The Office Martyr

My office has steadily reduced in numbers over the last year yet the martyr remains stubbornly tied to her stake. Once she played to a full house of seventy plus and although that sympathetic audience has dwindled to a small matinee attendance, the quality of her performance has not diminished. Once a mere lieutenant, she has risen by default to dizzy heights and now seeks condolence in the full glare of the spotlight.

Each day brings cause for a new pained expression. Etched on her face is the statement “I really shouldn’t be here, I think I have double pneumonia. But someone needs to make the effort or this office will simply fall apart.” There is a danger that colleagues will forget how gravely ill she is, so regular reinforcement is crucial. Accordingly frenzied bouts of sneezing are interspersed with lung-shredding coughs and laboured breathing.

Sceptical observers of this phenomenon know it will be hard to maintain the illness at “touch and go” status. Sooner or later patience will be rewarded and the mask will slip. The phone rings, trill, trill… our martyr’s plaintive voice greets the caller, cracking and stuttering through strings of phlegm. Sentences are punctuated with exaggerated sniffs, yet as the call proceeds, a curious and remarkable recovery begins. Thirty seconds in, the conversation is running smoothly. Vowels and consonants are pronounced with ease and eloquence and the slow, sorrowful tones replaced with enthusiasm and giggles…

Similar speedy recovery from dental treatment is equally astonishing. Much clattering and banging draws attention to a late arrival. “How did it go?” we inquire politely. The response is barely intelligible, delivered through a mouth evidently still numb from invasive treatment. Speech is managed with almost no discernible jaw movement. There is considerable mumbling and lines of dribble keep mysteriously appearing thereby prompting frequent dabbing of the lips. Clearly there have been multiple extractions and probably root canal fillings. However, within the hour she is heard explaining to a colleague with startling clarity, “yes I was little late, I had a dental check-up...”

On occasions this heroic devotion to work reaches an astounding level of commitment. Movement from desk to photocopier is achieved only with strenuous effort and a good deal of grunting. The left leg proceeds normally but the right is dragged behind limp and lifeless. Incredibly there has been no steady onset of this condition, surely she must have suffered a massive road traffic accident over the weekend. The useless limb is hauled along like a suitcase on wheels as she attempts the return journey to her desk. A subsequent trip to the fax requires the same effort, yet smart onlookers note the tragic injury has now afflicted the left leg while the right is good as new. Later the signs are of only a slight limp and even more perplexing is the mid-morning sight of our martyr positively sprinting to the coffee machine...

The stench of burning martyr hangs heavy in the air…

Folded faces

Superficially existence is pretty but scratch the surface and there is almighty horror. The fleeting face in the morning mirror appears charming and familiar but the analyst has always chosen not to look him in the eye, for if his attention once fixed on the reflection he could no longer ignore it.

A possible future hovers between their gaze and to believe in that future he must understand his past. Turning from the mirror he goes about his daily business yet from that moment onward sees, feels and hears nothing. Seasons heat and chill him but he fails to notice for he is inside his own head…

He runs blindly along dark inner passages, screaming as unspeakable hordes grab and tear, their every touch like ice. He cracks his head on a heavy projection and collapses face first in the blackness. No one is here to help him, he is alone. Despite horrific injury he hauls himself to his feet and his questing fingers find a door handle. The door yields under his pressure and he stumbles into a small candle lit room.

“Anaesthetic would ease the pain in my head,” he thinks and as luck would have it, a bottle and glass swim into view on a low table. In the gloom he breaks the seal and ignoring the glass, lifts the bottle to his lips. He pours whisky into his throat and swallows. Pours and swallows, pours and swallows repeatedly until the bottle is two thirds empty for this is the only way he knows.

Sweet relief calms his aching skull and the fiery grain courses through every vein. “I can do this, I know I can, I really can be normal,” he pleads with himself. Yet a glance at shelves behind him reveals the twinkling contours of twenty more bottles which he must consume in order to be normal. He will have to pace himself, maybe formulate an action plan. Unsteadily he stands and thinks thoughts thickly. A bottle in each pocket, two inside his shirt and of course he could carry one in each hand.

Desperate sadness overwhelms him and he begins to cry. “But I need to take it all with me,” he screams. “I need to take the fucking lot…” But his grip is weak and bottles tumble to the floor. One bounces amazingly before shattering and leaking its lifeblood.

He shoulders the door open violently and dashes into the corridor. Sprinting away from the scene he spews whisky in frightening spurts. He keeps his gaze ahead, ignoring the voices calling from rooms either side. “Fuck them, I thought I cancelled all acquaintances.” Rotting remnants lie in every corner, decaying corpses with wild ugly grins. All life is as foul as death.

