Bangor & Anglesey Mail, March 16th, 2005

A lorry driver from North Wales has been fined £1,000 following an incident in which a cow escaped on the M60 at Whitefield.

Robin Glyn Williams, of Anglesey, appeared at Bury Magistrates' Court last Thursday, March 10,and admitted two charges under the Welfare of Animals (Transport) Order 1997 and the Animal Health Act 1981.

James PArry, prosecuting for Bury Council, said Williams, 28, was driving his Scania animal transporter on the motorway on July 7 last year when the cow escaped, making its way onto Whitefield Golf Course via Beech Avenue and Laburnum Avenue.

It eventually reached the playing fields at Phillip's High School where it had to be shot by police because of its distress.

After investigations by council environmental health officers, Williams admitted failing to transport the animal in an escape-proof vehicle and of not being able to produce a required animal transport certificate for the journey between Anglesey and York. He was fined £500 for each offence and ordered to pay a total of £1,218 costs to the council.

Magistrates were told that Williams was of good character running his own business and carrying animals more than 30,000 miles a year. He had described the incident as a million-to-one but it had left him traumatised and very, very upset. He was in the habit of completing certificates on his return from a trip but had never denied being in the wrong.

Magistrates gave Williams credit for his early admission.

Newspaper unknown; June 2005
SUICIDE VERDICT ON BIRD LOVER

TRAGIC bird lover Marc Llewellyn Jones, who was repeatedly taken to court because of his passion, had leaped to his death from a suspension bridge, an inquest heard.

Forty-seven-year-old Mr Jones, a translator of Tan y Foel, Bethesda, was found dead in the Menai Strait last June.

His body was recovered by Beaumaris inshore lifeboat.

Police discovered a note taped to a sofa at his home.

Coroner Dewi Pritchard-Jones said at Caernarfon: "I don't propose to read it all out but it starts off with 'I can't face the future any more and I've gone to jump off Menai Bridge'."

A suicide verdict was recorded.

Pathologist Dr Mark Lord said death would have been instantaneous.

Mr Jones was on conditional bail after denying harassment and common assault charges.

He had allegedly been abusive towards RSPBn staff and a police wildlife sergeant, and was banned from going within a mile of a breeding site for two rare ospreys near Porthmadog or any RSPB-managed site for breeding protected birds.

Mr Jones was critical of security around the nest and claimed to have carried out a commando-style night-time reconnaissance.

He accepted being obsessed with birds and stopping egg collectors.

He had been taken to court four times but prosecutions against him were dismissed.

In 2003 he was cleared of intentionally disturbing Wales's only colony of little terns near Prestatyn.

He was described as "gentle and knowledgeable" by his solicitor following his death.

Recording his verdict, the coroner said: "There's no legal requirement on a coroner to go into the question of motive.

"I don't believe, in general, that a public inquest is the proper place to go into questions of why people do this."


Bangor & Anglesey Mail, June 29th, 2005
SADNESS AT DEATH OF BIRD LOVER

A BODY found in the sea was that of "a gentle and knowledgeable" twitcher whose love of birds and wish to protect them landed him in court.

Marc Llewellyn Jones, 47, a translator and former RSPB warden, of Bethesda, was on bail with a condition that he didn't go within a mile of a rare ospreys' breeding site near Porthmadog.

In an adjournment case at Pwllheli court he'd denied harassment and common assault after allegedly becoming abusive towards RSPB staff and a police wildlife sergeant.

Mr Jones was critical of security there and claimed to have carried out a commando-style reconnaissance in the middle of the night. He said he'd thrown an apple at a caravan where security guards were based and left a note on a shed, but that no-one knew he'd been there.

"I'm obsessed with birds - and with stopping egg collectors," he explained.

In 2003 he was cleared of intentionally disturbing Wales' only colony of little terns at an RSPB-managed site at Gronant near Prestatyn. The security of this site had again become a passion for him in the last few weeks.

An inquest had been opened and adjourned on Mr Jones, whose body was spotted in the Menai Strait last week - ironically not far from a bird sanctuary on the mainland near Bangor. It was brought ashore by Beaumaris inshore lifeboat

He'd been prosecuted by the RSPB four times, including the recent case - but three times the charges were dismissed and recently a county court judge refused an injunction against Mr Jones.

His solicitor, Elen Parry, said: "I'm extremely sad and very distressed. Marc was a knowledgeable, gentle and interesting man whose motivation was always the birds. He knew everything there was to know about them."

An RSPB spokesman said: "We are shocked and saddened. It's very unfortunate."

Bangor & Anglesey MAil, August 31st, 2005
GRUELLING WALK FOR ANIMAL HOSPITAL: Challenging trek in the Land of Ice and Fire to raise money for charity
By Lee Roberts

A COUPLE who have returned from a gruelling trek in Iceland have spoken about their fundraising adventure. Tom and Sandra Unite from Llanfaelog recently taken part in a tough 42-mile walk across some of the most rugged landscapes on the planet.

The couple decided to take part in the tough challenge in a bid to raise money for the Brooke Hospital for Animals charity.

The three-day trek involved walking on rough hilly ground in an area famous for its hot water springs and volcanic geysers.

Sandra explained: "The trip went great, we are still collecting the sponsorships but have already collected around £1,000. The weather there was fantastic. It took a toll physically and I had some blisters. We walked 42 miles in three days and the route was not flat either!

"We slept in tents and it could be very cold, but we were told to bring good sleeping bags beforehand. It was intensive but we did enjoy it.

"I think we may do something similar in the future perhaps in two years' time. It was great to see the hot spas, where the water was pumped into homes and didn't need heating."

Tom added: "I suppose the highlight of the trip for me was the hot springs. It was always light there too even at 2am. It was gruelling though."



Bangor & Anglesy Mail, September 7th, 2005
CHILDREN TO LEARN ABOUT ISLAND'S RED SQUIRRELS: Education packs about endangered species to be launched by wildlife group
By Lee Roberts

A GROUP that aims to protect the endangered red squirrel wich has an Anglesey stronghold are launching their latest initiative to help protect the animals.

The Friends of the Anglesey red squirrels are to launch an education pack for members and pupils to find out more about the species and its importance.

The group, which has already visited several schools on the island, is to launch the packs at the Tre-Ysgawen Hall, Capel Coch on Thursday, September 15. The bilingual pack which contains  puzzles, information and games will be given to each school on the island.

Raj Jones, one of the group coordinators, said: "The children of Anglesey are fortunate to have the opportunity, right on their doorstep, of participating in the excitement of bringing a threatened native mammal like the red squirrel back from the brink of extinction.

"It is imperative that we take them on board from an early age and get them involved in the important task of saving threatened species and habitats, since they will be the future guardians of all that we achieve today, and hope that they will take it a step further and do it even better," she added.

Menter Mon has helped produce the pack in a bid to safeguard the species' stronghold on the island.

Gerallt Llewellyn Jones, Menter Mon's chief executive said: "We are proud of our central role in safeguarding the red squirrel, one of Anglesey's unique resources. This pack is also unique as it is the first and only bilingual teaching material of its kind in Wales."

To accompany the pack, Bethan Wyn Jones has adapted and translated into Welsh The Red Squirrel, by Tom Tew and Niall Benvie, which was published by Gwasg Carreg Gwalch earlier this year.

Bethan, who will be signing the book at the launch, added: "I felt that it was tremendously important for the island's children, and indeed children throughpout Wales to be able to read in their own mother tongue about this native, appealing, shy, beautiful mammal that we are so fortunate to have here in Anglesey.

"There is shortage of colourful material about the natural world written in Welsh, and the photographs in this book are simply stunning. While visiting different primary schools on the island to talk about the red squirrel, I soon realised that the children were fascinated by te red squirrel and were very interesteds in its conservation in Wales," she added.

• For more information on the group's work, visit its website at www.redsquirrels.info

Bangor & Anglesy Mail, September 21st, 2005
FRIENDS' PACK TO HELP SQUIRRELS: Aim is to get youngsters involved in project
By Owen Hughes

A GROUP set up to protect the endangered red squirrel on Anglesey launched its school education pack and book at Treysgawen Hall, Capel Coch, last Thursday.

The project by the Friends of the Anglesey Red Squirrel aims to inform children about the important and successful work of saving the squirrel on the island.

They eventually hope to visit every school on Mon.

Mrs Raj Jones, one of the group's co-ordinators, said: "The children of Anglesey are fortunate to have the opportunity, right on their doorstep, of participating in the excitement of bringing a threatened native mammal like the red squirrel back from the brink of extinction.

"It is imperative that we take them on board from an early age and get them involved in the important task of saving threatened species and habitats, since they will be the future guardians of all that we achieve today, and hope that they will take it a step further and do it even better."

The bilingual education pack is free, and there is one for every primary school on Anglesey.

It has been prepared specifically for pupils in Key Stages 1 and 2 by the Red Squirrel Project Team of Rebecca Gwynne, Gareth Pritchard and Bethan Wyn Jones at Menter Mon, with advice from Martin Bailey, Raymond Reynolds and Craig Shuttleworth.

Designed to be informative as well as entertaining, it contains puzzles, games, drawings for colouring, word search and a maze as well as teachers' notes.

All aspect of the red squirrel's life, from its diet to its enemies and habitat, is contained in the pack, as well as references for further reading and website addresses.

Gerallt Llewelyn Jones, Menter Mon  chief executive, said: "Our organisation is proud of its central role in safeguarding the red squirrel, one of Anglesey's unique resources.

"This pack is also unique as it is the first and only bilingual teaching material of its kind in Wales."

