“There’s really very little that can be done”, says Steve.

“Steve, you’re wrong.” says Carol.

An air of disquiet falls in the tent. Carol wriggles a little to alleviate the discomfort of the lumpy forest floor. It is not usual for Steve to be wrong, and not usual for Carol to unduly contradict him.

“He can’t be far, we’ll just wait till morning” sighs Steve.

“For goodness’ sake, this isn’t bloody Dorset”, is the reply.

Steve turns over and goes to sleep. Carol doesn’t.

Everywhere I look, another crawls away. There is a lamppost without a bulb (and it doesn’t matter, because it is daylight, and will remain such for another eight or so hours), upon which sits a gull watching as I do. The bird looks my way briefly, and then back to the shore.

St. Stephen’s Square, on repeat, the figure in the shadow of the streetlamp performs his ritual. Four wine glasses lie in front of him, atop a chequered teatowel stretched taut. He begins:

“The cat walks into the night, he can’t find his way out.”

A short but heavy pause follows, and then he runs a moistened finger around the rims of two glasses: F#, G#. He waits again, a little longer this time.

“The cat walks out of the night, he can’t find his way in”.

Another two notes, the same, and a longer pause. His stillness seeps from the dim corner into the lamplight of the sparse, meditative crowd.

“Morning has broken. The sun is rising.”

Four notes, louder: F#, G#, D#, C#. A long pause, the sound of his held breath.

He sets his hands down and begins again.

Either he was a lunatic, an artist, or he knew something we didn’t.

In the early 1980’s I had a short-lived career in a cinema – a summer job at the local Cinécitta. I had been hired as a popcorn girl, to smile sweetly at the customers and exchange what was essentially salted polystyrene for unreasonable coin counts, baring just enough skin to earn tips whilst avoiding the suspicions of the PG-13 audience.

After a couple of weeks in the job, one of the projectionists was hit by a milk truck and hospitalised (just a few broken bones and a newfound lactose intolerance). I covered for him while he was away. To keep things interesting, I sometimes used to mix up the reels – I developed a talent for seamlessly swapping over just after the title credits. I never messed with the big hitters – people would have noticed if Indiana Jones had turned up in E.T. – but the smaller films, the ones people went to without knowing anything about, I would sometimes change, just to see what people did. I like to think the chill factor of Poltergeist is vastly amplified if your audience member thinks he’s setting himself up for a gentle comedy.

Needless to say, people didn’t like having this done to them. I was fired before the summer was out.

I like burning the tip of my tongue on a cup of tea, me. It reminds what it’s like to have a tongue. I don’t take milk, and I don’t take sugar. If I wanted milk or sugar, I would have just asked for some milk with some sugar in it. Today is Tuesday, which is good because this is the day the post comes. When the post comes, I’ll greet the postman with a cheery “Hello!” which I am sure he’ll like because it can be lonely round these parts. I’ll invite him in for a biscuit and a hot drink. He’ll say “Oh no thanks, better be gettin’ on”. I’ll insist, he’ll concede “Go on then, just a quick’un”. I’ll bring him in, set him down, pack of custard creams, get his memory going, remind him of her, he will’ve clocked it by now. “Don’t see many o’—” bring in the teapot, glass bottle to the back of the head, he’ll like that, remind him of what it’s like to be alive.

“Milk and hyenas.” She handed me the shopping list.

“Milk and hyenas?” I quizzed.

“Milk, and hyenas.” she insisted.

“Milk… hyenas?” I questioned again. Cautiously, I tried to gather a little more information. “Semi skimmed or full fat?”

“Semi skimmed.” she replied.

“Ah.” I nodded. I didn’t mean it.

“Wait—” she paused, pondered for a while, finger on teeth, eyes to her mind. “Semi skimmed milk. Full fat hyenas.” She prodded her fingers into her cheeks.

“Ah.” I nodded. I didn’t mean it.