The times they have changed

 

Forklifts. They're hardly toys are they?

The French call them romans. Can be hard

Two RR romans (bottom left) plus treble and bass clefs.

Dreams cartographically expressed

Welcome once again to the RR mancave. If I were writing a cheap novel (which I don’t rule out) I’d call it squalid. But perhaps that’s a bit harsh. Certainly the mancave’s untidy and – as the years have slipped by – it’s become more and more uncomfortable. I tell myself I can justify every last thumb-tack but I could be lying.

I do a lot of unproductive thinking in the mancave. Most recently, geology. Yeah, all those techy words: Cambrian, Ordovician, Carboniferous.

Pretentious? Moi? See, the mancave has its own geology. Just like those cutaway cliffs with stripes that identify the “times” they passed through. Four stripes – strata are more la-di-dah - dividing up the last quarter of my life.

Stratum 1. The forklift era. I was still working then, editing a logistics magazine. Forklifts are big in logistics and the manufacturers publicise their wares with these precise die-cast models. Hand ‘em out like toffees. Should I throw them away? You’re crazy, man.

Stratum 2. The French literature era. Goes back to 1973 and only ended when my most recent teacher, Pat, died in 2017. About fifty novels, all well-worn. Yes, it was a snobby thing to do but I’ve never denied this tendency. At least one title is “experimental”; you have to want to read books like that.

Stratum 3. The novel-writing/singing lesson era. They overlap. Both are deep-rooted and I’d be someone else without either of them. Both are very, very hard work, confirmation I’m still sentient.

Stratum 4. The Out of Arizona era. I finished the novel in 2014 but the map of southern France, which hosts most of the action, remains still taped to my wardrobe door. In flat-lining moments I turn my chair and pick a town; let’s say Villefranche-sur-Rouergue. And day-dream.