To accompany the education pack, Bethan Wyn Jones has adapted and translated into Welsh the book The Red Squirrel by Tom Tew and Niall Benvie, which was published by Gwasg Carreg Gwalch earlier this year.

Bethan said: "I felt that it was tremendously important for the island's children, and indeed children throughpout Wales to be able to read in their own mother tongue about this native, appealing, shy, beautiful mammal that we are so fortunate to have here in Anglesey.

"There is shortage of colourful material about the natural world written in Welsh, and the photographs in this book are simply stunning."

Friends of Anglesey Red Squirrels also have a bilingual website - www.redsquirrels.info

This gives people further information about red squirrels in Anglesey, their reintroduction genetics, the future of the Newborough Forest, nesting boxes, photos as well as the education work.

There is also an opportunity to join the Friends of th eAnglesey Red Squirrels.

Dr Craig Shuttleworth, who is responsible for the Anglesey Red Squirrel Project, added: "Community involvement is an essential element in the successful conservation of the endangered red squirrel, and the fantastic work of the Friends has galvanised local support."

Bangor & Anglesy Mail, 2005/6
SCHOOLS GO NUTS ABOUT SQUIRRELS: Pupils study a rarely-seen creature
By Ffion Jackson

Budding conservationists at Cemaes Bay Primary School have held a 10-month study of Anglesey's red squirrels, and now more than half of the island's primary schools are getting involved too.

Pupils at Cemaes have worked hard and learnt a great deal about the shy and rarely-seen woodland creature over the past year.

The children joined the conservation group Friends of the Anglesey Red Squirrels (FARS) last September to launch the project.

The FARS have over the past few years supported the conservation and reintroduction of the red squirrel into island habitats such as Newborough Forest.

They have written to primary schools across Anglesey hoping to gain support for their campaign and make new members.

The response was amazing, with 28 island schools signing up.

These schools are now regularly visited by Bethan Jones, an education project officer and FARS member, to keep the pupils updated.

Cemaes Bay pupils have been taking an active part, visiting other schools in the group to give talks on the squirrels.

At two of the schools they visited, the pupils were asked if they had ever seen a red squirrel to which they had to reluctantly answer no.

To put this right, the pupils recently visited the Welsh Mountain Zoo in Colwyn Bay to see a real-live squirrel.

The group have also fashioned a squirrel nesting box which will be presented to a new red squirrel reserve planned at Penrhos in Holyhead.

Bethan Jones said: "The enthusiasm, dedication and determination shown by the children of Ysgol Cemaes is, I believe, an example to us all.

"Guided by Mr Reynolds their headmaster, they have taken the plight of our native red squirrel to heart and have worked extremely hard to draw the attention of othe school children on the island to its predicament.

"It is very encouraging to know that the children of Anglesey are not only willing but keen to take action to save our red squirrels from extinction.

"We also take pupils from the islands' schools on guided nature walks to visit the habitat of our native red squirrel and it is always uplifting to see how they respond to a walk in the woods.

"The action taken by all the children and the schools who support the campaign shows that it is possible to make a valiant, concerted effort to save our native red squirrels.

"Well done, Ysgol Cemaes!"

Ms Jones is happy to visit any schools on Anglesey to give talks on the red squirrel and can be contacted through the Mail.

• Anyone who wishes to learn more about the work of FARS can visit www.redsquirrels.info

Bangor & Anglesy Mail, January 18th, 2006
YOUTH GET INVOLVED IN SQUIRREL PROJECT: Training group builds homes for a rare native animal
By Owen Hughes

YOUNG people on an island skills project have dedicated their time and effort to support a red squirrel conservation scheme.

The group based at Hylfforddiant Parys Training, Amlwch, have been making nest boxes for the Friends of the Anglesey Red Squirrels.

Raj Jones, chair of Friends of the Anglesey Red Squirrels, gratefully accepted the finished nest boxes and said: "The red squirrels are inspiring people from all walks of life on Anglesey into caring for their long-term survival.

"The Friends have worked hard to raise awareness about the plight of the beautiful native red squirrel, and it is gratifying to see this very personal hands-on involvement by the young people of Amlwch."

Dr Craig Shuttleworth, who is repsonsible for the Anglesey Red Squirrel Project, added: "Community involvement is an essential element in the successful conservation of the endangered red squirrel, and we are most grateful to these brilliant young people for giving their time to make the nest boxes. They will certainly be put to good use."

Cllr Gareth Winston Roberts, Communities First manager, said: "I would like to praise and thank all the staff and young people at Hyfforddiant Parys for the extra work they have put in to build these boxes. They have all been keen to help the red squirrel project out."

Hyfforddiant Parys is part of Communities First in Amlwch and is supported by the European Social Fund and Anglesey County Council.

• For more information on the work of Friends of Anglesey's Red Squirrels, visit www.redsquirrels.info

BANGOR & ANGLESEY MAIL, December 30th, 2004
By Roland Hughes

A stress counsellor in Bangor is still taking on patients despite being struck off by the industry's main watchdog.

Howard Jones, who works from the Complementary Therapies Centre on College Road, was thrown out in the summer following a hearing into his conduct.

However, a lack of regulations means Mr Jones, of Llanrug, is still allowed to provide private therapy - despite the British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy saying: "We would prefer people like him not to continue to practice."

Mr Jones expressed regret over the incidents leading to the complaint, and said he has learnt valuable lessons. He added that he will be looking to offer training rather than counsel in future.

A BACP report states: "There were many infringements of basic boundaries, that were admitted by Mr Jones. Those infringements included allowing a client in danger to stay with him in a caravan overnight, inviting a client to share his accommodation, inviting members of a therapy group to a house-warming party and contacting a client's partner for personal benefit."

The report added: "The Panel makes a finding of professional malpractice, for example through incompetence, recklessness and failing at times to provide an adequate professional service."

Sanctions were imposed, with which Mr Jones failed to comply, leading to his expulsion from the BACP.

Phillip Hodson, of the BACP, said there was no regulation for talking therapy in Britain, and anybody could start a counselling service. It is hoped new regulations will control who can practise as a counsellor.

Mr Hodson said: "We deal with about 70 or 80 professional conduct cases a year but only about two or three are expelled. That shows how seriously this particular case was viewed.

"We can't stop people like Howard Jones practising, but he must not claim  to be a member of the BACP. Clearly we would prefer people like him not to continue to practice and there is concern that some people may not be aware that he has been expelled."

A former yacht skipper who also served in the Army with the Royal Engineers, Mr Jones trsined in Southport before moving to his detached former farmhouse in Llanrug 10 years ago.
Originally from Leeds, he advertises in the Yellow Pages and said he also receives referrals from satisfied ex-clients. HE added that only a few referrals came from authorities.

Mr Jones, 55, expressed regret over the case and sympathy towards the complainant.

He said: "I do think I let her down. I can only apologise and ensure that it doesn't happen again. From my perception, I look at the whole thing about learning about boundaries.

"There's no legal obligation to be a member of an association to call yourself a counsellor. Anybody that asks me whether I am a member of a professional body, I would tell them. None come to me and asked that.

During the time I should have been doing the sanction, my father died and my partner left. I could have contacted the BACP and told them about my personal details. All I can do is approach them again. Some of the things they were attempting to pin on me I refuted - they were hearsay. With certain things I have done, there were boundary issues.

"I acted in response to a crisis and that has been twisted. I made a mistake - it's an isolated case. It has been three years since the woman made the initial complaint. I said at the hearing that I respected her courage for coming forward.

"I am attempting to rejoin BACP. There are many regrets, obviously. My biggest is not being able to fully explain to the BACP my personal situation. I wrote to them a couple of days ago.

I know the quality of the work I do. I get referrals from various other people and what I do, I do well.

"I have actually declared myself bankrupt since the start of November. There is very little business - I have chosen to drop out of that field. I will be training."

Lists of counsellors registered with the BACP, the UKCP and the BCP authorities are available at libraries or through the organisations themselves.


CHARITY ALARMED BY USE OF NAME: Social care group concerned at title
BANGOR & ANGLESEY MAIL, December 30th, 2004
By Roland Hughes

A CHARITY has spoken of its fears that Howard Jones is trading under their name.

A sign outside Mr Jones' office at 12, College Road, Bangor, and business cards inside, name the business as Turning Point Counselling Services.

However, Mr Jones' work is unconnected to that of Turning Point, a social care charity that helps around 100,000 people across Britainevery year, and is well-respected within the counselling service.

When contacted by the Mail, Turning Point said Mr Jones was not, and never had been, associated to their organisation, which helps people with mental health problems and drug and alcohol dependencies. The group's only centres in Wales are found in the South.

David Chayter, of Turning Point, said that although a small number of groups had adopted the name Turning Point before, it was important to make a distinction.

He said: "Turning Point Counselling is not a part of Turning Point. We would very concerned if we thought that Mr Jones was trying to trade on our name in any way, particularly as in this case he has been struck off. We will be looking further into the matter."

When asked if it was misleadingly using the Turning Point name, Mr Jones said both groups having the same name was coincidental.

"When I first thought of the name, I didn't even know [the charity] existed - mine is Turning Point Counselling Services. Turning Point is a charity for alcohol and drug addicts."

He said that, despite the name's prominence all over the College Road centre, he was no longer trading under the name Trading Point Counselling Services.

