I Had a Good Day
Home Again - 07
Monday breakfast is subdued affair. People recovering from the late night and the partying. There is coffee. There is juice. There are rolls, cheese, ham, fruit and yogurt. There are eggs to boil or scramble. And there is cook, to help everyone
to what they want or need.I come down to kitchen straight from shower, robe and slippers and wet hair. I want coffee, even though I have no hangover. I want coffee because that is how I start my day. It is my habit, my addiction, despite my efforts to cut it out of my evenings. Maybe I need it even more.
My Scottish friend is already at the kitchen table, chatting with cook. Smart in blue jeans and white tee. A slightly worn and aging James Dean. I am sure boys love him.
He smiles, raises eyebrow to question me. I return smile, and shake head. No, I've not yet opened package, too tired last night to appreciate it.
He wants a cigarette and takes mug of coffee out to the patio. I go back up to my room, to dress, do something with my hair. Bikini, shorts, tee, old converse, will do for today.
I look again at the package sitting on my desk. He will be going soon, and I would like to be able to thank him properly. I sit at my desk and reach for paper cutter. I remove the gift wrapping.
The package contains books, as I expected. He has brought me many interesting books in past. This is a good selection, books from England that might not yet be available here. I look at covers, titles, one by one.
Red Famine by Anne Applebaum - about Holodomor, the deliberate starving of Ukrainian people by Stalin in early 1930s
Chernobyl by Serhii Plokhy - the history of what happened
(Both these I know and want to read, so it is good start.)
Moneyland by Oliver Bullough - how the world has been corrupted by global finance - a lot about Ukraine
Breaking News by Alan Russbridger - the future of journalism in a world of media manipulation
(I don't know about these, but they certainly look interesting.)
In Extremis by Lindsey Hilsum - biography of war correspondent Marie Colvin, killed in Syria
(I did read review, mixed - seems she was interesting character, and so appropriate for me.)
Heroic Failure by Fintan O'Toole - about brexit and English self pity
(New to me, he is Irish writer, so will be interesting to hear his opinions.)
At the bottom of the stack of books is a box, red and black, about the size of a large book, thick. It has a solid feel. There is nothing on the box to indicate or even suggest its contents. It does not rattle when shaken.
Leaving the books on my desk, I take the red and black box over to my coffee table. I sit in an armchair with the box in my lap. It is intriguing. I feel around the edge of the top, until I feel a spring clasp beneath the fabric cover. I press it. The lid springs open.
First thing I see is a piece of folded paper. I unfold it and read:
from a man of my age to a girl of your age, this would be a most inappropriate gift, but from a gay friend of my age to a lesbian friend of your age, i hope you will accept it in the spirit in which it is offered.
Well... I lift the internal tissue paper wrapping. The box contains a slim vibrator, about 12cm long, rose gold finish, with three different covers to slip over it.
I take it from the box. Feel its lightness, its smoothness. The precision of its finish, the narrow rounded tip. It is a truly beautiful object.
I am taken by surprise. I did not expect anything like this. Is it inappropriate? If it was from a straight man, it would go straight back in his face. But I think about how he chose it for me. And I know that it comes with love.
I put the vibrator back into its resting place, put the box in my bedside cabinet. I look out window, he is still on patio. I open window, lean out and call his name. When he looks up I wave, smile, say thank you.
I go down to meet him on patio. I am a little shy, I think but that's ok. I give him hug, kiss on cheek. Whisper another thank you in his ear. And for the books, too!
He has flight to catch, early afternoon, so he soon throws his bag in back of hire car and departs. The Austrian banker and his wife leave soon after. They are spending a couple of days holiday in L'viv, to drink coffee and visit churches.
Last to leave, by mid afternoon, politician and plastic wife. The more I see of her, the more convinced I am that she is not as young as she thinks she looks. But she has, as they say, made her bed and now must lie in it... It is her bargain with life, I should not criticise. Sometimes women do not have choice, or choice is too extreme.
I spend rest of day going through my new books. I read the first chapter of each... I don't really know why I do this, is old habit.
We are all too tired to sit down to dinner, so cook serves just a soup with vegetables and some toast. After saying goodnight to Papa, Mama, I go up to my room and shower, get ready for bed.
