Virtual Strangers
Page 5
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Hello stranger.
My friend has suggested that you might be a clam digger from Tenby. Please advise.
Charlie.
Answer in ninety seconds! Mystery friend is obviously on the same virtual wavelength.
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
Hello back!
I wish. But I do not own a bucket. Not sure it would be a prudent career move in any case. When was the last time you ate a clam?
griffith.
Fun indeed! Collect pickled shallots and a wine glass from the kitchen.
‘Charlotte?’ my Dad calls. ‘Are you back in that dining room?’
He is concerned, I know, that I have not ‘acclimatised’ sufficiently, (and that I will perhaps become etiolated if I stay here too long).
‘I’m in the study,’ I correct him. ‘I’m, er..doing some research.’
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Dear griffith,
I honestly cannot remember. Though, thinking about it, aren’t clams what they use in spaghetti vongole? And don’t they go around selling them from baskets, in pubs? Like cockles? And are you male or female, by the way? All this time, I’ve been working on the assumption that you are my friend (Rose, obviously) but now I realise I don’t actually know the first thing about you and I have this niggling anxiety that you are, in fact, a man. And that you’ve been getting off on imagining me imagining what I’d like to do to with the guys on my shag list etc., and that ... There I go! This is the trouble. I just do not who or what I’m talking to. Which is unsettling. Please tell me you’re a girl, or, if not, that you’re not a stalker/ deeply unattractive person with a penchant for slacks/gay. Actually, gay is fine.
Charlie
PS. You could use the shells to make novelty gift boxes. The trade’s seasonal, obviously, but I’ve heard people are willing to pay as much as £1.50 for a trinket box these days.
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
Dear Charlie
Definitely male (though not gay or a stalker). Which I know will make you wince, but there’s not a great deal I can (or would want to) do about it, frankly. Does it matter so much? And why should my maleness cause you anxiety? Isn’t the whole essence of this sort of thing that it is a meeting of minds unfettered by prejudice? Isn’t the fact that it doesn’t matter about gender or looks the reason it works?
griffith.
PS I’m not terribly artistic. Perhaps you could give me some pointers trinket box-wise, so that I can assess my potential as a small scale manufacturer.
Hmmm.
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Dear griffith,
Suspected as much. Could detect a slight frisson. Though, having suspected, I am now a tad uncertain where to take this thing. I suppose the sensible decision would be to simply cease communicating with you - you are undoubtedly a bit of a rascal - but your (very erudite) comments concerning minds meeting and being unfettered and so on lead me to suppose that you’d rather like to press on. But is this a sex thing? How do I know that ‘unfettered’ isn’t simply a euphemism for sex, for example? I wouldn’t want to be the unwitting recipient of any improper suggestions. Besides, I have a face like a pizza, boils and a stoop.
Plus, where do you stand on geology?
Charlie.
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
Dear Charlie,
Is that a trick question? If so, I’m tempted to say that where I stand is a place rich in geologically fascinating features with mainly igneous sub-strata (though not seismically active these past millenia.). Can you place it?
Unfettered is not a euphemism for sex in any circles I inhabit, though I can’t speak for Cardiff, obviously. However, I’m sure it has the capacity to double up euphemistically, should the occasion merit it. (As, of course, does ‘double up’.)
I’m very glad to have instigated a frisson.Would you like this to be a sex thing? We can exchange smutty web site addresses, if you like. And it’s of no consequence whatever which foodstuff your face resembles. Mine was once likened to a steak and mushroom cobbler.
Where do you stand on Tchaikovsky?
griffith.
Rats. Computer anorak/classical music buff. Might have known.
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Dear griffith,
Oh dear. You’re not a dreary cultural whiz, are you? I was just about to suggest frantic cyber-sex in an unusual setting of your choosing, and then you spoilt it all by mentioning a C word. I now have a vision of you sitting in a tank top and cord trousers, thrumming energetically to some concerto or other.