1. Comma before 'and'.
2. Film title--italics.
3. Change 'and' to 'with'.
4. semicolon should be colon. Apostrophe, didn't.
5. Commas before 'ands'. Commas after pyjamas & shirts--semicolons. *Remove 'and' before 'blue'.
6. Lets--let's. It's rainy--ing. F.S.--colon. We--we. Dogs--dog's. Or put as Npgph.
7. Effectively murdering. Gibberish.
8. 'Says that' or inverted commas. (Cap. L, lit?)
9. Small 'T'. Too many ellipses. F-S inside parenth.
10. Small 'e'--Everest. Parenth, "she--athlete".
11. Walk--context of talk. They also learn--new sentence. '& also'.
12. Comma--s-c. Put com after h'ur.
13. Therefore, start of a sentence.
14. Comm b4 'is'.
15. ?why--?Why (new sent) / put 'only' before what stole. and.
16. Comma--col. Col--f-s.
17. 'Them'--whom refers? Colon, not F-S.
18. e.g.--put 'for example'.
19. Get rid listy stuff--colon; '(a)', etc; S-C's (use coms); coms (use parenth).
20. Gibberish! 2Whom 'they' rfr. Specify. 'So' start sentence.

"Hello there, fans," said the intrepid adventurer. He had just walked through Sainsbury's and survived!

.....no one answered.

"I wonder why nobody has answered me," wondered the intrepid adventurer. As well as being intrepid, he had a very quick eye and was very observant.

Suddenly, with his quick and observant eye, the intrepid adventurer noticed that there were no people around. That explained why nobody had replied to his greeting.

"Ah!" the intrepid adventurer remarked. "There are no people around. That explains why nobody has replied to my greeting!"

He had a quick brain, too.

All of a sudden, an excited bark rang out.

"My word!" said the intrepid adventurer; "I do perceive an excited bark."

PART 1

The battle of the sexes is a myth. Success at sexual reproduction is at the heart of the evolutionary process. But greater success for her often means less success for him. The upshot? An eternal war--and an astounding diversity of strategies.

The more promiscuous a female is, the more chance she has to produce large numbers of healthy offspring. Thus, to promote his own genes, a male must do all he can to prevent her from
a) mating with anyone but him (eg. by sticking to her like glue & fighting off other males), and/or
b) getting pregnant from anyone's sperm except his (eg. by removing his predecessor's sperm before injecting his own).

Many males win females by presenting them with gifts, usually food or decorated nests, or making themselves look attractive by showing off. Both males & females try to win themselves the most attractive partner they can to help them reproduce.

The more competition there is from other males, the more violent they are likely to be towards each other. A male who cannot win a fight will run away to fight another day, unless winning this fight is his only chance ever to mate.

Two types of males are especially common: the Hunk and the Runt. The Hunk is built for batle, has lots of girlfriends, & tends to strut & preen himself; his private parts are small, because his guaranteed success with females preclude their need to be big. The Runt  avoids conflict with other males & mates with females behind their backs. His parts are big, to increase his chances of reproduction.


PART TWO

Certain predatory females like to dine on their sexual partners. Males of these species have two options for dealing with this: a stealthy approach followed by a forceful embrace & a hasty exit; or making sure that they get eaten, thus ensuring that their sperm enters the female's body.

Rape is a tactic used by the males of many species, in the following situations.
a) There are many more males than females, meaning that only the pushiest males will manage to mate.
b) the females will only mate with males strong enough to overpower them.
c) the male has no gift to offer the female.
d) They live in large colonies where the effort of finding extra nearby females is minimal.

Rape attempts tend to result in fewer offspring than when a female is willing. Females have evolved counter-tactics to rape attempts; for example, being escorted everywhere by their husband & packing weapons.

Females fight over males under the following circumstances.
a) There aren't enough males to go round.
b) Some males have superior reproductive qualities to others.
c) In species where males & females form pairs, females will attack rivals.

Homosexuality could be genetic. Studies show that the sets of genes which confer success on males can be different from those which confer success on females. Thus it's suggested that genes producing homosexuality in one sex may confer extra fecundity on the other.

True monogamy is so rare it's a deviant behaviour. Initial mating of monogamous couples is likely to produce chemicals in their brains which adjust their behaviour to ensure monogamy. It occurs when it's in the best interests of both males and females, enabling them to produce more offspring than their fickle counterparts. Eg. if females are few and far between, it's good for the male; if males can be helpful around the place, it's good for the female. Also if desertion by one partner results in total reproductive failure for both.


PART III

Usually incest is inadvisible, because offspring are more likely to inherit pairs of recessive genes (one from each parent) that result in fatal mutations. But some organisms inbreed all the time. This is because the males have only one set of genes instead of a pair, meaning harmful recessive genes never have a chance to accumulate before natural selection occurs. Sons are rare in organisms that inbreed: there only need be enough to fertilize all the daughters.

Gender divisions are many & varied. Most isogenous organisms have two different sexes. The mushroom Schizophyllum commune has 20,000. Some species consist of hermaphrodites and males, or hermaphrodies and females, or all three.

Gender is determined by either genetic or environmental factors.

Abstenance almost always leads to extinction.

The only organism known to be truly asexual is the bdelloid rotifer, which only ever clones itself, evolving by mutation.


POSTSCRIPT

How did sex begin? To repair damaged DNA; it began as a gene-transmitting infection; cannibalism.

The sausage is a funny beast
It flits from bough to bough
It builds its nest in rhubarb trees
And whistles like a cow


The sausage is a funny bird
With feathers long and wavy
It swims around the frying pan
And builds its nest in gravy

bed bread bled cred dread fed fled head led lead med ned red shed sled tread wed zed

bore boar core chore door claw whore floor gore jaw law more nor paw raw saw shore store score tore thaw yore war

As someone or other once said,
It's simply a matter of cred. It's all about losing your head.
If you're making a mess
Of rhyming and stress,
Without it, we're better off dead.
Then, I'm sorry, you're better off dead.

It's simply a matter of cred.

I don't read it much anymore. When someone rhymes

To chew my own leg off & weep/cry

by die fly guy hi lie my nigh pie rye wry cry sty shy sly sky spy tie try vy why

word term
germ
con don -lon upon

Frustrated is such a harsh term

I don't really know what you mean.
The scansion's great and the rhyming is keen.
They're not making a mess:
You're the one with the stress
And it's not anapaests analpests that I mean.

I think you're being quite mean:
I don't really know what you mean:
Their scansion's great and their rhyming's wit is keen.
They're not making a mess:
You're the one with all the stress--
And it's not ain't analpests that wot I mean.

Prompts provided by I.F.:

• Pagan loser with pet tree
• Very short charmer
• Long suffering artist

Live in a house split into flats. Charmer looks after tree but sidetracked into chatting someone up. Tree is destroyed.

Pagan--keeps very small wand in big ornate box. Talks about penis symbolism & how not many people get to see his wand. Makes ceremony of showing it.

Short--body? Penis? Hair? Speech? Fast worker? Whiskey?

Artist--Piss. Pavement. Conceptual. Dance. Murals. Backs of jackets. Advertising. --> has an agent. Mediocre. Gets duff jobs like dog food, tampons, etc. The others help him come up with a design.

PAGAN

1. What does he want? How does he try to get it/them?
2. What is he afraid of? What does he do when faced with it/them?
3. How is he with/towards other people?
4. What irritates him?
5. What excites him?
6. What's his main motivation?
7. What's his self-image?
8. How does he come across?

1. He wants to be dark & mysterious; romantic; have mystic powers; be a poet; be admired from afar; have all the anoraky Pagan paraphernalia from catalogues etc. Wants people to think he's got magical powers. To be cool. To be a special member of something special. To join a coven. Big romantic gestures.

He flounces around in Wildean/Byronic gear. Maybe quotes Byron a lot. Writes doggerel. Pores over Goth & hippie shop catalogues & spends a lot of time at 'Vagabonds' in Rhyl. He talks a great deal about himself, his skills & powers, & how special he is (empathic). He makes oblique references to the darker side of his life, & to his arcane practices. Whatever someone else has done, he's done it too, or will do it soon. He has idols he tries to emulate. He invites local pagans to moots & gatherings, but is useless & boring as a host.

2. Making an idiot of himself. Feeling small, like he did at school. Mushrooms & fungus? Spiders. Bats in his hair? Screams & panics; flails about. Getting beaten up by large women. (Points out Byron was on the short side too.) Wets himself.

N.B. It was Pagan who got these two to move into the other flats. They didn't know him well at the time. He's the landlord.

3. Mostly selfish. Behaves like his looks say he ought to. Obsequious & cowardly; sudden bursts of girly affection & candidness; mask sometimes slips; pompous & patronising; over-talkative. Forces them to listen. Gregarious but pretends to be reclusive & aloof. Loyal to his friends.

4. People who turn up in the same outfit as him. People who get more attention than him. A certain diva on TV. People who talk more than he doea. People with no sense of romantic gestures, who say he's sad.

5. New Pagan products. Being accepted & considered special by his peers. Attractive men, especially being seen with them. Casting spells. Being in the limelight.

6. His image.

7. An aesthete. Mad, bad, & dangerous to know. Intriguing but unreadable.

8. A whiny little runt. Irritating. A lapsed Catholic. Barmy, inexplicably so. Needs to chill out. Over-excitable.


ARTIST

1. What does she want? How does she try to get it?
Men--by manipulation: fawning; groaning & sighing; sexual posturing & cleavages; talking about sex & how much she likes other women; ignoring/being rude to wives & girlfriends; using certain women as handbags for getting men; launching herself at men. To be the best; to be admired & envied; to achieve these things without trying. Procrastinates. Drinks. Blames others for her failings.

2. What's she afraid of? How does she respond to it/them?
Not being admired & envied. Loss of emotional security. People she considers to be her betters. Gets drunk & berates others. Goes very timid , cutie pie & polite to their faces.

