to beautiful things. I should be. But it's not that easy - changing oneself - freeing up dormant parts. That's always melancholy too. You've got to kill the parts of you that prevent the bits you want to live from growing. Even if you don't like them, they're still parts of you. Don't think I'm much of a killer. Don't feel any different. Well, there are moments - surges. That feeling that comes over me, on buses normally, that whatever happens, I'll be alright. That's what I came looking for, well part of it. Just a pure state of being. There's nothing much else to do on buses. Funny though, that's also exactly what I left to get away from: that feeling of not living, just being. Well, part of it. Not pursuing anything, luxuriating in familiar routines until that's all you want, but it's not really, just getting too attached to it all, then getting defensive about it - a night out with some new people, a gig, trip somewhere, all threatening to disrupt that easy domesticity.
Its a singular feeling that comes on; clears out all others and makes the bus a benign prison. Everything external is sucked out of me and dumped in piles that may be a house, a hill, a pile of bananas, a sleeping dog. I'm moving and they can get back in. There's nothing left but me. All of a sudden its clear that I have nothing to fear from myself. It takes me to realise that I am my own guard before I can drop it. I start to like myself. To trust myself. The failings and disappointments that made me defensive haven't gone anywhere - they are in the past, they are part of what has made the person I now like, they are surmountable, I can enjoy them even. I'm happy.
But I get to my destination, I get off the bus and the invasion begins again. I have to find a place to stay. people want to take me to one place or another. I should be firmer with them. I must look rough. I stop for a coffee. I'm disgusted by the harassed tone of my voice as I order it. A fellow lone gringo throws me a friendly smile. I should smile back. I could start a conversation. I'm sposed to be opening myself up to experience, not shutting it off. I'm failing again and the guard begins to rise. Well, not always. It's a tendency, things keep it at bay. Like James. Easy to love yourself when you feel loved. But that's not enough. Its too easy. Makes me lazy. All the same I'm flipping between wanting to run back to that and enjoying being here. Natural I spose, but I can't tell if I'm making much progress. I'm being independent. Walking around in the mountains, swimming in waterfalls, getting stared at in places where they don't see gringos much, eating guinea pig - all on my own. But what does it amount to? Do I rely any less on knowing James is there for security? Do I like myself anymore? I guess I should at least be proud of myself for doing something about it. But I feel like all I did was buy a plane ticket.
9. Jane
Jane: Thanks for coming with me.
Stella: Don´t worry about it - its horrible going to the hospital on your own. And i needed to get out of the hostel anyway, been going crazy couped up in there with all this rain. You still feeling the same? Hmmm, well if you´re going to be sick or anything like that just pick a target that isn´t me. Maybe that guy, he looks half dead already, maybe it´ll wake him up a bit.
Jane: You´d make a lovely nurse.
Stella: I wanted to be one once! Don´t think I´d have had the patience tho.
Jane: So what do you do?
Stella: Well, I was teaching in a primary school
Jane: Don´t you need a lot of patience for that?
Stella: Yeah, but you get to take your frustrations out on the naughty ones. Probably shouldn´t say that! Well, I dunno - when I started, obviously I knew they´d have to fear you a bit when it came to discipline. I thought a strict policy of doing exactly what I said I would when it came to warnings and punishments would be enough. But after a while, with the persistent offenders, it only showed up how limited my options were for making life uncomfortable for them. I know it sounds a bit, harsh, but without a system for discipline, none of them learn anything.
Jane: No, no, I agree, I spose. Well, I don´t know anything about it really. So are you a bit of a dragon then?
Stella: I am now, yeah - they buy into the pantomine of it more. I guess with kids, there´s more fear in uncertainty.
Jane: Not just kids.
Stella: Yeah. like old people being less scared of death. Aren´t we being profound!
Jane: Makes a change from asking someone where they´ve been travelling so far and then nodding and say "Oh, ok", "Yeah, someone told me it was really nice there."
Stella: Actually, I´m not sure that´s right - about the old people. So what about you, what do you do?
Jane: I´m a curator. Well, assistant curator.
Stella: Oh yeah? So you´re the one who decides which paintings go where and what to say about them?
Jane: Something like that. Although the temporary exhibitions often come with instructions from the lending gallery or museum. Lots artists insist on certain display conditions too. How did you know it was art?
Stella: I didn´t think about it. Although now I do I can definitely see you hanging paintings more than putting dinosaur bones together or something!
Jane: Yeah, I always hated puzzles and lego and things like that when I was a kid.
Stella: Oh my God, Lego was all my brother thought, did or talked about for a few years. Poor little Kyle.
