Days 167 - 173

Another catch up of the days

Day 167. Charlie has of course revealed himself and I’m sure anyone else would have worked it out an age ago. Although he bears the shape and manner of a dog he is actually a Glendanvagher. One of those rare and unique sprites that guard the Vunderdors or TTVX as we crudely call them. I thought them the stuff of legend but now, standing in fetid mud of this Victorian streetscene, I know them to be both true and as real as I. What adventure does day 168 bring?

Day 168. I know what has happened and yet still I stand here bemused. Passers by are staring at me and the odd individual has exhorted me to "Move on", some with riper language than that. I took a few moments to acclimatise myself to the scene. Although many, many years ago there are things I would recognise from today and our modern high street. A public house called The Lamb and Flag, a coffee house (which is the equivalent of Costa) and a Mrs Lovett's Pie Shop (which the equivalent of Greggs)

Day 169. I stare at wonder at the street in front of me. The hustle and bustle and extraordinary way in which they make their way through the muddied street with hardly a slip. I cannot work out their reasons for such activity but it is like a ballet in front of my eyes. Charlie sits and watches with me. In fact it would be quite lovely were it not for the quite appalling smell that arises from the ground. The answer to its source is solved in one deft movement as I watch a woman tip her ablutions into a small blocked channel outside her doorstep. 

Day 170. I have to think about how I am going to cope here. At first I believed my knowledge of modern inventions would be my livelihood. I started off by trying to explain one of our most wonderous and one that any person would jump at. They are so simple they don’t even see the benefits Formica can bring. I realised that whilst I know of our progress and have used many things I have absolutely no idea how they are made. This rather knocked me back until I realised. I must find their equivalent of a bookmaker and place money on future events. I shall be a millionaire in no time.

Day 171. I have begun to realise that I must be careful how I interact with events in this time as I could disturb the future causing catastrophic affects. The thought of this weighs heavy as I wonder what I may have accidently done already. If Formica gets invented too early all hell could break loose leading to heavy rainfall and floods in some areas. I have decided n ot to use my real name so that my appearance in history books will not reveal my presence. I have chosen the name Byron C Felthenger as it is both obvious and will have few tax implications in the future. Now to find a ‘bookmaker’.

Day 172. A small stumbling block has emerged in my plan to place bets on events I know the outcome of and I am kicking myself again. My failure to listen and study in History means I have little to no knowledge of what occurred during the Victorian age. I have vague recollections of half remembered sentences but nothing I would place money on. Why didn’t I tasnport to Roman times where I least I remember how they built their roads? So what can I bet upon? My chances of collecting on the Derby winner in 2011 are slight and who would take that bet? How can I win on the fact that Manchester United will dominate the Premier League when neither the club nor the sport exists? I am going to have to think once again.

Day 173. I have purchased a local paper from a young lad. I shall never watch the film Oliver again in the same way. It appears that I have arrived in the year 1854 in August somewhere around the Soho district. I must say it is not the Soho that I know. Dark, rank and clearly run down. There is the smell of a malting house or something but the overall nose is one of dirt. Something is nagging at the back of my head. Was this the year that Peter Stringfellow started his club?

A Poet's Life

As a school child we were set the task of writing a poem about loneliness. It was the major project for the term. On the evening before the massive tome was to be submitted I hadn't written a word. Panic set in and everything I produced was rubbish. Finally, as my Mother was shouting at me to turn off my light, I penned the following.

In me room
On me todd
Wiv me Guinness

A week later our work was handed back and I prepared myself for the tirade. However, on opening my book I saw A+ and lovely comments. It was chosen by the teacher to explain how one can overwrite and sometimes simplicity is key. I sat back and thought, "This poetry lark in money for old rope" and so for the next poem I adopted a similar approach. Sadly my next attempt did not garner the praise and approbation I had hoped for. It follows here

The weather today will be fine
The weather tomorrow will be rubbish
Bom bom diddily bom
Reginald Fish

Last night, in the sleepless bit, I realised that I had a 50% hit rate so this morning I would just write an instant poem. It will start below this but I have no idea what it will say and whatever it does I will just post. So here goes

A Poem

I'd hate to be a penguin
I'd hate to have their fear
You're safe inside your wrapper
And then the hand comes near

Days 150 to 166

Day 150. I pull to door towards me and step out. I catch my breath as I think I have stepped back in time but then remember that 1970's is still classic decor for a hotel on this island. I make my way down to reception which is still a mess from the tigers. Wait, so that part is true? I must make my way to my collection of memory stones and see how much is real and which part are no more than Kefflenhers.

