Sunday 30 November 2014

Unopened box of the year.

Drrrring, drrrrrrring, drrrrrinnnnnng, clic.


“Hi Bob it’s me, how are you?”

“Good, and you?”

“Yeah, could be worse, mustn’t grumble, every cloud…..”

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s a bit of an emergency, sorry to call so late at night and all, but I need a post for today’s Blog bit and my mind’s a blank. Can you help?”

“My mind’s blank too, it’s been blank since 1967”

“I didn’t want you to write something, I was wondering if there was something in the Archives I could use?”


“Aye! You’re turning Scottish! You’ll be drinking whisky next!”

“I’d love to be up there with you but the goat needs feeding, maybe next summer.”

“You’re welcome anytime.”

“So have you got anything?”

“I’ll ask the assistant to look.”

“The assistant?”


“There’s an assistant? Do we pay him?”

“It’s a her, and no, we don’t  her, we don’t pay me. I volunteered.”

“Do you want paying?”

“Do you have any money?”

“No, but there’s some goat cheese. Does the assistant want paying?”

“I don’t think so, but I haven’t actually worked out what language she is speaking; the only word I understand is Boxes. She seems happy.”

“What does she look like?”


“Might be Italian;”

“No I tried that, I have an old tape. I’m taking her to the pub later there’s a guy there, swares he can speak Greek, we’ll give it a go though frankly I think he’s a piss artist.”

“How long she been there?”

“Turned up last week, she’s been organising the boxes, putting them into alphabetical order.”

“Anything weird about the alphabetical?”


“It might be a clue as to her nationality.”

“I haven’t noticed anything,”

“Where does she sleep?”

“Mind your own.”

“Fair enough, ask her to pull out something from the Ys.”




“Yes. Can you fax it before midnight?”

“There should be just enough oil in the generator. Anything else?”

“No, thanks a lot, it’s a great help.”

“No prob. Take care. Bye.”


From The Archives Box Y(translated from an as-yet-unknown language)
Yes, she would however have liked the market this morning.
She would have stopped and stared at the roses, tasted the muscat grapes which have pushed the summer fruit away, maybe bought one of the last melons.
By the Halle she would have seen the three farmers their noses bent like sythes, watched the hurdy gurdy man and then tasted the cheese.
Though she would have had to listen to the explications of the seller.
“This is from the goat and you never see it like this; it looks like the sheep. I gave you the sheep to taste first because now you can taste how the goat is sharper, the other way round and the sheep would have seemed too sweet. And lastly this one, unlike the others which you tasted in thinness this you take as a lump, it is older and the taste only develops inside the mouth, slowly”
She would have agreed with him, maybe bought some.
Then she might have taken a coffee at the tea stall, it’s the best coffee in France, dark, intense, as coffee should be.
Which bread would she have bought?
The sough dough? It was hot, fresh from the oven. 
Maybe she would have eaten that as she wandered.

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