Jane: Why poor?
Stella: Its a long story.
Jane: Perfect for being stared at by sick Colombians in a hospital waiting room!
Stella: Ok, well once I caught him making, and forced to admit to making, "a lady´s part". It was hideous. And I wouldn´t have know either - I thought he was doing the grand canyon or something, except that he was drawing the pubes on with a pen when I caught him (laughs) he went beetroot!
Jane: Oh no.
Stella: It gets worse. So, he slams his hands over it and squeals, "Its not a human´s!"( laughing) He was so embarrassed, I´ve never seen someone look so desperate. He made me promise not to tell mum and dad. I didn´t tell, but I told my sister. She made him put it back together and said he had to make the male "compliment" and that he´d better do it more justice than he had done the female one or she would tell mum and dad.
Jane: Poor little guy!
Stella: I know. At the time tho, we just thought we had something we would always be able to use over him, that we´d be able to get our way in every argument. So anyway for a couple of weeks or so he´s secretly working away in his bedroom at night on this lego dick. We were terrible, we kept saying that if it wasn´t life like enough we´d tell. The pressure made him ill though. Mum and dad noticed how evasive and weird he was and he even got a day off school for it. So eventually he comes into our room one night and wakes us up to tell us, "It's finished." We jumped out of bed and we already pissing ourselves laughing as he shuffled us into his room, begging us to be quiet. But when we got in there, we were speechless. It was incredible!
Jane: How big was it? Oh, God, that was uncouth!
Stella: About this high. Definitely a scaled up model! But it was so detailed. He´d made like, little seams of different coloured bricks to give it veins and it had this kinda delicate foreskin and everything. We we dumbfounded - here was the finest lego penis ever created and we were the only people who would ever see it! I was sort of proud of him, and then felt really bad about making him do it. I mean, he must have got pictures or diagrams from somewhere. He couldn´t have done it from life - he was only 10 or so at the time. Imagine this terribly shy little boy going into the library to try and secretly photocopy the rude bits from a biology book or something. It must have nearly killed him.
Jane: Aww, you were horrible!
Stella: I know. When we saw how much work he´d put into it and how must distress it must have caused him, we both felt it too. He was crying, out of fear or relief, and we apologised there and then - which was something that almost never happens in our family. We helped him disassemble it. It was strange actually. A weird bonding moment. The three of us sitting there on the floor his bedroom, breaking up this incredible lego dick we´d made him build. Probably the only time I´ve really felt close to him.
Jane: Wow, that must have really given you a new perspective on lego!
Stella: Yeah it really did. I could actually see the point of it more. Like, if I´d made something like that I´d be really proud of it. And so when he made a boat or spaceship or something normal, I could understand the satisfaction he got out of it. And maybe a bit how making things out of lego kind of helped him understand the world, or process it or something.
Why did you hate lego?
Jane: I´m not sure, I suppose it frustrated me that there was a perfectly good model all broken into little pieces, waiting to be put together again. I guess I don´t have much patience either.
Stella: Or you´re a perfectionist.
Jane: What makes you say that? I mean, I probably am, but
Stella: You said it frustrated you having a perfectly good thing broken up, altho, doesn´t lego give you the possibility of making something perfect?
Jane: Yeah, but I didn´t see the point when, at most, all it took was a long time to put it all back together again.
Stella: Or some patience.
Jane: Or some patience. And bearing in mind of course that I didn´t have a terrified little brother to make me a majestic penis to get me into it!
Stella: - Laughing - I´m so glad you weren´t in my class!
Jane: Oow, why?
Stella: You´re a questioner. Its a good thing - but you were probably one of those kids who needs a load of reasons for anything before you´ll get on with it.
Jane: I probably was a bit of a nightmare. I think I was quite stubborn. Definitely much more strong willed when I was at school, college even.
Stella: You don´t think you´re strong willed now?
Jane: I´m not sure. Sometimes I look back to when I was 17 or so and miss having, or well, being sassy.
Stella: - Laughs -
Jane: No I mean, confident, well no, sassy, why not! But I´m also embarressed of the way I acted sometimes. Unaware, y´know?
Stella: Yeah, but I think everyone looks back on themselves like that..
Jane: No, you´re right. I spose I just feel disconnected from all that. Like, I still identify with that 17yr old completely, and see her as me. But I´m someone different now aswell and I wonder how that other person would do things differently if they were me now - if they´d let themselves get into situations or, be more proactive - sighs - I´m sorry I´m being pathetic
Stella: Don´t be silly, just sounds like you´ve got some regrets. Who doesn´t?