I’m utterly hopeless with classical music. I buy compilations of bits they use in adverts. Sorry, bought. It’s been a while. Though that’s not to say I don’t like any of it. Pathetique (no 6?) is a favourite of my father’s and has, therefore, been subliminally grafted onto my brain. And I like Stravinsky’s the Rite of Spring, which I heard in Fantasia when I was little. You know the bit? With the evolution of earth/volcanos/ dinosaurs cartoon? It’s the rocks again, I’m afraid.
Speaking of which, can’t we get back to them?
Charlie.
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
Dear Charlie,
I have to say rocks would not be my first choice for sex, cyber or otherwise, though I will confess to having wondered if the old earthquake simulator at the Natural History museum might not be an attractive venue for a seismically enhanced event. It also has the benefit of rubber flooring, as I recall.
I have to go now as it is way past my bedtime. Lovely to talk to you. Can we do it some more?
griffithx
PS Stravinsky’s a little unstructured for me. You liking it figures, somehow.
This is more like it. I find I am absurdly pleased to be considered unstructured. And take it as a cue to adopt an unpredictable stance by not responding immediately. Also take as a definite affirmation that Simpson genes are infinitely better suited to the earnest exploration of geologically fascinating corners of the globe/aspects of ancient cultures etc., than to the buying and selling of suburban houses. Fancy too, that I would enjoy Tenby immensely - can picture myself clam digging while developing an ear for Tchaikovsky on my Walkman.
But into each cyber life, a little reality must intrude. Thus, the following week;
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Dear griffith,
Apologies for the lengthy delay in responding. Uuurgh! What a start to the week! I’ve had real hassles at work the last couple of days. I have a client called Minnie (did I tell you I worked for an estate agents? Just what have I told you, period?). Anyway, she’s elderly and very confused and she’s supposed to be exchanging contracts on her house in a couple of weeks. (She’s moving into a home, but she’s very agitated about it, and thinks the place is run by aliens). Anyway, the survey was supposed to be done at the beginning of the week and she wouldn’t let them in - thought they’d come to beam her away somewhere - and I couldn’t get hold of her social worker, and the buyer’s agents were going ballistic about it, and my boss (who is cranky at the best of times) is in permanent hyperventilation mode about it, and the trouble is they’re all just making it worse. And of course when I finally persuaded Minnie to let me in yesterday, she hadn’t let the cat out for three days - imagine!!! Anyway, it’s all sorted now and the survey’s been re-arranged for next week. I just have some decidedly rank washing with which to occupy whatever pockets of opportunity my frenetic social life will allow.
Charlie
PPS Sorry to rant. So pleased you think the word seismic is sexy. Did you actually say that? Or am I just talking nonsense? Please advise.
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
Hi,
I don’t remember actually typing it, but, yes, deeply sexy. Though geologists in general less so. And vulcanologists are very often excessively hirsute, I’ve found. Mountaineers, on the other hand, though less academically switched on to tectonics and seismology, often display an engaging enthusiasm for g
eological features. I have a mountaineer friend who’s climbed K2 and, I believe, Changtse. He knows his stuff. I should put you in touch.
Sorry to hear about your traumatic week. Is your boss giving you a really hard time? Your Minnie sounds rather an unfortunate lady. Does she have no family?
griffith.
Find ‘deeply sexy’ so deeply sexy that I spend Friday lunchtime in the bookshop, poring over large geological tomes and books about Andes/Himalayas. I also purchase a travel book for cool, unstructured people, called Trekking in Nepal. On first inspection, it promises to be a rich source of both geographical and anthropological facts with which to impress my new cyber-friend.
‘What’s this?’ asks my father, pausing in his paring to inspect it when I get home from work.
‘A guide for people going trekking in Nepal,’ I reply, fully aware that the question is rhetorical.
He flips through the maps and black and white plates. ‘Hmmm. Hippy book, then. Kale or broad beans?’
‘Wheat grass, ideally.’
Head off into study.
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Hello again!
