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Authors: Claire Calman
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she could be bothered to get to and pick a subject at random. Or choose blind? She shut her eyes, flicked open the brochure and stabbed the page. Learning to Draw and Paint. Most amusing. Probably the only subject on offer that she didnât need because she could already do it. Well, used to be able to do it. Her early dreams of being a painter seemed like an embarrassing first crush, a piece of folly best forgotten.
There ought to be some kind of evening class that you could take for all the really tricky stuff. What was the point of worrying about Intermediate Spreadsheets or Creative Machine Embroidery when you really needed Having a Relationship â Complete Beginners or Getting Your Act Together, Level I? Surely Advanced Cake Decorating was, well, the icing on the cake? You had to have a cake first and that meant getting all the ingredients in the right proportions and then mixing them so they all melded together properly. The analogy was beginning to become entwined in itself and was also tugging her mind towards thoughts of lunch.
She picked up her bag and nipped out to the sandwich shop. The classes would have to guide you through slowly, of course, so that you progressed gradually from, say, Lesson 1: The First Phone Call to Lesson 2: The First Dinner, then Removing Clothing Without Fumbling, Zen and the Art of Putting on a Condom, Meeting His Parents, Dealing with Sulks (Novices), and Walking Out: How To Say I Need More Space When You Really Want To Say Piss Off.
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Car Maintenance/Complete Beginners was due to start on Tuesday evening at half-six. Bella dashed home after work to pick up her car. It wouldnât start. Ha-ha, ha-ha. Very droll, she thought, slapping the dashboard. How cheering to witness that God obviously did have a sense of irony after all. And, of course, she panicked, and kept revving it, and gave it too much gas and everything else she knew she wasnât supposed to do, and the engine flooded. She tried giving it the nice cop/nasty cop treatment, alternating between âCome on, youâre a great little car, youâd like a little outing wouldnât you? Letâs go,â while lunging in her seat to demonstrate the concept of forward motion, and âYou bastard â one last chance then Iâm trading you in for a scooter.â
She turned off the engine and sat there for a few minutes. Marvellous. Another element in her life that didnât work. The evening-class thing was a stupid idea anyway, sheâd obviously never meet anyone like this; she probably had mildew between her legs by now. Why couldnât she simply accept the fact that she was a sad, pathetic spinster who would never have a man or children, and throw herself into helping starving refugees or victims of unpleasant wallpaper by going round the world on a tricycle or doing a sponsored walk to Llandudno in flip-flops?
One last try. It started. Of course. Glanced at her watch â it might still be worth it; she could still enrol at least. By the time she got there, and found a parking space, the lesson was half-gone. She found the room and, wisely as it turned out, peered through a pane in the door before plunging in.
A group of about a dozen people were clustered around what she assumed must be a car engine. They suddenly parted to let a fiftyish man in blue overalls get to the centre. As they moved aside, they turned in Bellaâs direction. All except two of them were women.The two that werenât huddled close together and looked very awkward; one had ginger hair that stuck up all over his head as if heâd just had a shock; the other had such bad acne, you could have used his face to map out constellations; neither could have been a minute over seventeen. She pressed herself back against the wall like a B-movie spy. A narrow escape. Hell, who wanted to learn about engines anyway? That was what mechanics were for.
It seemed a bit of a waste, however,
There ought to be some kind of evening class that you could take for all the really tricky stuff. What was the point of worrying about Intermediate Spreadsheets or Creative Machine Embroidery when you really needed Having a Relationship â Complete Beginners or Getting Your Act Together, Level I? Surely Advanced Cake Decorating was, well, the icing on the cake? You had to have a cake first and that meant getting all the ingredients in the right proportions and then mixing them so they all melded together properly. The analogy was beginning to become entwined in itself and was also tugging her mind towards thoughts of lunch.
She picked up her bag and nipped out to the sandwich shop. The classes would have to guide you through slowly, of course, so that you progressed gradually from, say, Lesson 1: The First Phone Call to Lesson 2: The First Dinner, then Removing Clothing Without Fumbling, Zen and the Art of Putting on a Condom, Meeting His Parents, Dealing with Sulks (Novices), and Walking Out: How To Say I Need More Space When You Really Want To Say Piss Off.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Car Maintenance/Complete Beginners was due to start on Tuesday evening at half-six. Bella dashed home after work to pick up her car. It wouldnât start. Ha-ha, ha-ha. Very droll, she thought, slapping the dashboard. How cheering to witness that God obviously did have a sense of irony after all. And, of course, she panicked, and kept revving it, and gave it too much gas and everything else she knew she wasnât supposed to do, and the engine flooded. She tried giving it the nice cop/nasty cop treatment, alternating between âCome on, youâre a great little car, youâd like a little outing wouldnât you? Letâs go,â while lunging in her seat to demonstrate the concept of forward motion, and âYou bastard â one last chance then Iâm trading you in for a scooter.â
She turned off the engine and sat there for a few minutes. Marvellous. Another element in her life that didnât work. The evening-class thing was a stupid idea anyway, sheâd obviously never meet anyone like this; she probably had mildew between her legs by now. Why couldnât she simply accept the fact that she was a sad, pathetic spinster who would never have a man or children, and throw herself into helping starving refugees or victims of unpleasant wallpaper by going round the world on a tricycle or doing a sponsored walk to Llandudno in flip-flops?
One last try. It started. Of course. Glanced at her watch â it might still be worth it; she could still enrol at least. By the time she got there, and found a parking space, the lesson was half-gone. She found the room and, wisely as it turned out, peered through a pane in the door before plunging in.
A group of about a dozen people were clustered around what she assumed must be a car engine. They suddenly parted to let a fiftyish man in blue overalls get to the centre. As they moved aside, they turned in Bellaâs direction. All except two of them were women.The two that werenât huddled close together and looked very awkward; one had ginger hair that stuck up all over his head as if heâd just had a shock; the other had such bad acne, you could have used his face to map out constellations; neither could have been a minute over seventeen. She pressed herself back against the wall like a B-movie spy. A narrow escape. Hell, who wanted to learn about engines anyway? That was what mechanics were for.
It seemed a bit of a waste, however,
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