Greetings…
Old William took a bit of a spill this morning. Reaching for a screwdriver on the top shelf, he was up a ladder which decided to slide. No-one up stairs had anything to do with it; we were as shocked as Dean who screamed as he turned to see old William flying towards the floor.
Accidents will happen…
An ambulance arrived and everyone watched the ancient inventor being carried into the van. Charles stood by, shaking his head and wringing his hands, tearing off after the ambulance in his car (with the Captain sitting on his roof). Emily was sobbing but Brigitte wasn’t. Hard woman she is; rarely smiles or shows emotion on that perfect face. Emily told me she is trying to avoid wrinkles by limiting her facial expressions. This world has become a very vain place in space.
Aviator or spy…
Amy popped by a few days ago (the aviator born in Hull); come to visit old haunts and see the breathing family members. The city of Hull is preparing a festival in her honour next year and she was curious to see how things are progressing. Now that, in my humble male opinion, was a woman. She flew all over the world, crashed numerous times (the aeroplane wings often being mended with sticky tape and strips of clothing) and kept adventuring until she left the ground to fly upstairs. It’s believed by you earth walkers that she died after crashing into the sea, just before the end of World War Two .I know different. Life had got very dangerous for her, so it was best she disappeared. In truth, she was moved to South America, where she continued flying to the end and set up her own company of women pilots, The Johnson flyers. Keep that quiet though, as it will spoil the history books…
She is disheartened by women in the west, who she feels have come so close to equality and stopped. She was laughing over their need to turn themselves into objects, becoming statues. She commented that women’s clothes and shoes stop them from moving naturally and the only time they look graceful now, is when they are still. Amy and Emily say it’s the screens that make them want to look that way. On screen, women are perfect creatures, no bruises, blemishes or calloused hands from hard work; living dolls with impossible bodies and faces. True women are banished to dark documentaries, best hidden and not glorified. Reality doesn’t sell things was Emily’s comment.
Upstairs, all of this doesn’t matter. There is nothing to sell or buy here and manipulation is usually just for fun, unless you are fuelled by pre-death trauma. We are what we are and can be nothing more.
Stopped still…
“The lads alright!” the captain told us on his return.”Few broken bones and shock but he’ll be back,” he pronounced. He returned moments ago in a wheel chair, looking pallid and tired. A bed was dragged downstairs to a place by the fire side and Charles helped lift him in it.
That’s the inventor holdup for a while. Poor William, he will hate being still. He’s lived here from being a lad of nine and rarely have I seen him inactive. Up until a few years ago, he was swimming or cycling every morning, then on to the workshop for the rest of the day. The sigh he expelled on lying in the bed was of acceptance but I don’t know how long that will last. Depends on what pills and potions they give him to heal and lift his spirits. Charles will keep a close eye on all that, proffering his own brand of medication.
At least the beast has stopped howling. The cat started its deafening song as the ambulance arrived and has only just paused with the return of Old William. The villagers were at the gates, shouting for someone to shut the noise up but only we were home at the Hall and we like it when the tiger shouts.
Rest well earth walkers, for who knows what tomorrow may bring.