Yes, yes, yes please! I have been in touch with every travel agent this side of Kathmandu (well, Swindon, at least) and am encountering a worrisome lack of expertise in the logistics department. Most galling, yesterday, was holding on for about fifteen minutes for the ‘trailbreaking’ expert, only to have her ask me if Everest was in India or Japan!!!! I am considering writing to Chris Bonington for advice. What do you think?
Minnie continues to trouble me. No, she has no family to speak of. Her husband died about ten years back. There is a son called Edward, but he’s in Australia or somewhere, and nobody seems to be able to find out anything about him. I’ve known her a couple of years now, and she certainly doesn’t get letters or phone calls from him. The social worker thinks she lost a child very young, but they don’t know any more than that. It’s all very depressing. I took her one of my Dad’s Madeira cakes last week and she cried. I think she used to make them for her husband.
But listen to me! You don’t want to hear me droning on about all the dreary bits of my life! Let’s talk mountains - ever been up one? You sound quite knowledgeable.
Charliexx
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
Dear Charlie,
More knowledgeable than some, far less so than others. I too have a lot of big dreary bits in my life, regrettably, so don’t get to do half of the things I would like to. On which note, I spotted the two kisses. This is new, isn’t it? Does it signify a subtle development in our relationship? I wonder what the conventions of this sort of thing are.
griffithxxx
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Dear griffith,
Three kisses - you raver, you! Actually, I could do with a little more passion in my life; I am concerned that my virtual relationship is looking like becoming more exciting than my actual one (with Phil, to whom you’ve already been (virtually) introduced, and who - bless him - has had a rather bad press). He’s a good, kind, sweet man, but I don’t think he’s the man for me. Come to think of it, if you have to point out that someone is good kind and sweet then you’re on a hiding to nothing, are you not? Trouble is, I can’t seem to find the right moment to finish it, you know? Which is all a bit pathetic for a woman of my age.
Listen to me! What has my age got to do with anything? This isn’t the real world, so I can be what I like! There’s a thought. Perhaps I should develop an alter-cyber-ego. Call myself something like Gentian Foxglove, and regale you with lurid suggestions for sex games and so on (there must be a copy of Razzle or Rustler or Hustler or whatever around the house somewhere; there’ve been times when I couldn’t change a bed-sheet without finding myself face to face with a crotch).
Charliexxx
‘Gentian Foxglove! You sad person, you! Though I have to say, it does rather suit you. You’ve always had a Kate Bush-ish flower fairy kind of look. Mind you, I’ve heard a lot about this sort of thing. There’s a maths teacher at school who has been having cyber sex with a professor from Baltimore for two years now, apparently.’
Rose, who has spent much of the intervening week failing to get hold of me by telephone, wants to know just what it is that is so compelling about my clam digger.
‘Oh, there’s none of that,’ I tell her. ‘He’s just really nice, that’s all.’
Which is a lie. There’s plenty of ‘that’. In my head at least. I hear her tut.
‘Must be. You’re spending a heck of a lot of time emailing him. Is this a twice a week obsession or are you getting a fix daily.’
‘It’s getting that way. God, Rose, am I that sad?’
‘Hmm. Depends on what your intentions are, I guess. Should I mention the P word?’
For a second, I think she’s referring to the phone bill. Which says it all, really, as she actually means Phil.
‘Fair comment. Okay. And, yes. I guess you should. And, yes, you are right. I should do something about things. And yes, you’re right again. I should do it forthwith.’
She sighs. ‘But Charlie, are you - you know, with this email stuff - barking up a dead horse here?’
‘And you Head of English! Yeah, right again. Okay, I probably am. Definitely am. But I haven’t any other livestock on the go right now, have I? It’s just a bit of fun, Rose. A bit of zing in my life.’
And speaking of zing - good grief! Almost November already. 11.57 pm.