3. How is she toward others?
Has a voice that makes people do as they're told. Knows all the social mores. Takes most people for granted. Treats attractive men as sex objects, imbeciles, children &/or idols. Abuses people & tells them she loves them. Overbearingly huggy & kissy. Emotionally blackmails. Towards certain women she's vicious & spiteful--if they're what she wants to be. Baby-voice to shrieking maniac.

4. What irritates her?
Men who have no sexual interest in her, as this makes them worthless. Women who put one over on her or are one up. Being second best.

5. What excites her? GEtting a break at work. Someone big noticing her talents. Pursuing eligible rich men. Shoes & handbags. Girly music. Slushy novels. Self-help books. Reforming others, especially male rogues. Shopping. Fashion. Tarot & horoscopes.

6. What's her main motivation?
One-upmanship (middle class).

7. What's her self-image?
Generous. Earth mother. Alluring. Trendy diva.

8. How does she come across?
A hosebeast.


CHARMER

1. What does he want? How does he try to get it/them?
Has few expectations. Lives in the present. Just wanders over and gets it.

2. What is he afraid of? What does he do when faced with it/them?
Appropriately, to things which are dangerous. Tries to advise others, but tends to be ignored.

3. How is he with/towards other people?
Patient. Avoids conflict. Curious: fiddles with their stuff.

4. What irritates him?
People being unreasonable. Irrationality.

5. What excites him?
Having fun--paintball, computer games, football, racing.

6. What's his main motivation?
Maintaining an easy life.

7. What's his self-image?
Just a guy. Hasn't thought about it.

8. How does he come across?
A dark horse. A background figure who occasionally shines. An observer. The Common Man.


SCENE 1
Artist's flat.
Watching TV with Charmer: a housing an art programme.

CHARMER
It's a wonder how anyone these days can afford to buy a house.

They see a rich artist's house. 

ARTIST
(bitterly) I could have a place like that. If I had the breaks. It's all about who you know. People don't give a toss about my sort of talent these days."

CHARMER
That's true enough.

ARTIST
It's people like that bloody Cassandra, that tread real artists down. She puts herself about, that woman. She's probably sleeping with our agent. That'd explain why she gets all the jobs I should be having.

CHARMER
Your agent's a woman, isn't she?

ARTIST
So what?

Charmer enjoys the mental image.

CHARMER
She's a real goer, then, is she?

Artist describes the eccentric lifestyle she'd live if she had the income she deserved. While she's talking, the phone rings. She sees that it's her agent & switches off the TV. The agent wants her to design a newspaper ad for a garden centre which is due to open near Pets Palace. Charmer tries to make her ask agent if she'd like to go for a drink with him. If Artist does well with this advert, agent will put her forward for a job working on a big TV ad for Pot Noodle. Artist is damned if she'll let something like this fall into Cassandra's clutches. She shoves Charmer out through door & goes to research garden centres. Charmer wanders upstairs to Pagan's flat at top of house.

SCENE 2
Pagan's flat
Charmer wanders into Pagan's flat & Pagan is obsequious.

PAGAN
To what do I owe the pleasure?

CHARMER
What's that godawful pong?

Pagan explains that he's got himself a familiar, & explains what familiars are. Charmer points out that pets aren't allowed, & Pagan says he's got around this by taming a wild animal, & there's no rule to say wild things can't come & go as they please.

CHARMER
Jesus, Pagan, you're no good with animals. Don't you know when to give up?

The taming process isn't very far advanced yet. The rat has made inaccessible nests out of precious things, urinated & defecated everywhere, & bitten Pagan. Pagan borrows Charmer's lighter for a joss stick to mask the smell, then pockets it. Pagan is sick of the rat: it has overstayed its welcome, but he doesn't know what to do. Charmer suggests killing it, but Pagan thinks that's against his religion.

CHARMER
Well, I dunno, trap it, then, & let it go somewhere.

Charmer is fiddling with Pagan's possessions, so Pagan starts talking about the fact that their arcane uses are a secret to non-Pagans. Charmer points out that he's already been told that this is for telling the future & that's for casting horoscopes & this is the same as the love spell he found under his bed. Pagan explains that they've known each other long enough that he can let Charmer enter his Inner Circle.

CHARMER
No thank you.

PAGAN
It's all about symbolism.

Pagan explains in gruesome detail about Mother Earth giving birth to creation, & that the want symbolises the creative energy of the penis. He says he'll show the Charmer his wand now. Charmer tries to deter him. With great ceremony, Pagan opens a big long carved box, lined with velvet. From it he produces a tiny varnished twig. Charmer rushes out to have a good, long laugh.


SCENE 3

Artist collars Charmer & gets him to unload from her car a large collection of useless garden centre paraphernalia & install it in her flat while she makes tea for them both & tells him where to put everything. All the small stuff, including a bonsai tree, goes on the table, while everything else is arranged round the walls on each side of her enormous drawing board. Charmer points out that they don't have a garden. She says she realises that, & he clearly knows little about art, & an artist has got to create the right atmosphere in her studio, & she's buggered if Cassandra's going to get one over on her yet again. Charmer, as he's lugging stuff in, tells her about the wand, but she's not really listening. She's too busy talking about the fact that she could only find one bonsai tree, & she hopes it'll be enough. She gives him his tea, & he settles back in a chair & puts a cigarette in his mouth. He can't find his lighter.

ARTIST
Where did you last see it?

CHARMER
Up in Pagan's flat--oh, of course. He does this every time he's short of a man. He must think I've got a memory like a sieve.

ARTIST
Does what?

CHARMER
(Dry-smoking his cigarette.) Nicks something off me so I'll go back to his flat. It's the only seduction technique in his repertoire. Well, that & tripping up into people's arms. I'll sneak into his flat when he goes out & pick it up.

ARTIST
How will you get in?

CHARMER
He never locks his door in case one of his spells works & the man of his dreams turns up out of the blue & can't get in.

ARTIST
A burgler could get in.

CHARMER
He's not fussy.


SCENE 4
Pagan's flat

Pagan tries various methods of getting rid of the rat. First, he casts a circle & adds some magical items & does some incantations. The rat wanders across the floor & begins to nibble at the stuff in the circle, & poos. The pagan chases it around the room angrily, knocking lots of things over. The rat goes into hiding under a sofa, so Pagan lights a joss stick & tries to smoke it out. He's muttering a commentary at the rat the whole time. He shoves his arm, holding the joss stick, farther & farther under the sofa, then the rat bites him & runs out. Pagan is stuck under the sofa. He watches the rat eat his sandwich & take some sips of his tea. He shouts at it, flails around on the floor, & eventually manages to hook a car jack with his foot, put it under the sofa & lift sofa off his arm. Sofa upturns. He tells the rat he's going to use cunning.

PAGAN
So you like my sandwich, huh? You like my tea?

He baits a box trap with his lunch; the rat tries to eat it & is caught. Wonders what to do with it now it's caught. It needs a regular diet of sandwiches & paper. Where can he get lots of those?

PAGAN
I bet Artist's nemesis, that Cassandra woman, I bet her house is full of sandwiches & paper. And it's do Artist a favour--give her a chance of getting that TV job.

He tidies flat in case his dream man turns up, then rushes out of the house, cackling. Charmer sticks his head out of his own door & sneaks upstairs once front door bangs behind Pagan.


SCENE 5
Pagan's Flat

Charmer enter's Pagan's flat. He stands in the middle of the floor, looking around, but his lighter is not immediately obvious & is not beside the joss stick holder. He opens a drawer, & finds his lighter in there along with a pack of extra strong condoms, some kinky pants & some knobbly items which Charmer picks up & drops quickly. He sniffs the pants in a wants-to-know-but-doesn't-want-to-know way. There's also a signed photo in there of Alan Titchmarsh. He starts to nose around, picking up some of Pagan's artifacts & looking at them, trying on his cloak in front of the mirror, waving the wand about & laughing again at the wand. He puts the cloak back & takes the wand downstairs.

CHARMER
I've gotta show this to Artist!


SCENE 6
Cassandra's house

Pagan arrives at Cassandra's house. He sneaks up to the open window, listens carefully, then peers inside. He sees nobody, & opens the box containing the rat. The front door opens. Pagan shuts the box & runs round to side of house, & waits. He sees a youngish woman walking down the garden path & away. Once she's safely gone, he waves his hands in the air & mutters, begone, foul fiend, from this place where I am at," or something similar. [Check Shakespeare.] Goes back to window, opens box & lets rat crawl over sill into house.

CASSANDRA
(Out of shot) What are you up to?

Her voice makes him jump.

CASSANDRA
You just put a rat in my house, didn't you.

PAGAN
No.

CASSANDRA
Yes you did. And I want to know why. Right now.

Pagan stammers, looks as though he's about to launch into an explanation, then runs away with his box. Cassandra shouts after him that she's going to call the police.


SCENE 7
Artist's flat

Artist has filled kitchen table with art materials. She's tied her hair back & looks businesslike, with a pencil behind her ear. She's standing in front of the drawing board when Charmer enters & holds up wand.

ARTIST
Now then. (Takes wand & uses it as a pointing stick.) This new garden centre's got a specialist product, & that specialist product is bonsai trees. So that, my friend, is what this advert needs to focus on. What I eed from you is some ideas. What have you got?

CHARMER
(Quipping) I got my lighter back.

ARTIST
Good. Now then. Think. If you were the sort of person who might buy a bonsai tree, what would tip you over the edge? What would make you buy one? Or even better, several. Look at this one here. What do you see?

CHARMER
It's a bit scrawny, isn't it?

