Time Flies
Retrieved text messages from 2005, a mosaic of impressions. I am posting here only texts I sent (not ones I received) so no confidences have been broken. The context is a trip to Australia, where Matt was invited to open an art fair. The texts begin when we arrive at our stop-over destination of Singapore.
Being driven in chilly car by tiny Chinese guy softly whistling classical music through his teeth.
Lulled by his ginger rice and fish head curry Matt has fallen asleep in restaurant. Glam Chinese girls putting on make up at next table.
About to leave Singapore. Matt embarrassingly detecting bird flu everywhere.
Oh dear. Matt seems to have food poisoning. About to get on plane.
Conflicting with my belief he has food poisoning Matt now eating shepherds pie-flavoured dim sum.
Landed Aus. Out for supper. Shown to table by Maitre d: Peter Andre’s brother, just back from Jordan wedding. Born Liverpool Road. Arsenal supporter.
The M d let Matt hold the ring Peter gave all grooms. It said Peter & Katie & date. Katie is lovely in private he says.
In business class you have a big screen showing a pilot’s eye view of the runway when you take off and land.
Piqued when he confessed not having read his book Matt insulted man who paid for our biz class tickets by asking what conference (where he is keynote speaker tomorrow lunchtime) is about.
Matt guesses that the ‘mature audience’ our hotel film is aimed at is the over 80s
Been sleeping for past 3 days — at last feel bright & energetic. Unfortunately it is 12 at night.
All speakers at conference preface their talks with an acknowledgment of traditional owners of the land on which we stand. Like saying grace only more right on.
Having delivered speech in which he spotted gallerist sponsor asleep Matt now in heavy coma of depression.
Unfortunately missed talk by woman artist who weaves bird’s nests out of shredded dollars.
Matt having moaned incessantly has had 2 strawberry daiquiris & cheered up quite a bit.
Reading about bloody deeds of Tetrarchs — late Roman emperors. Not aiding sleep.
Looking out of window at 7 hip looking guys in jacuzzi. 2 more are in pool. 1 is in a dustbin of iced water. They have a slave — wearing sunglasses, dyed blonde. Looks a bit like Andy Gill.
Agonising ears. Try ancient healing method. Lie down. Insert large wax trumpet in ear. Set fire to it. Leave burning for 20 mins. Matt stood guard to ensure safety. Didn’t work.
Rode truck tracking kangaroos and wallabies. Dusk walk to Gothic homestead: rotting roof, bird infested, creeper clad. Matt in terror of souls of dead bush rangers he believes reached for him when piece of wire tore his Calvin Klein sock.
Watching kookaburra standing on post. Saw water snake, turtles & scarlet honey eaters feeding on grasses nr creek. Matt worrying about what consciousness is for.
Matt has booked us both massages, second this trip. Slightly fearful where this new enthusiasm might lead.
Watching noisy miners sucking nectar from flowering bushes — unfortunately to the accompaniment of hotel muzak – Coldplay’s Beautiful World.
Oh no, mosquito in room.
As soon as I approach sleep mozzie does Damon Hill change down of gear and high rev swoop past face.
Can’t help wondering why he doesn’t quietly feast on Matt who is lying naked on top of bed. Must be the same thing that attracted our friend Dustin to women in burkas.
Hipsters in pool — cricketer Brian Lara & entourage!
On plane home. Captain announced ‘Greetings from the flight deck. Our cabin crew tonight are Michelle from New Zealand and Laurence from Arabia’. Time to switch off.
No one could accuse me of not keeping abreast of technology, in spite of being a mosaicist, which is clearly to be some kind of Luddite. For a long time I kept a record of every text I sent or received. The computer on which these are stored is about to bite the dust, so I transferred them today. I thought I’d give you a taste of my life five years ago, as it has the flavour of a different era. I am more than usually conscious of this, as my youngest child has just turned twenty. She used to lie in a bouncy chair on the work bench, lulled to sleep by the sound of tile nippers.
[For non UK readers, Peter Andre was brought up in Australia, though born in London. He is a singing star who until recently was married to Jordan (real name Katie Price), a glamour model. Until their separation last year, they were Britain's most notoriously foul-mouthed celebrity couple. Andy Gill is the legendary guitarist of UK rock band Gang of Four. Dustin Ericksen is an artist (see post 'Four Year Anniversary'). Brian Lara is a former West Indian cricketer, regarded as one of the greatest batsmen of all time. Damon Hill is a UK racing driver.]
Love this, thank you for sharing. I wish there was a phone that would print out texts on thin ribbons of paper, or fabric – tiny ticker tapes of memory
Good idea, Carole. Some people would be followed by streamers like the tails on kites.
A new hard drive can mark the end of an era — especially if you haven’t done proper backup. Glad you’re on the ball, Emma. Loved the travel “haiku,” which are now saved for posterior.
“Time flies like the wind. Fruit flies like bananas” unknown
I think you mean posterity George, although if you you are thinking about wind, maybe posterior is more appropriate.