Monday breakfast is subdued affair. People recovering from the late night and the partying. There is coffee. There is juice. There are rolls, cheese, ham, fruit and yogurt. There are eggs to boil or scramble. And there is cook, to help everyone
to what they want or need.I come down to kitchen straight from shower, robe and slippers and wet hair. I want coffee, even though I have no hangover. I want coffee because that is how I start my day. It is my habit, my addiction, despite my efforts to cut it out of my evenings. Maybe I need it even more.
My Scottish friend is already at the kitchen table, chatting with cook. Smart in blue jeans and white tee. A slightly worn and aging James Dean. I am sure boys love him.
He smiles, raises eyebrow to question me. I return smile, and shake head. No, I've not yet opened package, too tired last night to appreciate it.
He wants a cigarette and takes mug of coffee out to the patio. I go back up to my room, to dress, do something with my hair. Bikini, shorts, tee, old converse, will do for today.
I look again at the package sitting on my desk. He will be going soon, and I would like to be able to thank him properly. I sit at my desk and reach for paper cutter. I remove the gift wrapping.
The package contains books, as I expected. He has brought me many interesting books in past. This is a good selection, books from England that might not yet be available here. I look at covers, titles, one by one.
Red Famine by Anne Applebaum - about Holodomor, the deliberate starving of Ukrainian people by Stalin in early 1930s
Chernobyl by Serhii Plokhy - the history of what happened
(Both these I know and want to read, so it is good start.)
Moneyland by Oliver Bullough - how the world has been corrupted by global finance - a lot about Ukraine
Breaking News by Alan Russbridger - the future of journalism in a world of media manipulation
(I don't know about these, but they certainly look interesting.)
In Extremis by Lindsey Hilsum - biography of war correspondent Marie Colvin, killed in Syria
(I did read review, mixed - seems she was interesting character, and so appropriate for me.)
Heroic Failure by Fintan O'Toole - about brexit and English self pity
(New to me, he is Irish writer, so will be interesting to hear his opinions.)
At the bottom of the stack of books is a box, red and black, about the size of a large book, thick. It has a solid feel. There is nothing on the box to indicate or even suggest its contents. It does not rattle when shaken.
Leaving the books on my desk, I take the red and black box over to my coffee table. I sit in an armchair with the box in my lap. It is intriguing. I feel around the edge of the top, until I feel a spring clasp beneath the fabric cover. I press it. The lid springs open.
First thing I see is a piece of folded paper. I unfold it and read:
from a man of my age to a girl of your age, this would be a most inappropriate gift, but from a gay friend of my age to a lesbian friend of your age, i hope you will accept it in the spirit in which it is offered.
Well... I lift the internal tissue paper wrapping. The box contains a slim vibrator, about 12cm long, rose gold finish, with three different covers to slip over it.
I take it from the box. Feel its lightness, its smoothness. The precision of its finish, the narrow rounded tip. It is a truly beautiful object.
I am taken by surprise. I did not expect anything like this. Is it inappropriate? If it was from a straight man, it would go straight back in his face. But I think about how he chose it for me. And I know that it comes with love.
I put the vibrator back into its resting place, put the box in my bedside cabinet. I look out window, he is still on patio. I open window, lean out and call his name. When he looks up I wave, smile, say thank you.
I go down to meet him on patio. I am a little shy, I think but that's ok. I give him hug, kiss on cheek. Whisper another thank you in his ear. And for the books, too!
He has flight to catch, early afternoon, so he soon throws his bag in back of hire car and departs. The Austrian banker and his wife leave soon after. They are spending a couple of days holiday in L'viv, to drink coffee and visit churches.
Last to leave, by mid afternoon, politician and plastic wife. The more I see of her, the more convinced I am that she is not as young as she thinks she looks. But she has, as they say, made her bed and now must lie in it... It is her bargain with life, I should not criticise. Sometimes women do not have choice, or choice is too extreme.
I spend rest of day going through my new books. I read the first chapter of each... I don't really know why I do this, is old habit.
We are all too tired to sit down to dinner, so cook serves just a soup with vegetables and some toast. After saying goodnight to Papa, Mama, I go up to my room and shower, get ready for bed.