ARTIST
Good. Scrawny.

She takes want from ear, inserts it into large pencil sharpener & turns handle. The wand snaps in half. She gives it a cursory glance, flings it aside & uses real pencil to write "scrawny" on board. Charmer panics, & tries ineffectually to fix it. It looks worse than ever. Artist suggests replacing it with a twig from one of the garden centre displays she's got. He says Pagan will spot the difference straight away. Artist is holding it when Pagan returns & rushes through her open door. Silence.

ARTIST
I didn't do it. That is, I didn't mean to, it just came off in my hand.

Pagan forgives her straight away.

PAGAN
Que sera sera.

He laughs nervously. Artist asks if he had been going to say something.

PAGAN
Er, no.

ARTIST
You seemed like you were in a terrible hurry.

PAGAN
Did I? No, I've just been for a jog, that's all. Well, see you guys later.

ARTIST or CHARMER
But what about your wand? Won't you need another one? Where will you find one?

Pagan pulls a twig from Artist's display.

PAGAN
This one'll do nicely.

CHARMER
but we got you a bonsai, instead.

PAGAN
A bonsai! It's like the perfect pet!

Knock on the door. Pagan scoots upstairs. Artist answers.

POLICE OFFICER
(Out of shot) Are you Artist?

ARTIST
Yes.

POLICE OFFICER
Well, would you mind coming down to the station with us in connection with an offense regarding a rodent at the house of Ms Cassandra X?"

The early mist climbed swiftly and silently up the heather-strewn mountain, seemingly passing through the naked trees. Soon it would be upon them, but they ignored its familiar presence, knowing the rising sun would soon disperse it; indeed, the grey shroud was already becoming thinner.

They pressed onwards, sure-footed, quick climbers, leaping up patches of skree as though they were solid, level rock; dodging the large boulders and clumps of heather and gorse so nimbly it seemed they were not even aware of their presence.

For days now, they had been climbing the rocky, barren slopes of hills and clipping along ridges of mountains, always with a keen sense of urgency. Not one stopped to wonder why, or to wonder whether they were pursuing or escaping from something. All they knew was that they had to keep moving; they had to reach the gigantic mountain in the distance at which they had often gazed from afar, on the grassy hillock where their home had once been set.
Now, as he pulled on his karrak-skin boots, he decided that there must be some meaning to these strange dreams, so he resolved to obtain the audience of Cragrock mesatown's weasel-woman. The weasel-woman was an ugly, witch-like creature, akin to the dwarves but who possessed great magical powers. She could also turn herself into a weasel at will. Raalen knew, through rumour, that the weasel-woman had interpreted dreams in her time and hoped that she could--or would--interpret his.

Adjusting his leather axe-belt, he stalked out of his home cavern and set off with his stolid, dwarven gait, in the direction of the weasel-woman's cranny. He passed many of his subjects, who saluted him or said, "hail, Chief Raalen!" He nodded regally to them all.

All the passages that twisted around the centre of the mesatown were faintly illumined by the coppery xaxen ores that lined their walls, ceilings and parts of the worn smooth rock floors. As one moved to the caverns and grottoes that lay far from the centre, however, the passages became dimmer and wreathed in shadows. Xaxen ores were only apparent in small patches, that became less common as one traversed even further from the centre of Cragrock mesatown. It was along these passages that Raalen strode, for the weasel woman lived in the darkest, deepest cranny inside the whole of Cragrock Mountain.

Eventually, Raalen reachd the blackly-shadowed crack in the rock. He paused, feeling a momentary uneasiness which he quickly disregarded, as any brave chief should.

"Weasel-woman!" he called, sharply and gruffly. A cracked, ageless voice answwered him from somewhere deep, deep inside. He could not tell whether it was words that he heared, or just the voice of rock falling on musty rock. He called again: "come where I can speak with you!"

This time there was a deep silence. It closed around him like a demon's death shroud and it seemed as though, if he put a hand out into the blackness, he would be able to feel its thick, suffocating material. This did not bother him overmuch, however; being a dwarf, he knew all the moods and tricks of his mountain and was accustomed to the silence of its deep interior. He waited patiently, listening to the silent shadows whispering amongst each other. He felt them as they crept curiously closer, flowing through each other with deadly quietness as their tiny minds tried to discern what he was; and still he waited.

Suddenly, they fled as one, leaving a black void of rock and ancient air, with two beings in the centre of it: the weasel woman had come.

"You have a problem," said she; her voice was indeed the age-old voice of rock on rock. She continued jaggedly, "you have been having dreams that you don't like, and that you want to know the meaning of."

Raalen wondered if it was contempt that he heard on her gravelly tongue. He was soon to have the answer: "you came here in the hope that I should help you. Why should I? What have you, with your "mighty" dwarven village, ever done for me? Allow me to tell you: you came onto my territory to find me, without my leave; you came whilst I was in a slumber; you called me, harshly and rudely; you ordered me to come to you as though I were one of your faithful crawling worms that you call subjects! Give me one reason why I should tell you what your little nightmares mean."

Raalen had not come so far to be intimidated by any relation to a witch. He drew himself up, placing one hand unconsciously upon his axe-handle. Facing the direction from which the weasel-woman had spoken, he said, "What you call "your territory", in fact belongs to me. This whole mountain is under MY rule alone, and I can and will go anywhere I please in it, as can my good and loyal subjects. You are allowed to live here because I say you can--but everyone who dwells in Cragrock Mountain must work for their living! I do not ask much, but nor do I ask nothing. I feel I have every right, also, to speak with the beings under my rule however and whenever I feel like speaking to them,

"Now then," he added in a kinder but more business-like tone, "you obviously know what my dreams are about; what do they mean?"

But the weasel-woman had gone.

Knowing that she would not reappear for him that day, Raalen strode back to the centre of his mesatown, deep in thought. When he arrived, the townspeople had all risen from their beds and were preparing for the Celebration of the Goblin War Victory, a festive anniversary that lasted six days and seven nights every thirteen moons. The Celebration was to be in a fortnight's time, but preparations for it always began very early, and were treated with extreme care; everything had to be at its best.

Raalen passed a smoky, wide-mouthed cavern where many dwarven men and women worked over huge bubbling pots or supplied fires with fuel; stone tables and stools were being set around the elaborately carved fountain in the very middle of the town, where the largest cavern in the mountain lay; many people could be seen scrubbing the walls, floors or even rooves of their own caverns; curtains were being taken down to be cleaned or renewed; weapons, ornaments and other artefacts were being painstakingly cleaned and polished; decorations of precious metals mined and crafted by the dwarves of the mesatown were being placed around the walls of the giant central hall, hung up on ornate chains or set upon natural shelves of glowing rock.

Raalen's mind moved from his encounter with the weasel woman to the preparations taking place around him. Dwarven chiefs--in fact, all dwarves--have to work if their lives are to be in any order, and they are unable to sit or lie in comfort watching their people do things for them. Almost from the day they are born, dwarves learn quickly to fend for themselves--no matter who they are. For this reason, Raalen quickly looked about him for something useful to take part in, eventually deciding on the moving of the stone tables.

"Hail, Chief!" greeted a young dwarf (of about Raalen's own age), in a slightly impudent but on the whole, good-natured voice. HE was struggling to shift a very large marble table to a point in the centre of the hall, so Raalen lifted up one end of it.

"Thanks, Chief," said the dwarf, whose name was Blinny. "You know, you'll be sitting at one of these here fancy tables. The middle one, I'd say."

"That's right, Blinny," replied Raalen. "I shall be sitting right in front of the fountain, next to the Princess Oklarra of Granite Peak."

"Oh, I know the one." Blinny made a face, screwing up his large grey eyes until they were hidden by his bushy eyebrows.

The two dwarves set the table down near another one that was similar to it. Blinny then took Raalen by the shoulder confidentially and rasped in his ear, "if you want my opinion, that Princess Oklarra is the most vile and ugly creature that walked the earth!"

"Thank you, Blinny," said Raalen politely, "but I think I can survive without your opinion. Please remember, she is the daughter of my second cousin."

"I must say Chief, I forgot and I'm sorry. I'll see to it that no one says anything bad about her in future."

Raalen could tell by the way Blinny's eyebrows arched solemnly upwards that the dwarf would forget this promise as soon as he had retreated from his vision. HE could not suppress a smile, and when Blinny saw this his features brightened up again, he obviously believing that his quick tongue had saved him from disgrace.

Together they walked along one of the many twisting tunnels to the place where tables were stored when not in use for banquets and celebrations. They shifted and carried tables all day, along with many other dwarves, and by nightfall more than half of the tables had been set down at tasteful and convenient angles all around the great hall.

As soon as the word "dusk" had been passed by means of shouting from the time-watch on duty at the town entrance to all corners of the town, every dwarf stopped what they were doing. Some then grabbed pick-axes, shovels and various other mining tools and stalked off in the direction of the darker tunnels. These dwarves were crafters, who would be mining all night for the materials they needed. The other dwarves thankfully made their ways to their caverns where they would quickly sup before retiring to bed. Raalen and Blinny were two of the latter.

The grey mist had dispersed a few hours since, and the pale orb of the sun burned in the patchy blue and grey sky. they were travelling along the edge of a high, mountain loch and sometimes one of them would place their forefeet into the water and take a little into their mouths before carrying on. The gigantic mountain they were heading for did not loom any larger than it had for the past few days, but not one thought of losing heart at this: in fact, it seemed to spur them on. There were not many plants at the water's edge, except for growths of slimy moss upon the rocks here and there. There were also no large boulders but only multitudinous little rocks which could be hopped over with ease.

