The Words Get In The Way

Bruno and I are still living in Citadines.  I've extended our stay.

I think I often confuse many people I meet in London, because I don't talk about my real work here.

A production company would like to cast Bruno and I in a promotional reel on behalf of their clients, to pitch a story for TV.  

"We'd like to film you in the morning walking Bruno... and then Bruno having a spa treatment... Bruno out in Suffolk, running through the fields, snuggling by the fire..."

"Pay?  Oh, no, there will be no payment I'm afraid..."

I'm happy to help.  But I find myself unable to rise to the excitement of those who so kindly thought of us.  Filming is not straightforward work.  Bruno's been unwell.  The lack of pay kind of bothers me because I know production work.  I don't know how to express all these thoughts to them gracefully.  I don't seem to even have the right words to explain, this is truly who I am, this is what I do, this is me.

photo credit-  Prestige Magazine, Singapore

Oh.  At the start of my career 30 years ago?  My face, sold soap.

photo credit-  The Straits Times

The words get in the way.  I'm listening to the producer enthuse, and my concentration wanes.

I've not read The Kite Runner.  But recently, I read Khaled Hosseini's And the Mountains Echoed.

It was a stunning experience!  It wasn't easy getting through some bits because I couldn't stop the avalanche of tears.  The writing is epic, and human, and sweeping.  I finished the book with a revitalised sense of love, the ties that bind and bind.

Number 14 trudges along Brompton Road, passing the Natural History Museum, 

and the V & A.

We get off at Haymarket, walk north-east along Shaftesbury, turn up Dean Street to meet K for Sunday Roast.

When K kisses me goodbye, I recall what I read-

Out beyond ideas

of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

there is a field.

I'll meet you there.

-Jelaluddin Rumi, 13th century