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Dear griffith,
Oh dear. I’m pathetic and then some. had absolutely decided to - what’s the word here - Chuck? Give the elbow to? Dump? Whatever. End it with Phil yesterday. But failed miserably. Status all very much quo still. Well, what was I to do? I didn’t ask to go to the cinema, did I? And yes, I know I could have said, no, I don’t want to go and see a film, couldn’t I? But how could I? He was so keen to see it. Plus he’d already got tickets over the phone, which made it worse. As it would, wouldn’t it? And how can you compete with surround sound? And then, of course, the film was the only thing he wanted to talk about, and, God, I’ve already invited him over for Sunday lunch! And I feel so guilty about it all - what with you and everything, and - Oh, listen to me! Sorry. Sorry. The deal is that we don’t talk about this stuff, isn’t it? You never talk about this stuff. Ever. I know nothing about you. If we were having an actual relationship it would be a bit one-sided, wouldn’t it? In fact, pretend I didn’t send this. Though I will anyway, obviously.
Charliexxx
12.32. Twelve thirty two in the morning!
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
Dear Charlie,
I don’t remember making any deals of that nature. And wouldn’t dream of doing so. What did you mean ‘what with you and everything’? I’m online right now, by the way.
Love griffithxxx
Oh!
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Dear griffith,
I’m not sure what I meant. What do you think?
Charliexxx
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
Dear Charlie,
I don’t know. It’s not my situation, is it? But if your relationship with Phil is not giving you anything you need then he’s probably not getting much out of it either. So you should end it, shouldn’t you? For both your sakes. Move on and all that stuff.
griffithxxxx
Ah, but move on to what?
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Dear griffith,
Move on as in staying in a lot, you mean?
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
I doubt that. I’m sure you get plenty of male attention.
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Dear griffith,
How would you know? Anyway, I was thinking more along the lines of reflection and yoga. And I meant staying in as in sitting at the computer emailing you, by the way. Which is male attention of a sort, isn’t it?
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
&n
bsp; Which would certainly be good from this end. As Gentian Foxglove? She’s grown on me.
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
No. As me. Such a shame you’re only ephemeral.
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
I’m just as real as you are, Charlie. Though virtual, certainly. But why ephemeral? I’m not going anywhere, am I?
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Ephemeral precisely because you are virtual, griffith. Does the phrase ‘get a life’ strike a chord? Anyway, stop playing with words. The fact is you could have a face like a pudding, couldn’t you? In which case I think you should email a picture of your horrific self now to give me some incentive to get out more.
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
I’m sure you get out plenty. Just with the wrong guy.
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
I know, I know, I know. Plus you must think I’m completely pathetic. Do you?
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
Charlie, is what I think a factor here?
Yes, it is, griffith.
Yes-very-much-so, come to think of it. God, Simpson. Sad. I have to pause to collect the fizzy sensations that are presumably trying to pass for my thoughts at the moment. I pause some more. What is it with this guy? What is it about this guy?
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
What exactly do you get out of all this, griffith? I mean, it’s all a bit of a novelty for me, of course. Plus it’s great to have this complete stranger dispensing wisdom on my shambolic love life and so on. But what are you in it for? Is your life crap too? no, scrub that. My life’s not crap, just a bit lacking in whatever it is that means most normal happy people don’t spend their evenings staring at screens. Plus I’m a bit non-plussed by life right now. Plus you seem to.... Plus I can’t help but think......God! Listen to me!
thesimpsons@cymserve.co.uk
I like listening to you. I like that you enjoy being listened to. Anyway, I could listen for Wales. It’s what I do best (cursor based or otherwise).
griffith@cymserve.co.uk
Okay. Listen to this, then. I had this dream. ? And in it, I lost your email address. I mean really lost it. I ran through my whole hard disk and it had gone. Completely. And I couldn’t seem to remember what it was. I was trying, oh, I don’t know - every surname in the l phone book - sending emails in this mad frenzy. And no-one responded. Every one came back. Then I woke up - as one does - and I thought ‘this is crazy!’. This is just some guy I swap emails with. Probably with a face like...no, scrub that. We’ve done that bit, haven’t we! Anyhow, the point is that if I’m having ridiculous dreams about guys who don’t even really exist (bodily speaking) then I really should pluck up the courage and call it a day with Phil, right?