COMPUTER
Is it justifiable to say that God exists because you have a deep-rooted belief that he does?

ME
Yes.

IAN
Why?

ME
Rather ask why not! Everything is justifiable to someone.

IAN
In maths and epistemology, 'justifiable' means 'able to be reasoned out'. Therefore you are WRONG to answer 'yes' to that question.

ME
If I'd been using that meaning of the word, I woud have said 'no'. I do understand the difference between knowledge and belief.

IAN
(Smugly and pedantically) I don't; what's the difference, then? I understand the difference between scientific verification and received knowledge [or some such jargon].

And anyway, you ARE wrong: wrong to have interpreted 'justifiable' the way you did. You contradicted yourself! Your beliefs are contradictory!

ME
How can this question show my beliefs to be contradictory, when I didn't understand the wording well enough to answer it in line with my beliefs?

IAN
The fact that you didn't understand shows that you don't know what you're talking about. I'm right. You're wrong. Face it.

ME
I misunderstood. I made a mistake which looked like a contradiction, but in fact was a misinterpretation.

IAN
Yes--you're right, my darling. I see that now. I'm so sorry. You simply misunderstood the question. It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with your ability to think things through. I actually think you're very intelligent.

Deductive science is usually called Metamathematics. It consists of both formal and non-formal methods of deduction. Non-formalized methods are not suitable for scientific investigation and are thus beyond the scope of this publication. Some examples of non-formal deduction are: those which to not rest on a definite logical basis; those formulated in the ambiguous & inexact terms of colloquial language.

This study has two aims: with regard to formal mathematics:  first, to make precise specify the meaning of a series of key metamathematical concepts; secondly, to establish the fundamental properties of those concepts.

Metamathematics is, of course, not a single theory; each theory of deduction would require its own separate methodology for it to be investigated. This study is of a more general character.

Some of the following concepts are based on alternative methods of deduction; they will here be regarded as primitive & will be characterized by a series of axioms.

An exact proof of the following results requires, besides the axioms, a logical basis. This basis is not comprehensive; For our purposes, this basis need not be comprehensive: the axioms of 'infinity' & 'choice' will not be used in this discussion.


Footnote on the chapters in Whitehead & Russell's work which are used in this paper.

Deductive science is usually called metamathematics. Metamathematics consists of both formalized and non-formalized methods of deduction. Non-formalized methods are unsuitable for scientific investigation. Examples of non-formalized methods of deduction are: those which do not rest on a definite logical basis; those without precise rules of inference; those whose theories are formulated in the ambiguous & inexact terms of colloquial language. Non-formalized methods of deduction are not suitable for scientific investigation. Thus metamathematical investigations are confined to formalized methods of deduction.

[With E. Ingram.]

EBULLIENCE. TERPSICHOREAN. MARMORIAL. DELIQUESCENCE. SUPPURATION. VERMIFORM. GROTESQUERY.

Squirrel. Butterfly. Frog. Rocking horse. Classical guitar. Dalmatian. European fox. Domestic pony. Bony fish I. Dolphin. Rocking chair. Sun. Pears. Violin. Sprig of leaves. Chamois. Housefly. Large white pig. Hare. Stag beetle. Moose. Thrush. Armadillo. Cougar. Seventies model. Tennis racquet. Bony fish II.

HOMILY, POD, ARRIETTY (13 years old) CLOCK
Under the grandfather clock, below wainscot on stone-flagged floor--a hole. -->yards of dark, dusty intersecting passageway, with wooden doors between the Gates--

• leaf of folding cheesegrater
• hinged lid of small cash-box
• squares of pierced zinc from a meat-safe
• wire fly-swatter

Complicated clasps with hair slides & safety pins.
1st gate outward, latched by a safety pin.
3 steep steps up to clock gate. Uneven. Hole, jagged edges.

Borrowers live under kitchen floorboards.
Grating in brick wall--can see garden through it--piece of gravelled path & fallen blossom. Grating embedded deeply into wall. Moss round bottom.
Screw lid of pickle jar filled with soapy water. Water thrown out through grating grows moss.
Music box spring keeps door shut against draughts from grating.
Woodlice.
Pipes tapped from big kitchen boiler.
Bath--pate de foie gras tureen, with lid.
Great cake of soap (coal tar/sandalwood) hung on nail in SCULLERY; pieces scraped off as needed.

Washing hung by grating.

Mousehole under upstairs stove: chute, ending near top of their wall. Cinders up top.

Doormat bristles to make brush with.

Kingfisher feathers in Homily's moleskin hat.

Emerald lady's watch on wall.
Must allow carriage of carpet roll.
Arietty's hat-pin with a bar for a top; string tied like figure of 8 & sealed with wax.

Earth floors--Pod dug down to give rooms height

Floorboard--hinged.

P & H's bedroom --> .................. --> sitting room --> kitchen --> grating --> store rooms
Arietty's room
Pod's workroom

POD & HOMILY'S BEDROOM--next room--sitting room
Chest of drawers
2 beds
Creaking doors
Boxes under beds
Homily's curl-rags in a drawer with curlers & other stuff
Oil-lamp--scent-bottle cap with floating wick
Full of bags, boxes, makeshipt cupboards
FOOT OF BED. Dark oak doll's dresser & plates; 2 drawers & cupboard below.
NEXT TO DRESSER. Victorian doll's chair, upholstered in red velvet.

ARIETTY'S BEDROOM
Walls--two wooden cigar boxes. Ceiling--glamorous scene.
Bedding--quilt. Knotted coverlet.
Satin bedcovers & embroidered sheets--handkerchiefs.
Stamp on wall--view of Rio Harbour
Silver pig from charm bracelet
Turquoise ring for a crown

POD's WORKROOM
Kid gloves cut into squares. Different colours.
Beads, graded & sorted in aspirin bottle screwtops
Fish-bone needles
? Hatpin with long name-tape harness rope tied to head.
? Sack for borrowing, tied at the neck.
Hammer--small electric-bell clapper.

SITTING ROOM
Wallpaper--"it would be so charming if" vertical-writing letters from waste-paper baskets.
Pictures--diff. colour stamps of young queen.
Settle--laquer trinket-box, padded inside, lid open.
Chest of drawers--match boxes.
Round table--height of cotton reel. Wooden bottom of pill-box on a chess knight's pedestal.
Tablecloth--red velvet.
Statue--chess knight's bust on column in corner.
Tilted wooden bookcase with miniature books, including 1 blank 'diary'.
Small white pencil with piece of silk cord attached.
Coal scuttle--pewter mustard pot & spoon.
Fuel--assorted slack & crumbled candle grease. Matchsticks.
Fireplace--cog-wheel, part of cider press; fire in centre.
Chimney-piece--small brass funnel from oil lamp.
Chimney--arrangement of pipes, from spout to flues.
soup pan--thimble, heated on cog spokes. (Nuts broiled on cog spokes.)
Button boots made from kid gloves. Buttons--beads.
Knitting needles--black-headed pins; darning needles.
Knitted jerseys & stockings.
Wool--reels of silk & cotton beside Homily's chair.
Carpet--deep red blotting paper, soaks up spills.
Candle holder--upturned drawing pin.
Candles--home mde dips.
Teapot--oak apple with quill spout & wired-on handle. Burnished & hard with age.
Chairs round table--cotton reels.
Coat hangers--safety pins all round the room, hung with underclothes.
Arietty has a place by the fire.
Ironing.
By fire: Victorian dolls' chair, upholstered in red velvet.

KITCHEN
Upstairs: drawing room.
Store house/room --> dusty lane --> kitchen --> sitting room

Half pair manicure scissors on nail on wall.
Pieces of razor blade--knives.
Onion ring.
Stool--metal trapped champagne cork.
Taps--rubber scent-bottle corks in holes in pipes.
Sink--tin lid of aspirin bottle.
Doll's china teacup & saucer. (Seems size of mixing bowl.)
Little stool for Arietty.
Frying pan on wall, hanging.
Table, no cloth.
Washing-up gets left on table.

STOREHOUSE, SPLIT INTO ROOMS
Partitions.
Shelves.
Scraps of silk & lace.
Ki gloves.
Pencil stubs.
Rusty razor blades.
Hairpins.
Needles.
Dried figs.
Hazelnuts.
Powdery bits of chocolate.
Red stubs of sealing wax.


STUFF
Roast sliced chestnuts--eaten like toast with butter
Cold boiled chestnut--bread
Hot dried currants, plumped before fire
Crispy cinnamon breadcrumbs lightly dredged with sugar
Potted shrimp each
Plates--(silver) coins
Arietty's hairbrush--part of toothbrush
Arietty's slobby Turkish bloomers--2 glove fingers
Reels of coloured silks & cottons
Small variegated balls of odd wool
Pen nibs for flour scoops
Bottle tops--lots
Aprons
Hazel shell cup, pointed end sawn off
Comb--18th Century silver eyebrow comb
Pod's night shirt
Homily's night dress, old, with patch in back


WHAT A BORROWER NEEDS
Food. Cleaning products. Water--hot & cold. Light. Entertainment. Heat. Toilet.

Cups. Plates. Bowls--eating, mixing. Pans. Cutlery. Utensils. Chopping board. Tray. Bath/shower. Basins. Brushes. Hoover? Dustpan & brush. Wiring; light bulbs & switches; lamps. Cooker; fireplace--fireglow light bulb? Oil ring? Camp stove? Games; computer games--an old mobile? Hand pinball? Draughts? Board games. Table games. Cards? Books. Washing line. Ironing board. Iron. Pegs. Hangers. Carpets. Wallpaper. Grating? With curtains? Wardrobes. Shelves. Cupboards. Drawers. Kitchen surfaces. Tables. Chairs. Upholstery. Beds. Bedclothes. Pillows, cushions. Toilet. Towels. Rugs. Pictures. Ornaments. Plants. Toilet roll. Nightclothes. Day clothes. Outdoor clothes. Shoes. Boots. Hats. Slippers. Dressing gowns. Aprons. Gloves. Tools & stuff for DIY. Glue & painntbrushes. Underwear.

