The Pearl Fisher

Still no news from Bath, all is silent and foreboding. I may be forced to use the phone but I am nervous of what I might discover. Soon I must travel to Wysing with my companion. She is involved in some sort of art market there (as apparently am I). I have promised to make some live broadcasts of a series of rocket launches. I look forward to seeing how they might turn out. There is also much uncertainty in the ether. On Twitter there is a great furore over the Debill a matter which has caused me much confusion. I am given to understand that as a creative person I will be more protected and less protected and more restricted and certainly more confused. In truth I believe I will continue to ignore that which makes me uneasy and pray it might not affect me. A foolish approach perhaps but one that has served me well in the past. Similarly there is a great deal of information about what each of the political parties intend for the arts. Like creepy uncles they feign too much interest. In all my reading I have found that I have no convictions as men of my century understand the word, because I have no ambition. There is no basis in me for a conviction.

I have spent several days in limbo. Separated from my companion and my usual routine I have achieved very little. In my new largely sedentary lifestyle, I have however reacquainted myself with satellite TV and its frightening array of televisual fodder. As I write “Murder She Wrote” has just started. Its opening scene shows a blind female sculptor forming something from clay. She looks off screen in that way actors have of signifying sightlessness and says “I see with my hands now”. I have a sense of foreboding. There is still no news from Bath in regard to the return of my work. I have determined to email a few more contacts in the hope that University cutbacks have not struck the arts programming. As far as Whitstable goes, the films are now more or less finished. I have sent copies to Sue and she has set her minions to finding appropriate locations. Yesterday I was finally able to meet with my companion again. We have been pining a little and had hoped to spend some time relaxing together unfortunately before long she mislaid her phone and much of the rest of the day was spent in its search. I finally located it in a half open drawer of an ornate dresser in the studio, but this was after dark and she had already returned to our lodgings in Ipswich. Later I received the following letter.

“Dear Darling

You are clever! Christ, how weird, I am obviously a serious candidate for senility as I have absolutely no recollection whatsoever of even going near the dresser. Thank you very much darling. I am in Rasputin’s now. I came last night but a Bond villain was here in place of the usual friendly woman with the long eyelashes.

He said “NO INTERNET. But you need a drink?” to which I misunderstood and said: “erm no I’m going to Tesco thank you”, “no a PROPER drink” etc ensued for a bit until I ran out and he said: “Don’t be scared littel girl” Chilling.

Anyway I went back today and a nice lady with the hair the colour of those Alpine aggressive squirrels is here and she is telling me about her slack beauty regime.

I looked out of the window this morning and saw the pate of the man below and the pink and white hair of his lady. They are the same people. She had one of those extra large fags on the go, the kind that look like albino magic wands.

The Portuguese (the neighbours to our left) were at it last night and he must have learnt a new sound that sounds like a lion cub trying to roar. She laughed at him.

I woke up at about two and stared at the stars which soothed me and tried to hold Dougal but he is so flat now and I didn’t want to risk squeezing his kapok out of his duodendal (sic?) sinus.

I re-made the Alcatraz Alex but he was a bit flat too and I knew I only had a few hours to wait for the seagulls to wake up.

Going to get breakfast in a minute maybe at ‘Sunrise’ and then get the train.

I miss you and love you. Thank you very much for finding my phone darling. You are the greatest man I know.

PS saw Jeremy Deller in a film in the Sainsbury Centre and he was vile-sinewy and creepy-I take it all back.

Lots of love Your Companion”

CAGED! Disappointingly there have been no news reports of strange weather nor shipwrecks at Whitstable. All seems strangely calm in Ipswich too. In truth strangely is perhaps the wrong word to use in a Town whose newspaper headline this morning reads “IPSWICH BIGAMIST FINALLY CAGED” If only we had a zoo my narrative would be complete. I am squinting at the screen to write this. Not a week ago I was told that I would require new glasses as my right eye is failing. This news was not unexpected as my companion has been deriding my poor eysight for a while. The cost of my new glasses will be enormous although I did manage to beat the over enthusiastic saleswoman down from £400 to nearly half that figure. The only fillip has been that I am now so myopic that I qualify for free eyetests and a 15% NHS discount. I suppose that as I can see nothing it seems only fair that the test should be waived but it does make me feel like a blind television owner.

I have received a message, there is a full moon over Whitstable tonight and an unusually high tide. Here the wind blows stronger by the hour forcing the trees to an uncomfortable crouch. Forecasts are such that we may soon expect gusts of such power that a strong man may not keep his feet in the beating rain, and snow! I shall check the newspaper reports in the morning for further information.

As I write my companion has written to me. While I am watching Johnny Cash audition dressed in black she also is watching a film. The excited message reads:

“Just seen Christopher Lee in a thriller!”

As he appeared the signal was lost, I know not the name of the film, his character nor the outcome.

Call is complete or more accurately I believe it to be so. My companion is about to review the left hand side, I nervously await her verdict. We are separated at the moment by a distance of some miles. She waits for me at my lodgings sending regular messages about madmen in the street and the unusual movements of Miss Brown in the flat above. Happily, below, the smokers seem to have been thrown on to the street and have been replaced by a much more continent individual who treads quietly. In my lodgings we experience everything through sound first, we could look but often choose not to. Call, I have decided, is as much about sound as vision so I have left the sound on the right hand film also. Here in the countryside I am watching television and burning a dvd of all my Whitstable films for Sue Jones, I pray she will like them too.