saturday

So, in an attempt to do all the work needed i am staying at Holloway for Easter, which, though probably a good idea in the long run, is very boring. i have been alone in the house for but one day, and already i am starved of human contact. Anyway, to the point. i have just written the first draft of the beginning of my chapter 3. the problem is i think it works quite well as the beginning to a novel but can't be arsed to cut the first two chapters or somehow reshape it. who knows? Anyway here it is, any thoughts would be welcome.

When there’s an accident in London the ambulance takes an average of nine minutes to reach the scene, which is four minutes more than it takes a news crew to reach a hotel near Madrid. In London people don’t call an ambulance if they think that the person will be dead in nine minutes. Busy workers don’t care who’s face down in front of a Barclays bank with blood pouring from the self inflicted bullet wound in their chest. Even off duty ambulance drivers feel hate for on duty ambulance drivers, who weave through traffic likely to delay every driver by the ten seconds that would inevitably cause them to be late. In a busy city a lot of photographs can be taken in nine minutes.

Two days after my wife jumped I was having her funeral alone in a cemetery a mile from the hotel. I was speaking to an unmarked grave with nothing inside. The police still had my wife but I needed to do something before I left her alone. I couldn’t even afford a proper headstone so I may as well have held a ceremony in a park or by a lake. I could have taken the small wooden cross and buried her somewhere more exclusive than a cemetery. But I didn’t. She was religious and deserved a proper burial, even if it was just me speaking to a wooden cross in the middle of a cemetery thousands of miles from home. There was no vicar or priest or point. But I needed to do something.

The spot I had taken for her grave was in the corner of the cemetery, eight or so feet from the surrounding fence. The cemetery was pretty full. A lot of inconsiderate people had been dying. When the cemetery run out of space they would need to open up another cemetery, and the first person to be buried there would have an entire field to themselves for a while. But I don’t suppose you get lonely when you’re dead. It’s the ones left alive who are alone.



Oh yeah, any random people reading this be warned. i will sue if any of it is stolen. Happy Easter.