Joists--2"x 4". 14 1/2" - 18" gaps.

Bedrooms: 1 main, 2 single.
Bathroom. Ensuite toilet for main bedroom.
Kitchen.
Lounge.
Store rooms.
Pet mouse in stable.
Workshop.

Pharmacy--door next to it looks nice
Witch door--top half shadow

COLLEGE ROAD
HSBC door--angle, fr across road--sun
No 10--knocker--sun
CRAIG Y DON--therapists' door--no. 1 shadow
3 grn garage doors LHS rd--shadow
PRINCES RD--church door from below through gate--sunny path, shadow
Black garage doors--RHS--sun
No. 4 with plant--sun & shadow
No. 2--balanced--sun & shadow

HOLYHEAD ROAD
Balti restaurant--onion top (in shadow)
Flowershop door--black, tles, sun
Safeway fire escape--balanced by 2 pillars. Bollard. Shadow.

HILL
Door in wall opposite Safeway--top half sun
Safeway substation--full sun
Building RHS substation with ladder--top half shadow

SNOWDON VIEW
9/11 Holyhead Rd--light across top right corner--very dilapidated
Garage door next to it--light across top left corner

HOLYHEAD ROAD
Side door church through front gate--pale shadow

COLLEGE ROAD
No. 34 knocker, sun
38 & 40, steps, right halves of doors in sun
Psychology Dept RHS shadow

CRESCENT
guinel, RHS, door at end, shadow
No. 17, shadow, no. painted on, boarded window
LHS door in wall, sun & shadow
Square arch, no door, LHS
Garage doors, peeling paint, sun
'Brighton', nice, shadow, LHS
'Bryn Gwynedd', LHS, overgrown, shadow
Next door, see tunnel below--light at end
3 doors, LHS, mid is emergency exit, shadow
Shadow street leading to sunny zigzags, LHS
No 4, LHS, dilapidated, shadow
Bron yr Aur with grid, sun



170 T.C. N.B. Aperture
4. Gr3 4 secs
Gr5 8 secs
fingers on trees--TOO DARK

-5. G3, 2s
G5, 4s fingers on trees--TOO DARK

6. G 1 1/2, 2 s
G 4 1/2, 4 s
paper trees
LIGHTER, TOO DARK

7. ditto, smaller aperture
lighter, patchy,
not enough black

8. GR 1 1/2, 2 sec
G5, 45 sec
trees--paper, slowly 1/2way.

9. with corrections.

6. test strip (Ed)
3 clicks up aperture
10-sec intervals
 

CHECK WHAT AFME DOES FIRST!

Practical advice for those with chronic & temporary fatigue.
Intro--no crap accepted. Moderation.
Links, eg. to AFME & benefits advice.

Intro to each section, periodically changed & added to as info accumulates.
Chat threads beneath the intro, or on following page.
Group stuff into levels of physical ability--perh. 3.

Room for adding extra sections.

Work.
Giving up work. Benefits.
Running a house.
Travel.
Money management.
Shopping.
Bringing up kids, esp. when single.
Dealing with people

• family
• friends --> having a social life
• colleagues
• public
• doctors --> getting a proper diagnosis

Treatment reviews. How to spot a quack.
Legal rights --> avoid bitterness & revenge.
Hobbies & interests.
Maintenance of energy levels.
Choosing & looking after pets.

Surveys & questionnaires.

Wood scorpion. Small child seen as horror. Hides in attic. Dancing. Causes argument. Dance 4 me? Business colleague? Landlord. Letter. Hoover? F. scorpion stings male. Strength.

Eventually, Leafy lifted her tear-stained face from her knees & looked blearily around her. She had hidden in the attic because she knew that nobody ever came here. It was her personal kingdom, which she would frequently visit to play by herself, or browse through the dust-covered boxes of forgotten junk, or simply sit & dream. Today it was her refuge from the terrible complications of the world downstairs.

The late afternoon sunshine fell in a warm shaft from the skylight, creeping imperceptibly across the floorboards towards her. She listlessly watched motes of dust scattering & twirling in the air.

It had all happened so suddenly. Events had rolled into motion, then snowballed out of control, Leafy careening right in the centre, dizzied & disorientated. She knew that her parents had problems, of course. The regular array of broken crockery & splintered furniture was evidence enough of that, even if she were able to block her ears from the dreaded sounds of angry shouting, crying, wailing that cut through the nights preceding such scenes. For as long as she could remember she had been in the way; surplus to requirement. For as long as she could remember, she had been clumsy, stupid, ugly & unable to get things right. She was perfectly aware that she was sub-normal: her family had always made this abundantly clear to her. Even the things she was interested in were unsuitable for a girl. Creepy crawlies. Climbing trees. Getting dirty. But never before had she been the direct cause of those broken dishes, that shrieking in the night. Never before had she been right in the middle of the hurricane, unable to hide away until things had calmed down.

And all because of those dancing lessons. All she had wanted was to do something right for once: to be the daughter her parents had always wanted. So, she had persuaded her mother to enrol her on an after-school dancing course. Her mother had been surprised, but pleased: she had spoken of buying a lovely dancing outfit for Leafy, & things had really begun to look promising.

Feeling her lip begin to tremble again, Leafy uncurled herself & stood up stiffly. She walked over to the big Victorian mantelpiece., where there stood a pewter owl that she had dug out of one of the boxes months ago. She liked its unreadable face & the way the grooves of its wing feathers reflected in the yellow stains of the huge mirror behind it. She often liked to gaze at it, imagining the twilight forests it must have flown through and the freedom it must have felt in the wind beneath its pinions. Now  she smiles a little, & dried her face with the sleeve of her school jumper. She felt that, if she could just say the right enchanted word or phrase, the owl would come back to life & talk to her. She was sure that it could see her gazing at it. Of course, her step father would have laughed scornfully at such an idea. Oh God...

It was the landlord's wife who took the dancing lessons. After the second lesson, the landlord himself had seen her walking homeward & had stopped to offer her a lift.

"So you're a ballerina now, are yer?" he had chuckled as he patted her leg in the car. She had nodded, feeling as cowed as ever by his huge red hearty face. When he suggested that she give him a demonstration, she had smiled politely--but he had not been joking. He stopped the car outside a house he said was his brother's.

"He's in America at the moment, though," he'd told her in a pointed manner which she had failed to comprehend. She had been made to dance for him in the kitchen while he brewed himself a coffee.

An hour later she had been dropped off at the corner of her street & the landlord's Mercedes had driven off toward the glittering Friday night lights of the town.

The front door was flung open as soon as Leafy's hand touched the bell & she was greeted with the kind of tirade from her mother which she usually dreaded.

"Where the hell have you been?" no, don't tell me, you little shit, you always lie to me. I've been sitting here, sick with worry, but I don't suppose you care about that! I really thought you'd finally got your act together--what a waste of bloody money. You've always been a disappointment to me..."

And so it went on, as Leafy walked into the living room followed closely by her overwrought mother. For once, her mother's words simply washed over her. She was wrapped in a kind of fug which blanketed her from the world, making it seem muted & far away. She observed her body with detachment as it went through the motions of selecting an armchair & sitting in it. Her eyes gazed at the television that flickered silently in the corner.

Once her mother had finished noisily telling her that she had better continue with the dancing lessons now that they had all been paid for, Leafy wandered upstairs to her room.

"And stay there!" came the parting shot.

Leafy numbly changed into her pyjamas & climbed into bed. She lay watching a cobweb on her ceiling be gradually consumed by the gathering shadows. She could hear her mother sobbing downstairs, as though at the far end of a tunnel. When she finally fell asleep she dreamed of terrible laughing clowns with giant red faces.

But all this had happened days ago. It was the letter that had really sealed her fate.

Turning away from the mantelpiece, Leafy paced around the room. She picked up a book, turned it over in her hands, tossed it away, fiddled with the latch of the skylight, slumped onto a heap of sofa-cushions.

That bloody letter. She should never have written it. What had she been thinking of?

"Dear St. jude...," it had begun. Ever since she had heard that St Jude was the patron saint of lost causes, she had felt a special affinity with him. The letter had really been a way of expressing what had happened on the day of the dancing lesson. St. Jude's name had seemed like a reasonable one to place at the top of the page. She should have chosen a different name. But how could she have known tht her mother would take such an interest in her? She had never suspected that the woman might want to enter her bedroom while she was at school; that she might go to the effort of pulling all those little scraps of paper from the bin & piecing them together into St. Jude's unfinished letter.

So now she was a slut, a conniving little whore. None of the disappointments she had ever caused her parents had prepared them for the shame & disgust they now felt. She had obviously done what she had done to be spiteful, to make the landlord want to throw them out of the house. And what was all this religious "St. Jude" rubbish? Perhaps she was becoming a zealot on top of everything else. Well, religion wouldn't be much use to her after what she had done!

She did not feel the rain of slaps, the furious kicks; the sting of the hoover flex failed to reach her. She had simply stood, impassively, helplessly, waiting for it all to end. The accusations continued for hours, though, & troubled her deeply. She knew that there was nothing she could ever do to make things better. Saying sorry had never been enough, so she remained silent in the hope that her presence would be a little less of a burden. But those words burned her like acid and the tears finally began to spill down her impassive face.