Jane: Not regrets exactly, it, it would be a long story too and I´m not even quite sure how it goes yet. Anyway, you said you were working in a primary school, how come you came out here?
Stella: Oh, well that would definitely count as pathetic - I broke up with my boyfriend, or well, he broke up with me.
Jane: What´s pathetic about that?
Stella: Well, its a bit cowardly isn´t it? I´ve run away, or at least that´s what my family thinks and its probably what people at work suspect.
Jane: Maybe you´ve run to something?
Stella: It would be nice to see it that way. But I never really had any desire to come here before, I´ve got no desire to find myself or anything like that. I was very happy with who I was and my situation at home. I just couldn´t bare the thought of having to bump into him or his family around town and hearing about him from our friends. I mainly came out here cos it was far away and there would be no associations with him here.
Jane: But you´ve come to a place where you don´t know anyone and don´t speak the language and that´s not cowardly.
Stella: Given how much I feared the alternative it was.
Jane: Well, even if you ran away, why is that bad?
Stella: Because I was happy with my life. Happy with my life outside of things with Carl and I did nothing to try and keep it. And it hasn´t worked anyway. Every new place, I imagine what it would be like if he was there with me. End up thinking about the past almost whenever I´m alone.
Jane: I know what you mean, but I suppose its just a habit and it will change.
Stella: Perhaps, but however hard I try to block him out he´s still there. I still think about what he´d like here and not. I can even recognise some of my attitudes or sort of things I say as his. Parts that are now me but came from him, I can´t imagine that going away.
Jane: ...
Stella: So you´ve had a break up recently too?
Jane: No, no I haven´t. I´m sorry, I suppose I don´t really know wat you´re going through at all. I just came away to, well to have some time away.
Stella: So he´s waiting for you?
Jane: Yeah. There was nothing wrong between us. I just needed to feel... it sounds ridiculous or cliché, but I suppose, to be my own person again.
Stella: Ha! How dramatic we are! No, but loads of people get like that in relationships, just most don't do anything about it. I used to get frustrated with Carl for it, or maybe more at myself, but it came his way! In the end though, I more or less accepted that despite wanting things that I couldn't have with a fairly settled life and despite having had plans that changed because of becoming settled, I was happy. Just realised that you can´t have it all. But I guess there´s no choice now.
Jane: Well then maybe you´re getting somethign back then. The opportunity for all the other stuff?
Stella: Yeah, I suppose. Sorry I´m being so negative.
Jane: Don´t worry about it. I´m not sure I´m doing a great job of being sensitive about it!
Stella: It's just good to feel okay talking about it. Feel quite embarrased about it all in general.
Jane: Why on earth would you feel embarrassed about it?
Stella: You know, the whole pathetic jilted woman thing. Don´t want that stereotype to be real.
Jane: Would it be any different if you were a man?? Look, these things happen - how can you be expected to feel one way or another? Of course it gonna hurt and, at least you´re doing something about it - what more can you do?
Stella: Dunno, something that seems to have an effect! 487, you´re next.
James .10
Episode 10
James: What does the smoke do?
Richard: It causes them to fly in the opposite direction.
James: Right, that’s handy. It doesn’t make them angry then?
Richard: No. They assume there’s a fire and fly the other way.
James: What does make them angry? So I can not do it.
Richard: Aside from the obvious?
James: That being?
Richard: Well, violent movements, handling the hive clumsily, saying rude things about the Queen.
James: Right, of course. But they must get angry sometimes. I mean, they can be aggressive?
Richard: Yes, they can be, but it's usually the result of some disturbance or other, rodents trying to steal honey for example.
James: Don’t steal honey, got it... But what about the honey you take?
Richard: I’m more stealthy than the rodents. Make sure everything loose is tucked in. Sleeves in gloves, trousers in boots.
James: Ok. But what else then? Or have bees just fallen victim to slander?
Richard: Are you trying to turn me into a bee apologist?
James: It would be convenient for the article.
Richard: Well it’s mainly panic that causes problems with people. Bees tend to encounter people in enclosed spaces, in their house or cars. The bees are already lost and on edge because they can’t find their way back to the hive. You’ll also meet them if you’re in your garden scoffing down jam and scones, which is like a low cleavage and a wink for a bee. Its confusing signals if you then start swatting at it. Flowers don’t put up much of a fight.
James: Some powerful imagery... So they don’t go looking for trouble is what you’re saying?
Richard: Typically, no. Occasionally you might find a particular colony to be aggressive but if it’s not a reaction to disturbance its probably a genetic issue. How’s the suit now?
