Skip to content

Something more vinous

November 23, 2012

A cool little interview that Roland from Wine Cellar has with Maxime and Alain Graillot. Sound is slightly sketchy, so I recommend headphones.


Something more vinous

November 23, 2012

A cool little interview that Roland from Wine Cellar has with Maxime and Alain Graillot. Sound is slightly sketchy, so I recommend headphones.

test post

October 25, 2010

test post

Love’s a Silver Lining

July 9, 2010

The first one’s a bit of a cheat as I wrote it a little while ago. It came into existence after I’d bought a present for a friend’s birthday. I’d found it in an antique shop and thought it needed a little back story. It became half the present. I am sure you can work out what the other half was.

A couple years ago I was out of money and luck staying in a little backpackers on Harlemmerstraat in Amsterdam. One late afternoon lying half-stoned on my bunk I spotted a small journal that had been stuffed under the mattress of the bed above. I pulled it out, opened it at random, and began to read.

There have been many times in my life I have hankered after love but missed it. Once touring in a small South American town I wandered into a little antique shop. Amongst the trinkets, dust and old dark-wood furniture there sat a woman of most humbling beauty. I poked around the store not finding anything of value other than the proprietor. She asked if she could help, I told her I was just browsing, and just then I saw it. Dangling on a thin silver chain there hung a small white heart lined in silver. I asked her if it was for sale, and she told me this story:

In the time before the world was thus, and magic was more real than capitalism there lived a girl without a heart. She lived and breathed, of course, blood must have circulated through her veins somehow, but love she could not.

She lived just beyond the veil of love. She witnessed it, understood it, desired it, but could not live and experience it.

She left home as soon it was possible and set out to find a heart. She travelled widely and was offered many potions, spells, rites to perform and all other means that would allow her to fall in love. But none offered her a heart.

After visiting a well known Shaman in a steamy tropical jungle – who could only offer mind expanding frogs and hallucinogenic mushrooms – she heard a rumour of a great mystic who might be able to help her.

Arduous travels over deserts, through mountains and across seas finally took her to the mystic.

He was beautiful.

She tried to ask for help but he silenced her and invited her in for tea.

She lived with mystic for many months, helping with the cleaning and cooking, tending the garden and buying supplies from the various tradesman who past by; she had never been so happy.

After the day’s work had been completed the mystic and the girl-with-no-heart would sit in front of the fire reading and talking. The mystic would read poetry at times and at others teach; the girl would tell the mystic the many stories she had gathered on her extensive travels. They slowly drifted into the rhythms of each others’ lives.

One morning she woke and went to the kitchen to make tea. The mystic had got there first, and in the simplest movement of him reaching for the tea leaves the girl realised she had been cured. She was in love.

The mystic turned and smiled. She asked him how he had done it, and he told her he had done nothing. She thought no more of her heart, real or imaginary; she had found love and that was that. They made tea, and went out for a walk in the garden hand in hand.

The mystic and the girl with no heart lived happily together for many years and they exchanged many gifts. The girl’s favourite was the one first given to her by the mystic, a small ivory heart outlined in silver. She wore it until she passed from this world. She wasn’t sure if she thought the heart hers, and it, like Pygmalion’s statue he fell in love with, became real; or if she thought it was her lover’s heart given to her. It didn’t matter, every time she looked at the heart, or fingered it as it hung round her neck, she felt love and remembered she now had a heart.

I asked her if the heart she wore was the same as the one in the story. She just smiled and we went out for dinner. It is safe to say that the Antiques dealer stole my heart, but I came away with hers: Ivory and lined in silver.

A new genre perhaps: Wrapping paper lit anyone? Simple and short to get the ball rolling. I now have a week to follow through with the next one.