Monthly Archives: June, 2009
Sunday – “in the slope of your shoulders which I’d presumed to understand and of which I knew nothing”
MindReader is not a very emotional person. Well actually that’s not quite true. He probably is, he just doesn’t proclaim things like he feels like Emily Bronte when it’s thundering, or that he is feeling Very Sad when the cake turns out burnt and rubbish, like I do. That Sunday I woke up late, walked …
Saturday
“What would you like to do today?” MadFather says. I shrug. I am feeling slightly better – thank god, thank god – but I am supposed to be going on a hen night out and the thought of walking across Birmingham and staying awake fills me with dread. I phone and cancel, and try not …
Friday
“So,” MadFather says. “How are you feeling?” “Bit crap,” I say, and give a sniff. “But not too crap to function. Just – you know – warning signs.” I look out of the window and mentally work out how many hours until MindReader’s return. I haven’t heard a thing, which is oddly familiar. Indeed he …
Thursday
MindReader, MadFather and I are fruit picking. MindReader is about to go away for three days, and has taken some annual leave to do fun stuff. I am half-distracted by fears of a cold. That slight heaviness, body protesting at walking, sore throat. Sigh. MindReader’s arm encircles my waist as he pops a raspberry into …
On 4 cakes and whizz pops
MindReader and I are at the BFG. We are surrounded by little people. They are constantly walking along the rows of the seats, so every few seconds we both have to stand up. “Erm,” I say. And stop, and think quietly to myself. I knew the BFG was a children’s book. And looking back I …
Early Morning Sun/Shine it and I’m Gone
It is ten past eight on a Monday morning. MindReader and I have had breakfast together on a weekday for the first time in 18 months. I walk up Church street, past the cathedral and through the flower beds. I had almost forgotten what the early-morning air was like. Somehow crisper, almost autumnal-feeling. I draw …
If music be the food of love…
“What you playing?” I say to MindReader, who is strumming away on his new guitar. “Not saying,” he says. MindReader is very shy. “Please,” I say, rolling off the sofa and trying to grab his music book. “No!” he says. I leave it, for this is how MindReader responds. I play with my phone. “It’s …
“For we each of us deserve everything, every luxury that was piled in the tombs of the dead kings, and we each of us deserve nothing, not a mouthful of bread in hunger. Have we not eaten while another starved? Will you punish us for that? Will you reward us for the virtue of starving while others ate? No man earns punishment, no man earns reward. Free your mind of the idea of deserving, the idea of earning, and you will begin to be able to think.” Ursula LeGuin, The Dispossessed.
I poke Stranger in the ribs. We are both at a wedding. “So,” I say, “how do you deal with the possibility that it can come back?” Stranger doesn’t miss a beat, for this appears to be what we do. “A very good question,” he says, sipping something that smells like alcoholic licorice. “You know, …
On my hair
“I have alien hair?” I say to MindReader as he walks in from work. “What kind of alien?” he says, looking at his phone. “An alien with awful hair.” He looks up. “It’s fine,” he says. And then he does this thing. He sort of – wipes his hand over his stubble, covering a smirk. …
On potential dieting, or, at least, not having pudding with lunch and dinner
“Hi!” I say as MindReader comes in. I am conked out on the sofa. Working for money is TIRING. “Hey,” he says. “Good day?” “No,” he says. “Something bad happened.” My stomach gives a little lurch. MindReader is ALWAYS fine. “What?” He sighs. “I leaned over to pick up an elastic band and my boxers …