James: Ok, lighter than I thought.
Richard: Change the Queen and the behavior of the hive soon changes too.
James: Hmm.
Richard: The other thing they really don’t like is bad weather.
James: Hence you couldn’t see me yesterday.
Richard: No, I had to pick my wife up from work. Ok, stand close so you can see what I’m doing, you can do the next one.
James: How close? This close?
Richard: No right up here next to me, so you can see clearly.
James: Right. Ok.
Richard: Now, when I take the lid off the bees will move to the top to find out what’s happening. Don’t be alarmed if you get some extra attention.
James: Ok. Urrrrr, wow, there they are. They don’t seem too bothered. Although, here come a few. Quite a few! Why are they all coming for me and not for you?!
Richard: (Chuckling) They’re used to me...So, this part is the super, I slide it out and, a bit of smoke, we can see the frames.
James: Should there be so many on my mask?
Richard: Don’t worry about them. So you can see there’s plenty of honey.
James: Yeah.
Richard: These here are capped cells, and these are uncapped, the ones they’re still adding to. Now to check the brood. You see these cells, near the centre of the comb?
James: Yeah.
Richard: If you look to the bottom of each cell there’s a sugar like dot.
James: Yeah, I think so.
Richard: Those are the eggs. And these cells here contain the larvae.
James: Oh yeah, like little worms.
Richard: So, plenty of egg cells, plenty of larvae – Queen’s laying. I’m also looking for any signs of discoloration, spots, mottling, that they’re moving freely, any signs of illness. This lot are fine. A quick look at the hive itself for signs of damp or intrusion. Fine again. And we can slide the super back and, pass me the lid please. There, I’ll check on them again in ten days. Any questions?
James: No. No, I don’t think so.
Richard: That’s unusual for a journalist. You ok in there?
James: Yeah. More or less.
Richard: Well your turn to check the next one then?
James: Right. Ok. This one?...Right...
Richard: That’s it, slow and deliberate movements. Did I mention these are African Killer Bees?
James: Hilarious. Did you do stand up before the bees?
Richard: I was a fireman actually. Don’t worry about the bees, you’ll soon get used to one another. That’s it, now slide out the super in one smooth movement, a little smoke so you can see what you’re doing. Now, have I got honey in there?
James: Yeah.
Richard: Good thick comb?
James: Yeah, I think so. About half of the, thing.
Richard: Frame. Fine. What’s next?
James: See if there’s eggs and larvae?
Richard: Exactly, check the brood.
James: They’re all over it though, more smoke?
Richard: A little.
James: I still can’t see... Oh yes, there they are, the larvae. Seems like a lot. And I think I can see the eggs too, really hard to tell though.
Richard: Here you are, little white specks?
James: Oh yeah. Umm, diseased bees? Having no trouble flying around my face or crawling up my arm, hive looks alright, can I put it away now?
Richard: (Chuckling) Slightly cursory treatment at the end there, but yes fine.
James: (rubbing around the edges of his mask and gloves) Well that was fun, but you can do the next few if you like.
Richard: (Chuckling) Alright, but there`s one down the end there that could have a little look at later.
James: More killer bees?
Richard: No, just a spot of detective work for you. You`ll need to observe the behavior of the bees around the other hives carefully to spot the problem.
James: Ok... I wasn't expecting such a baptism of fire, but yeah, fine. Good... I suppose that's what you do when there’s a problem with them? I mean, can you always diagnose what's wrong by comparing it to normal behavior?
Richard: Not to diagnose the problem but to flag it up. The cause of the problems that occur most frequently can often be guessed because the resulting abnormal behavior is therefore familiar too. Like aggression. I can usually guess pretty accurately what has caused increased aggression in a colony having observed hive reactions to different stimuli so many times in the past.
James: Do they have any individuality, any traits that differ between hives but aren’t problems, that’s just the way they are, like a hive personality or something?
Richard: In a manner of speaking. One colony may have slightly different normal behavior to another, which you could call individuality or character, but that would usually be down to things like location and genetics...
James: Sounds very satisfying.
Richards: What’s that?
James: All sounds very mathematical – applying cause and effect to behavior and actually getting answers. Shame that doesn’t work with people!
Richard: Well, bees are all working towards the same goal...
James: Survival.
Richard: Yes, continued survival and expansion of the colony. Even so, there can be times for the bees when the cause and effect, as you put it, appears to go out the window. I keep a record of observations for each hive to keep track of behavior. Helps to diagnose what causes changes. But occasionally behavior will also defy the history of the hive. Reacting differently to a familiar stimulus when all other external factors seem constant…or even not reacting to a threat to the hive. That’s when things get really fascinating. And confounding.
