No.43:
You will begin to realise that it is foolish to put your trust in people, even the ones you love – especially the ones you love.
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Love
No.42:
You will, beyond your wildest expectations, manage to get a date with Sally, the sexy new girl in class.
You will be bowled over by her. Sitting close to her in the Rose and Crown, you will cup her delicate chin in your hands and say: ‘I think I am falling in love with you.’
Arriving at school the following day you will discover that she has dumped you. She is now going out with Glynn, the head boy and rugby team captain.
You will also discover she has been telling everyone that she thinks you are ‘creepy.’
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Audrey loves to chase birds in the park – especially the big black crows that flap and fly away and laugh at her from the plane trees beyond the long grass. She has of course yet to catch one.
This morning she startled a wood pigeon that was quietly minding its own business pecking at the cold ground on the path at the entrance to the children’s play area. In making its escape it flew directly into her; she was knocked on to her back and a pathetic yelp of canine dismay was released amidst the chaos of fur and feather.
She twisted on to her feet and hastily retreated to the relative safety of the area between my feet. ‘I have decided not to chase any more birds, father,’ her big brown eyes informed me. ‘I believe them to be rather annoying and unpredictable creatures.’
I dusted off her long back. ‘I know exactly what you mean, Audrey.’
On the way home we passed a woman with a face so wry and lovely that it was scored instantaneously into my permanent memory: I was falling in love again.
On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
Fortress Round My Heart – Ida Maria
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For some reason, everything seems brighter this morning.
I felt refreshed when I awoke, which is unusual for me – I mostly wake up feeling more tired than when I went to bed. My first cup of tea of the day tasted like hot nectar, as if it had been brewed by naked Japanese virgins, and the politicians arguing on the morning news about their vain hierarchies made me smile instead of annoying me intensely, as they do usually.
Audrey and I went for our stroll around the rec’, the sun was shining, the birds’ songs were louder and more mellifluous than yesterday, and for once, no one tried to engage me in a soul-destroying conversation about trivial nonsense.
Best of all, as I write this at 11am, I have not – so far today, at least – been overcome by existential doubt and worry. I have experienced no lingering perception of the basic horror of the universe.
I feel hopeful. I wonder why . . .
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A drunken couple were fighting outside in the street at 2am this morning. I had been fast asleep but I couldn’t resist getting out of bed to have look out of the window.
The man had a beer bottle in his hand and was staggering around in the middle of the road. ‘I f***ing love you, Kerry,’ he was saying.
‘F**k off, c**t!’ screamed the girl at the top of her lungs. She had lost her shoes and her blouse had been torn at the neck.
‘I didn’t kiss nobody, Kerry,’ he told her. Then things took a distinctly Shakespearian turn: ‘I didn’t kiss her, Kez, O darling mine, O tiger’s heart wrapped in a woman’s hide,’ he protested.
‘Leave me alone, c**t,’ she moaned. Then, standing on one leg for effect, she farted loudly.
‘Doth thy other mouth call me?’ he asked.
‘What?’ Her face was distorted in a pathetic grimace of hate and ignorance, and I could clearly see mascara beginning to run down her cheeks.
He gave up. He turned and trundled off up the hill in the opposite direction, leaving her standing there bathed in the sodium glare of the streetlights, swaying to some inner rhythm and crying quietly. ‘From thy hated presence part I so,’ he shouted into the night.
She stayed where she was, apparently unable to move. She was pulling on her bottom lip, probably searching for a handle on the moment. I worried that she was going to topple over backwards and bang her head on our wall – and that that would be the end of her; but she remained safely rooted to the spot, seemingly deep in drunken thought.
‘Look,’ I whispered to Audrey, ‘She’s winding up the watch of her wit; by and by it will strike.’
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