Day 151. Why do I love palindromic days? I went down to the beach to find my collection of stones. There were only 78. I sat and used the memory I planted in the last stone and go back to the day I covered myself in mayonnaise. A ghastly and quite hideous thought overcomes me. Is it possible I got food poisoning on that day. Is it possible that the last 73 days have merely been my bad dreams as I sweated on that hotel bed. It seems unbearable to think. All that torture, all that pain, all that struggle and it was only in my head. I feel I have lost 78 days of my life and I feel utterly bereft and without hope. I turn in despair and then see where I put the other memory stones. Oh, I am a one.

Day 152. This is the first day I have felt well for some time. It is amazing how much ones attitude is influenced by ones health. I took a walk along the prom (prom, prom) just listening to the sound of the waves (no brass band). It was beautiful. Maybe the key to feeling happy is to find ways to appreciate where you are rather than wish you were somewhere else?

Day 153. In this new spirit of enjoying the moment I went into a stationers and got some of those fluorescent stickers. Every time I have seen something that has made me feel glad to be alive I have put a sticker on it. My thinking being that if I ever feel gloomy again I just look for a sticker to cheer myself up. It all went well until the squirrel made me laugh. They really are quick little beggars but luckily the stone I threw stunned it. Well I say stunned....

Day 154. It’s cold, but not too cold to sit on the beach and watch the waves. As my eyes lose focus through the constant repetition so the metronomic quality of the sound takes over in my mind. It is calming, peaceful,……… hypnotizing. I drift away. When I come to, I find myself in the Amusement Arcade dressed as Shirley Bassey wearing a long red dress, heels and singing ‘Something’ in a very loud voice. In retrospect in not sure Roy Castle had the personality for Record Breakers.

Day 154. I am still trying to see the positive in everything so I went into the old fashioned Gentlemens Outfitters on the High Street. It is like something from the 1950’s and really rather evocative. I desperately wanted a man in a purple Fez and waistcoat to come out and serve me but I am alone so I decided to play Mr Benn on my own. I found I was humming the theme tune I as went into the changing room. After a short while I came out dressed as a man left alone on an island. Finally I can fulfill my fantasy

Day 155. Continuing my fantasy life on the island I went to the old fashioned barbers. It still has one of the red and white poles outside from when, not only did they cut hair, they pulled teeth. I barged open the door and shouted, “My Man, I want a fine shave as I am walking out later today.” Actually, talking out loud as though there is someone there somehow makes you feel less lonely. I almost screamed and fainted when the back door to the shop swung open. As I recovered I looked down to see a faithful dog waiting for its owner who will never return. Its eyes looking up at me were the souls of sadness. I don’t care. However he looks at me I am not going to let him shave me.

Day 156. I now have the worst shave ever. Something in the dogs eyes finally convinced me to let him have a go. He must have seen his previous owner shave thousands of people. By using Gaffa tape I was able to attach the open cut throat to his front paw. At first he just ran off leaving trail through the grass like a mini scythe but when he returned he had a go at my stubble. It's not great and the blood and grass looked awful at first. I have called him Charlie so I could say - "Thats bl**dy awful Charlie." Ooooh, perhaps I have been unfair to him. He may be 'left pawed'.

Day 157. Charlie the dog and I have struck up quite a friendship. It’s amazing how having something to look after can really give your life meaning. Perhaps it is having to think of someone or something else before yourself that takes the selfish edge off the way you live and think. Whatever has happened Charlie certainly seems a lot happier now he has me to look after.

Day 158. We have been playing 'stick' on the beach. It's a great way to fill time and to get exercise. Charlie really loves it although he can't throw it very far. I am really enjoying having made a friend. No man is an island although I was for too long. This little animal is my bridge to another world

Hotel Time = Show and Tell

Day 159. As Charlie cannot throw it today we been playing a different game of 'stick' on the beach. I’m not sure Charlie has quite got the hang of it. I have tried to explain the rules of ‘Stick in the Mud’ but I don’t think dogs play that game either so he refuses to run through my legs and free me. Our first game took just over six hours and in the end I had to free myself. Thank goodness I worked as a contortionist for that school holiday. I was one of the few people who could genuinely tickle his own fancy.

Day 160. Having Charlie has created a rhythm for each day. Suddenly I have to think about regular food times and if I don’t the whining reminds me. Charlie hates my whining so I eat for him. It turns out he needs to eat for him too, so I am having to defrost twice as much food as before from the supermarkets. The gulls on the beach fascinate him and plays for hours chasing after them. I sit and stare at the sea but his barking in the background reminds me I am no longer alone

Day 161. Today I awoke bleary eyed to the strangest sight. I think the gulls have ganged up on Charlie. He has come back with his black coat peppered with white droppings. Now I know where the expression ‘hang dog look’ comes from. It is like his confidence has been shattered and the gulls are responsible for the first four letter. I need to cheer him up as he has done so much for me.

