Photo credit http://thehenrybrothers.files.wordpress.com
We’re up to the giddy heights of number 7 now.
We thought about this list, a lot, as we walked alone, along the coast over the so called holiday. The tide lapped at our feet teasingly. Gulls cawed, bored, and the sea shushed them, waving the sound away with salted indifference. Our salted eyes stung as we looked out to sea, deep.
Less than a hundred steps and it would be all over.
Heady times, indeed. With the suspense rising, we found, at last a reason to live. We turned away from the shoreline, ignoring the pull of the tide.
On the one hand, turning left and heading into the English Channel would be relief at last from the monotomy of the blackness, but on the other, we’d never know what hashtag#1 on our #top14 of the zoflora countdowns was, so for a while at least, we cling to life.
top14# 7 is Bouqet. To be honest, we only put it at 7 so we’d have Hyacinth Bouqet together.
Oh, what jokers we are. We are reminded by the genius of Louis Macneice’s Autumn Journal XV where people try to distract themselves as something awful is about to happen.
Join us tomorrow as we continue our climb up the charts. Unless, unless there is a silence in which case you can assume the pull of the tide, after all, was too great.
Maybe this from Louis Macneice would be more apt:
And this, ladies and gentlemen, whom I am not in fact
Conducting, was his office all those minutes ago,
This man you never heard of. These are the bills
In the intray, the ash in the ashtray, the grey memoranda stacked
Against him, the serried ranks of the box-files, the packed
Jury of his unanswered correspondence
Nodding under the paperweight in the breeze
From the window by which he left; and here is the cracked
Receiver that never got mended and here is the jotter
With his last doodle which might be his own digestive tract
Ulcer and all or might be the flowery maze
Through which he had wandered deliciously till he stumbled
Suddenly finally conscious of all he lacked
On a manhole under the hollyhocks. The pencil
Point had obviously broken, yet, when he left this room
By catdrop sleight-of-foot or simple vanishing act,
To those who knew him for all that mess in the street
This man with the shy smile has left behind
Something that was intact.