Her mother had shrieked, "why are you doing this to me! How dare you make me feel guilty! How dare you play these psychological games!" Finally, she had shouted, "you hateful little girl, get out of my sight!"

She had picked her way over the shards of mirror that had been knocked to the floor earlier, & hurried upstairs to her room. She had shut her door & scrambled blindly through the trap door in the ceiling above her dresser. Now, she thumped one of the sofa cushions in the pile beneath her. Here she was, a hopeless, destructive burden & she couldn't even kill herself because her mother would feel guilty. Nothing. She could do nothing. Nothing that would make any difference at all. She slowly lay back on the cushions & watched a small cloud scull across the blue pond of the skylight. Birdsong filtered into the attic from the garden. She closed her eyes & listened to it, beginning to feel calmer again. Other sounds began to drift into her awareness: the low hum of traffic in the distance; a papery rustling in the corner of the attic; the rising & falling of her own breath. A sense of tranquility stole over her. Sealed in this moment, inside her secret kingdom, she felt safe. The focus of her attention narrowed towards the little shifts & rustles which continued insistently in the corner near her head. She rolled onto her belly & peered amongst the old magazines & boxes, but saw nothing. Her interest was engaged:she felt sure there must be a friendly little arthropod scuttling around there somewhere. She knew a lot about arthropods: they were her one & only rea of expertise, useless though it was. She could lose herself completely when watching, say, a spider mending its web or ants kidnapping aphids kidnapping aphids to keep as livestock inside their nest.

She silently shuffled forward for a better view, & peered into the shadowed gap between 2 stacks of periodicals. A spindly shadow twitched, & twitched again, & a small chocolate-coloured scorpion sidled into view. Leafy was immediately spellbound The scorpion appeared to be adopting a slightly defensive stance: its pincers were open, its tail delicately curved upward. Something out of Leafy's line of vision was making it nervous. Breathlessly, she eased herself close enough to be peering directly downwards into the gap. Another scorpion appeared & approached the first one swiftly, thrusting a small package-like object towards it. Although Leafy had read of this phenomenon, she had never before seen it. She now knew that the first scorpion was female, & that the male had just given her a sac of sperm from within his own thorax: he had had to present it to her very quickly, before she decided to eat him for breakfast. Now the male clamped both of her cruel-looking pincers shut with his own & pulled her toward him. Leafy shuddered. Reading of such a thing in a book could never prepare her for the sight of the real thing. Her recent experiences added a new dimension to the miniature drama unfolding below her.

The scorpions stood on their hindmost sets of legs, curling their poison-tipped tails upward at an impossible angle. The tails wound around each other, each scorpion holding the other helpless. Then they twirled together, pincer clamped in pincer, like a pair of ballroom dancers on their tiny patch of floor. The female accepted the male's gift &, as she took it, the male pulled away & headed quickly towards the dim shadows behind him. He was not fast enough. The female caught up with him, & held him fast in her pincers as she repeatedly stung him to death. She retreated under some paper with his limp body. Leafy lay watching the scorpions' empty dancefloor for several long minutes, turning things over in her mind.


Asks mum for help, saying knows she has probs of her own & L's her biggest one. "Only one can turn to." Mum cries (as usual). "Yes, you are my biggest prob, but not 4the reasons u think. (I'm 28, not 32.)" Says nothing in her life's ever gone right. Always wanted best for L & took it out on herwhen best didn't happen. Now same thing'd happened to L as had first happened to her at L's age. L was theresult: found it hard to look at her & not remember. What happened to L had brought all the horror back that she'd tried to forget. She'd gone through her bin in desire to protect but it had all been too much for her. She hadn't meant to be awful to her. She'd try to help her--perhaps they could help each other. Today she'd not go to school: they'd go & make a statement at the police station, then spend the day in town window shopping & eating cake & talking to each other. We've never really talked. Her parents would find a different landlord or, better still, a landlady. It would all be alright.

Dreams finds word to bring owl to life in end. They fly.


She waited until she had got back from school before speaking to her mother. Her stepfather would not return from work for another hour or so. Her mother was frenetically ironing clothes. Leafy perched on a chair on the far side of the little room. She felt nervous, but also resolved.

"Mum," she began--"um, I know you have a lot of problems, &, well, I've never asked you this before, but..."

She stopped. Her mother had stiffened, her mouth contracting to a thin line. She glanced once at her daughter & ironed with increased vigour. Leafy was taken aback & uncertain as to how, or even whether, she should continue. Then her mother snapped, "but what?"

"Um," said Leafy, "well, I know that I'm the bane of your life & everything, but I think I really need your help & I'm sorry & this is the only time I'll ever ask you & I'm really, really sorry about everything."

Her mother put the iron down. Her eyes were like hard chips of gravel as she looked straight at Leafy & said, "I can't help you."

Leafy felt her traitorous lower lip begin to tremble. Suddenly, her mother sat heavily on the sofa behind her & began to sob, in a hopeless, desperate sort of way. Leafy sat watching her until the crying began to abate.

"Yes," said her mother, "you are my biggest problem, but it's not for the reasons you think. Nothing in my life has ever gone right & I didn't want you to have to go through the same things. I know you won't understand this, but I've always wanted the best for you. The best. But it never happened. You never wanted anything I gave you. All you cared about was your worms and caterpillars. I couldn't stand it! it was like, you've always been a kind of symbol of how much I've failed as a mother."

Leafy looked down at her own fingers twisting in her lap.

"It happened to me as well, at your age," her mother added. Leafy looked up, suddenly shaken. She wondered if her mother had meant what Leafy had thought she meant. Her mother said, i knew what had happened, you know. I knew what Higgins had done to you. That's why I read your letter: I was worried about you. I wanted it not to be true. But then I found out that it was true & you'd gone exactly the same way I had at your age. I didn't have you when I was 18--I had you when I was 13, after my neighbour raped me."

She fell silent & watched Leafy's face with a curious fascination. Leafy had seen a similar expression before, when a girl at school accidentally trod on a frog, then crouched down to watch the death throes she had begun. Leafy remained resolutely still under her mother's gaze. Inside her skull all the guns and bombs in Hell were raining fire, but on the outside, her eyes merely opened a fraction wider, her jaw tightened just a little more. Then her mother went on, still watching Leafy intently.

"I wanted an abortion" she said, "but my parents were really religious and they didn't care what I wanted. They brought you up until you were 3; I couldn't bear to go near you when you were a baby, but all that changed. As soon as I hit 16 I took you & I was out of there & I never went back. You were the only person who really mattered to me. They still talk to that neighbour, you know. I hear things on the grapevine, you have no idea. But when I read that letter of yours, my God, I thought you had turned out like him! It brought back all the horror & guilt &hte disgust &, oh! You have no idea what you're about to go through because of this! How can I possibly help you? I can't. It's already happened."

L's mind went back to the scorpions in the attic. She held onto the mental image of the dancing pair, grappling & twirling, the balance of strength moving back & forth & back again. Communication.

"I think," she said quietly, "you already have helped me a bit. I mean, I know you care about me now, even if I don't deserve it. And... you could maybe tell me what to expect, & how to avoid Mr higgins in future. So it doesn't happen again."

She wrapped her hands in her jumper to hide the fact that they were shaking.

Her mother sighed & shook her head slowly. "Oh, Leafy," she said. "It always happens again. That's what men are like. You'll realise this as you get older."

Leafy didn't believe it. there was her stepfather, for a start. He wasn't like that--was he? Surely, if all men were that awful, women would have started killing them off before they were born. And her mother wasn't exactly the most compassionate example of womanhood around. People are people, thought Leafy, & some of them are cruel. But she said nothing. The 2 woman sat in silence, gazing at the expanse of floor between them. Her mother was the first to speak.

"We've never really talked, have we?"

"I suppose not," said Leafy.

"Okay, look, how about this?" said her mother. "Tomorrow, you take the day off school. we'll go to the police station & make a statement about what Higgins did to you. But only if you want to. The police aren't half as helpful as they like to pretend, so you've got to decide if you want to go through with it--don't let them change your mind for you, 'cos they'll only mess you around. So we'll go there, we'll talk to them about it, & if you're happy, then you can let them do your statement. They never let people write their own, don't ask me why. Then you check it's right & sign it, & then we spend the day in town. We could have lunch in a cafe & then go & do something you like. I don't know--visit that pet shop with all the leggy things, or something. Or go to the park & have an ice cream. Would you like that?"

Leafy smiled. She still wanted very much to be on good terms with her mother. "I think that'd be great," she said.

The sun was shining gloriously by the time they left the police station. They had fresh cream cakes & hot chocolate for lunch. They fed the ducks & jackdaws in the park with a loaf of bread they had bought specially. When they visited the pet shop, Leafy bubbled over with talk about the habits of tarantulas, stick insects, snails & scorpions, & her mother listened with a slightly glazed smile. Leafy did not mention the scorpions she had seen in the attic: they were her own personal secret.


Stepfather's car outside. Murmur of voices. Rise & fall. Call her into room after tlk. Calm. L lies awake for ages, alternating feelings of panic & joy. Joy from having established a kind of rapport with her mother; a feeling of being protected by something formidable. Panic at the huge life-changes looming up ahead of her; fear of so many unknown factors.

Woke in morning to a hazy, sunny day. Tendrils of dream clung to her--something about flying through the dusk, feeling the wind rushing between her fingers. Her companion had been a silvery owl, who had spoken to her about wonderful things she couldn't quite remember.

"Think of keys & locks..."