"… if I see you tomorrow, don’t make me do that again. Please don’t make me look inside my head.”

His reflection stares impassively back and speaks softly, “tomorrow there will be a different horror.”

“The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paperboy brings more.”Pink Floyd – Brain Damage

Cars and bikes

Ford Sierra Sapphire 1.8 GLS - probably my favourite.
And here on Through the Lens are the other vehicles I have driven, raced and polished over the years.

House

Creamy moonlight casts soft seductive shadows only I can see. The house is in darkness, its hatches battened down. It hides from the daylight world for there lies trust, love and dependence. It has a history, I know that from the additions and repairs. I have loved it for years and we have always enjoyed our secret connection.

I saw it once in summer sunshine, what a breathtaking sight. A glittering palace of perfect lines. I know I could live here and see out my days in happiness. But not everyone admires it like I do, there are those who walk past without a glance and others who haven’t even noticed.

I have visited often and spent many happy hours here. Yet there is so much more I want to discover behind the solid brickwork. Paths I would like to tread in the tangled overgrowth behind. In broad daylight I have knocked softly on the doors and peered through the blue windows to see only reflected sky. But at night this sleeping fortress mellows just a little.

I stride confidently through the gate and press my nose against a wide bay window. For a brief second an image of domestic bliss flashes into view. It burns into my retina, switches to negative then fades. I hurry to the next bay and peer into the gloom within. Shadows move inside telling me someone is home. My presence has caused a reaction.

This house has a soul, of that I am sure. I am determined to find it, after all there is nothing else left for me to do now. I will talk to the occupier. I mean really talk, not just chat over the fence. Some windows offer tantalising glimpses into a beautiful interior. Rooms and halls, shrouded in mystery, await my footfall.

I know there is soft warmth inside for I have been welcomed before. Tonight the walls are strong and the doors locked fast. “Daybreak,” I murmer. “I will come back and see you at daybreak…” Yes, daybreak seems somehow appropriate.

The Subways

An unbelievably young band with the world at their feet. Tonight Portsmouth Pyramids is heaving with eight hundred sweaty youngsters and me as we witnessed a truly electric performance from this fearless new trio.

The act is held together by baby-faced Billy Lunn who plays rock guitar with a punk edge and sings in a raw anxt-ridden yell that belies his young age. Charlotte Cooper's bass is nearly as big as her and a bare-chested drummer goes ape on the skins.

They crash through an extended version of "I Wanna Hear What You've Got to Say" and Billy climbs a PA tower to lead the hand-clapping from a precarious height then slithers down and does the same on the far side of the stage. Cameras pop everywhere and he dashes back centre stage to catch the Gibson SG flung deftly by his guitar tech. Next Is "With You" and hairs stand on the back of my neck to hear the line 'My best days are with you, they are so easy!" (I think I'm sixteen again...)

Keeping up an amazing pace these twenty-year-old rising stars of modern pop-punk run through the whole of their debut album "Young for Eternity" from which several charting singles have been lifted. To close they give us a blistering rendition of "Rock and Roll Queen" during which Billy dives headlong into the crowd and surfs like a rock legend! He emerges minus T-shirt and resumes the stage for the final chorus. No encore, so a frenzied Portsmouth crowd is left breathless and wanting more.

"Another day is here and I am still alive."
The Subways - I Want to Hear what You've Got to Say.

Gadgets

Okay so you want gadgets? Here is the new setup-

Desktop and Laptop.

Fujitsu Siemens
Scaleo P desktop
3Ghz Pentium 4
200gb hard drive
1gb RAM
DVD-RW dual layer
DVD-ROM
TV tuner
Samsung 19” TFT
FS Cordless kb/mouse
Freecom 80gb USB hard drive
Creative 4.1 surroundsound
Logitech 4000 pro WebCam
Epson X620 printer/scanner
Canon Ixus 700 camera
Creative Zen Touch 20gb mp3 player

Fujitsu Siemens
Amilo Pro laptop
Pentium M740 1.7Ghz
60g hard drive
512mb RAM
DVD-RW dual layer
15” TFT

Belkin wireless broadband router

I’m already bored and researching a new motorcycle.

PC

These days I'm not good at concentrating on more than one thing at a time. I have a new PC and laptop and am running them beside my old PC while I transfer files, programmes and settings. I can't do that and write as well. The wires are untangled the systems all run smoothly and I am packing away the boxes. So normal sporadic service will be resumed as soon as can muster the enthusiasm.