James: But there must be answers for behavior like that, just too many factors, too complicated to actually put together and understand?
Richard: In my opinion yes. That’s what’s so tantalising. My wife gets pretty bored of me when I’ve got a problem hive. Says I can’t put it down and at the end of the day they’re only bees. She’s right of course, but the lingering possibility of working it out, discovering the cause of their change in behavior keeps me up thinking about it. Am I sounding like the obsessed bee stroking type that would serve your article better?
James: Don’t stop!
-They chortle-
Richard: Pass the lid again please.
James: Here you are. I’d say it was normal behavior. Who can leave a problem be if they feel they have the tools and information to solve it?
Richard: The sane ones.
James: Yeah, maybe. Impossible to talk about normal behavior with humans anyway so that gets you off the hook anyway.
Richard: I don’t know about that one. Because there’s plenty anyone could agree is not normal: wearing your trousers inside out, murder, enjoying the music of the Pet Shop Boys.
James: But that might be normal behavior for the individual.
Richard: Few individuals in a consensus fit the consensual view.
James: Hmm... Deep.
Richard: Hmm.
James: How long have you been married?
Richard: Eight years.
James: And how did you meet?
Richard: I sold her some honey.
James: Really? (Laughing) So she tasted your honey and knew she could never have another’s?
Richard: Something along those lines. She was always very interested in the lifestyle too.
James: Of bee keeping?
Richard: Oh, you’d love that for the article wouldn’t you! The two of us eating honey sandwiches through bee-beards, wearing plastic antenae and (running out of steam)... writing poetry.
James: (Laughs) Bee-beards? Oh yeah, seen that. You ever done it?
Richard: Not what bees are for. No, she was very drawn to the whole thing. The bees, the garden, chickens – self sufficiency. Well, as self sufficient as we can be. Can’t grow the Radio Times.
James: You can get that on the internet you know.
Richard: The internet then. The pickup too, electricity. But we mostly feed ourselves and live off the proceeds from the farm. Well, and Liz’s salary, but we’ll get by without it when she retires.
James: In control of your own destiny.
Richard: Have you been observing the bees around the hives?
James: Urr, not to the best of my abilities, no. But in my defence I was distracted by your worldly insight.
Richard: Absolved. Well, take a good look at these two hives. One is healthy. One is not. Which one do you think is the weak one?
James: Urm, I dunno…This one?
Richard: And how do you reckon that?
James: Well, in this one, there seem to be bees going in, coming out and flying around it. In the other one they’re going in and out but there aren’t any flying around.
Richard: A telling observation!
James: Yeah?
Richard: Why do you think they’re flying around it?
James: Urr, don’t know. Are they guarding it? The other one’s the weak one because it doesn’t have guard bees!
Richard: Not an unreasonable assumption. Although you wouldn’t normally want your guard bees wasting energy by flying around too much. They’re usually stationed at the entrance to the hive checking the bees coming in belong to the colony. Look harder Simba.
James: Well now you’re just conforming to the Pet Shot Boys hating, Lion King watching bee keeper stereotype on purpose.
Richard: Simba!
James: Alright. You're the one bringing Lion King into it. Alright…they’re flying around the hive… Some of these ones keep stopping and landing for a second then taking off again.
Richard: Warmer.
James: Is this the weak hive?
-Richard smiles-
James: These ones are flying around trying to get in? Ha! I’m right, aren’t I? Why are they trying to get in? Why is it weak?
Richard: They want to get and take the honey. Why it’s weak, you can probably have a look inside and tell me now.
James: Ok…Lid. Thanks. Hmm, there’s honey, not as much as in the other ones. Bad sign?...Check the brood…still not really sure about the eggs. Not much larvae in here I can see though. Not much at all. Is that it? Queen’s not laying? So less bees to look after the hive?
- Richard smiles and nods -
James: You set me up for that earlier! Was fun though. What can you do to make it strong again?
Richard: I’ve been feeding this lot sugars for the last week, give them some extra strength whilst seeing if the queen recovers. Looks like I’m going to have to do away with her though.
James: Won’t that piss off the other bees?
Richard: They’re hardly defending it as it is. So I’ll have to introduce a new cache of bees anyway, and they’ll only settle with their own queen.
James: But won’t the others see it as an invasion?
Richard: They need a queen. If it’s a smooth transition they’ll usually accept the new one.
James: The queen is dead, long live the queen.
Richard: Would you like to try some of our honey now?
James: I’d love to.
