Day 189. As the man finishes speaking there is an
enormous cheer and the crowd applaud in appreciation. They shout his name but I
have to ask someone to repeat it to me as their accent is so ‘thick’.
Apparently he is their
local MP Nye Bevan and he is to
introduce the new National Health Service. Once again I fell the shame of being
so ignorant and for taking so much in my life for granted. ‘Save the NHS’ is
just something one says but when you realise the impact on people’s lives,
particularly the poorer, it has had it is one of the finest things one human
can do for another. First Charlie takes me to the start of clean water and then
to the start of the NHS – what is this all about?
Day 190. Charlie has looked at me with those ‘seal’
like eyes and I know that we are going to travel again. I bend to stroke his
head and hold onto his collar as the mists begin to swirl in my head. I have
been witness to the birth of clean water and the NHS so where will we appear
next. There must be a reason for all this. How on earth does this relate to all
my time on the island?
Day 191. It is dark as my eyes open and it takes a
little while for them to adjust. As they do I can just make out the shape of a
woman at a workbench. Charlie walks over and lies at her feet. She is so
focused on her work that she doesn’t even notice. I try to make my breathing as
light as possible so as not to disturb her work. It is clearly important if
fresh water and the NHS is anything to go by.
Day 192. She is carefully assembling something on
her workbench. By the overhead light I can just about make out what she is
doing. It would appear that she has created a basic Hoffspecker board and is
adapting it to take neural valves. I have no idea what she is hoping to achieve
but judging by some of the others elements on the bench it is a complex
machine. She
has such steady hands and an apron like one my mother had.
Day 193. By coupling up the Lancing Spapullars with
the Diomestic Uber Vales she appears to be doubling their energy potential. The
Flasceen Interface she has cleverly resolved by using a celery stick as the
conductor. It is hard to follow but I believe she will son be in a position to
test it. The machine now occupies almost the entire workbench surface. Golly.
Day 194. I keep wondering why she progresses so
slowly then it dawns on me, this is the first time anyone has built this. She
opens up a drawer and takes out a pair of vintage Krangreeve wrenches, only
they are not vintage, they are brand new to her. A bead of sweat drops from her
nose as the tension builds. My mother always used to say that animals sweat,
men perspire and women gently glow. This is another of her homily’s that has
proved to be rubbish. Judging by the aroma her belief that females don’t break
wind is nonsense as well until I see Charlie’s guilty face.
Day 195. Using the wrench she tightens the
Gussetlers and places the Drip Canlards under the Prenchard Nipplettes. I see
her bend and using the classic flint and tinder light a small Bunsen. As the
flame begins to grow so does the danger. This experiment can go only one of two
ways.
Day
196. As the head of steam begins to build so does the vibrating of the copper
Cheddners. The Lancing Spapullars seem to be holding and the vegetable Flasceen
Interface seems remarkably resilient. She is clutching a dainty ‘kerchief’ to
her nose to mask the rancid smell from Gussetlers. I am in no doubt that this
will be a success but why don’t I know her name and why have I never realized
how long ago this was first created? Did big business refuse to let it be used?
How many lives would have been saved? As the first droplets leak from the
Nipplettes she cries with joy. First is see the start of clean water, then the
NHS and now, in a matter of moments I will see it created. I bend down to
tousle Charlie’s hair and ……….. oh blast, the mists and swirls
Day 197. The nausea recedes and I find myself alone in a room,
well apart from Charlie who has taken one sniff and shrunk to a corner and
balled up. There is an overwhelming smell of perfume and the entire room is
dressed in shades of pink and white. There a many vases of flowers and
chocolates but the main feature in a enormous dressing mirror surrounded by
light bulbs. As I walk towards it I become aware of fabric brushing against my
legs. As I look down I catch my face in the mirror and freeze, both physically
and metabolically. This is not my face, not my body and certainly not my dress.
I know the face well but in my panic cannot put a name to it. There is a
frantic knocking at the door and a voice shouts, "Miss Monroe, you're needed
on set now. Really now..........."
Day 198. “Miss Monroe please come onto the set. You’ll get a
reputation if you start playing around like this.” The voice outside the door
seems desperate. I collapse onto the chair by the dressing table and stare into
the mirror. This was quite possibly the last thing I was expecting and it has
rather thrown me. Even Charlie seems phased. I stare into the mirror and the
face I see back is unmistakably Marilyn’s . “Miss Monroe, please.”
Day 199. What can I do? I can’t stay in here but I’m
not sure I can go out onto set. I feel so strange. I suddenly have an idea and
rush over to Charlie. I stroke him violently in the hope I might trigger
another time leap but nothing happens. “Miss Monroe they want you
now.” I place my hand upon the handle and draw the door towards me. As it opens
I see expectant faces. I step out and hear a gentleman say, “Marilyn, finally.
All right everyone let’s get ready to shoot.”
Day 200. Can I really have been on this roller coaster for two
hundred days. I realise that whilst I have been thinking this the Director has
been giving me instructions. I only catch the last few words which were
something about a ‘grate’. All eyes are on me. I step forward and as I pause
over the grate I hear the Director shout. “For god’s sake Marilyn, I said not
on the grate.” Even as he says it my skirt blows up and I have to trap it with
my arms. “Keep shooting,” I hear him hiss, “This is great.” Why does this have
a strange feeling of déjà vu?
Day 201. Well as a result of the air from the grate blowing up
my skirt I am being treated as a star and the man who is directing who appears
to be called Billy Wilder is saying it was what he wanted me to do. Charlie has
come rushing over and is rubbing himself against my leg. The Head of the Studio
is walking towards me when I get that familiar feeling. Now I have a wet, warm
foot and the swirls are returning.
Day 202. I am sure we have all done it. You come out of a deep
dream and can’t remember what is real and what was fantasy. Your mind is
traddling to realities but one is entirely self-created. Or so you think. It
takes a few moments to acclimatise yourself and to manage the thoughts in your
brain. So, am I one board a careering train or a packet of bread flour?
Day 203. I am being tipped thought a sieve into a bowl. It is an
extraordinary feeling quite unlike anything I have experienced before. The
sudden sense of separation and the introduction of air has a quite a giddy
affect and is uplifting. I’m not sure how to describe it but the only
equivalent I can think of is turning off an episode of The Golden Shot when
Charlie Williams presented it.
Day 204. This is possible the most confused I've been. My rest
at the bottom of the bowl was disturbed by the introduction of cubes of butter.
Before I could react, two hands start rubbing the butter on me. If this carries
on I could finally crumble.
Day 205. The feeling of hands passing through me is a quite an
out of body experience. I almost sad when it stops and they turn their
attention to the filling. I have often wondered how fruit felt about being made
into pies and crumbles. It turns out the gooseberries are quite bitter.
Day 206. Well, as I suspected, the apples are really sweet. A
little simple, but terribly sweet. The gooseberries are unmerciful in their
teasing as they lie together in the dish but a fine sprinkling of sugar soon
has them choking back their comments. I am still utterly confused as to what I
am to take from this situation as I am spread across the fruit and lifted
carefully into the hot oven. I hate Tuesdays.
Day 207. I am struggling to comprehend why I have been brought
back as flour. I can only imagine it is to try to comprehend the many parts the
make the whole and try to empathise with all the elements of life. To realise
that true inner peace and harmony comes from understanding your small place in
the world but surely there was a way other than being baked in an oven. We are
placed on the table to cool. After a little while I sense a face hovering over
us. I recognize those beautiful eyes, that golden hair, that enormous
slobbering tongue. With one bite Charlie demolishes the crumble and the world
begins to spin again
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