Day 162. Took Charlie for a walk along the beach I rarely explore. He ran ahead and disappeared into a cave I didn't know where there. When I got to the mouth of the opening he was nowhere to be seen and my claustrophobia made it hard to enter. I shouted his name and saw him run towards me but the echo confused him and he ran back further in. I shouted again and the same happened. Over and over again but this was no game. A sudden chill hit me when I realised the echoed voice was not mine

Day 163. I have forced myself to go further into the cave to find Charlie and the mysterious voice. I have had to find a way to overcome my Claustrophobia. I have done this by convincing myself that I am terrified not by fear of small places but rather by Father Christmas. It appears to be working at the moment but if I run into a man dressed in red with a white beard I am done for.

Day 164. I have followed Charlie to the darkest, dampest and narrowest space. He turned to look at me much as Skippy and Flipper do and then .... Jumped forward and disappeared

Day 165. What has happened? One minute Charlie was there and then next he was gone. I have gone forward on hands and knees to the very place that Charlie stood when he looked back at me. Was he encouraging me to follow him and if so – to where?

Day 166. It seemed too obvious to be true but I guess I always knew what Charlie was doing. I feel a fool now but we can always doubt what is staring us in the face. I fumbled forwards until I reached the entrance. Charlie has led my to a Time Transition Vortex Junction or TTVX as they are more commonly known. I had to follow him, he is all I have. I moved ahead and was caught in the cyclonic maelstrom. When I could focus again it was as I expected. There was Charlie sitting waiting for me and there was I in 19^th century London. Bloody typical

To be continued

He stood in shadow of the tree and held his breath. The slightest sound could give him away and he would be caught. They had been looking for him for years but so far he had evaded them.

He heard the foosteps pause. They were listening for him. A bird moved behind him causing a noise and the footsteps moved again towards the sound. He held close to the tree and took small shallow breaths.

“There’s no sign,” a voice shouted.

“All right. Let’s go back to the car.”

He let the footsteps fade to nothing before he began to relax, a little.

He was the last of his kind. Well, the last that he knew of. He was the last of the Tiny Giants. 

Bearded in his Den

He hadn’t been sleeping well and he knew what it was. It was the telltale sound of the cat flap that woke him every night. Clicking out and then later clicking back in, although, that wasn’t what really disturbed him. It was the thought that his beard had once again gone out for the night. Not a Hollywood ‘beard’ but the growth of erratic hair that sprouted from his chin and upper lip.

He knew what was happening, he knew more than anyone else. He had no idea what had woken him the first night as he was half dozing but it had haunted him ever since. The sight of his beard in the half-light creeping around the bedroom door. The feel of his hand upon his clean chin to prove it was not a dream. Tiptoeing down the stairs and watching his beard hitch itself up and out of the cat flap.

Then, looking through the window through his back garden and to the hill beyond and seeing other beards begin to gather. Beards from all over his neighbourhood, beards from all over the country, who knows, possibly beards from all over the world gathering.

Then they would form. Slowly at first, but then gathering pace as the shape they made began to become recognizable. A mass of hair growing to an enormous proportion. Bigger than the trees, bigger than the pylons, bigger than anything you could compare it to. Just BIG.

Then it would sway, sway until it could begin to move and then ….. off. Quickly, lightly, gathering pace, disappearing from view. For many nights he would sit staring out of the window for it to return but invariably would fall asleep before it happened. He would wake, bleary eyed and feel the hair upon his face. It was back.

But then came the thought that unnerved him. The thought that he could not rid himself of. The thought that meant his ears had become attuned to the cat flap moving.

Was it really his beard that was coming back at the end of the night or one that just looked like his?

The Colours of your Life

The colour of your life is, in part, taken from the colours and vibrancy of your friends. Your life is like a patchwork quilt in which you are but a single square with your friends surrounding you. If you are lucky you will be part of an enormous quilt of friends, enough to wrap around you when you feel cold. Some people are not so lucky and have only a few colours to warm them.

If you are lucky enough to be part of a magnificent quilt take a moment to think where your friends came from. For quilts to grow and be strong they need the strong threads that hold them together.

In life it is special people who are those threads. Generous with their friends and always looking for those whose patchwork support is slight or damaged. Those who are new to an area, those who have gone through bad times, those who lack the social skills to fit in easily. These special people, these golden threads in life, will find ways to introduce those people to others, to help them join in, to help the build or rebuild their patchwork of friends.

Do you do that? Do you reach out beyond your own circle to allow others a way to join?

I write this because there is one special lady I know who I have watched introduce people over the last four years. Selfless, caring and without the need for self attention. A truly beautiful golden thread indeed and one who we should try to emulate.