Read Online The Information Junkie by Roderick Leyland - Free Book Online
Authors: Roderick Leyland
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trying, sweetheart, to work out what the whole thing means. I can see the satire on IT, the comedy about the way an author interacts with his characters, something, too, about the pains of authorship. There are also questions about the nature of identity, a look at the relationship between appearance and reality and a wry glance at middle age versus youth. Your conclusion—if you have finished—seems to be that life's an impenetrable mystery which defies analysis; nevertheless we should enjoy the mystery. That's an awful lot for one story, isn't it...?
I notice you left without any notebooks this time or your dictation machine. Perhaps you needed a break from those too. You said you felt you were searching for something. Be careful, darling.
Looking forward to the big family get-together at Christmas. Daddy gets in such a lather over the turkey, doesn't he? But he always calms down by locking himself in the outside lavatory for half an hour. Then once he reappears and Mother has kissed him a few times we end up with a perfectly-cooked, glorious feast. Don't you love him buckets?
House is quiet without you. Take your point about electronic machines. Was looking in your study and they did look plastic and temporary set against your old Imperial on the floor which seemed so...permanent. I could hardly shift it when I was hoovering. Built to last but difficult to move! I know you're more introspective than I am but when I was lifting it and looking at its glass sides I thought how well it had been constructed. Built for ever, you said. And Darwin sprang to mind: adaptability of the species and so on. What is it you don't like about the new technology...?
You went without your mobile phone, too.
Romney Marsh: is that reclaimed land?
By the way, Martin left a note on the answering machine asking you to call. Something to do with a piece called Cybernurse . Also reminded you about lager and curry again. Blew me a kiss. I won't call him back because he's become so vulgar. Always seems so busy, never happy. Doesn't hang on to girlfriends for long, does he?
***
(Later)
Sweetheart, I've just found another note! In your lavatory. How did I miss that clue?
Must tell B to mention the two Ronnies.
No surnames, darling...
Biggs and Kray?
Barker and Corbett?
They don't seem to fit in anywhere, sweetheart. What did you mean by that? I'll just file it for the time being.
Why did you want us to have an outside loo? You only use it in the Summer, though I know Daddy likes to sit out there for his Christmas tizz.
See you soon, sweetheart.
9
Romney Marsh is a tract of land of approximately two hundred and fifty square miles, in the south-western extreme of Kent which borders Sussex on the west, and the English Channel to the south. At one time the whole area lay under water but gradually over centuries, as clay was washed down from the Weald and shingle redistributed itself, the sea receded.
As a result it is a particularly fertile region, ideal for grazing. William Cobbett notes in 'Rural Rides' that the Romney Marsh sheep are "Very pretty and large. The faces of the sheep are white; and, indeed, the whole sheep is as white as a piece of writing paper". It is also a habitat for wild flowers: Marsh Mallow, Phragmites, Sea Kale, Viper's Bugloss and Foxglove, a few of the many species. The rootstock of the Marsh Mallow ( Althaea officinalis ) is used to make marshmallows.
Several small towns and villages break up the vast, flat area, their very names—including a pair of ancient manors and two lost villages—spelling out Romney Marsh's chief characteristic:
D ymchurch, E astbridge, S nargate, O ld Romney, L ydd, A ldington, T inton, I vychurch, O rgarswick, N ew Romney.
If a person wanted to be alone in England it is difficult to imagine a better place; in some spots the only company is flora. Pink and White Valerian, Wild Mignonette, Bird's-Foot Trefoil; Yellow Horned Poppy, Marram-grass, Great
I notice you left without any notebooks this time or your dictation machine. Perhaps you needed a break from those too. You said you felt you were searching for something. Be careful, darling.
Looking forward to the big family get-together at Christmas. Daddy gets in such a lather over the turkey, doesn't he? But he always calms down by locking himself in the outside lavatory for half an hour. Then once he reappears and Mother has kissed him a few times we end up with a perfectly-cooked, glorious feast. Don't you love him buckets?
House is quiet without you. Take your point about electronic machines. Was looking in your study and they did look plastic and temporary set against your old Imperial on the floor which seemed so...permanent. I could hardly shift it when I was hoovering. Built to last but difficult to move! I know you're more introspective than I am but when I was lifting it and looking at its glass sides I thought how well it had been constructed. Built for ever, you said. And Darwin sprang to mind: adaptability of the species and so on. What is it you don't like about the new technology...?
You went without your mobile phone, too.
Romney Marsh: is that reclaimed land?
By the way, Martin left a note on the answering machine asking you to call. Something to do with a piece called Cybernurse . Also reminded you about lager and curry again. Blew me a kiss. I won't call him back because he's become so vulgar. Always seems so busy, never happy. Doesn't hang on to girlfriends for long, does he?
***
(Later)
Sweetheart, I've just found another note! In your lavatory. How did I miss that clue?
Must tell B to mention the two Ronnies.
No surnames, darling...
Biggs and Kray?
Barker and Corbett?
They don't seem to fit in anywhere, sweetheart. What did you mean by that? I'll just file it for the time being.
Why did you want us to have an outside loo? You only use it in the Summer, though I know Daddy likes to sit out there for his Christmas tizz.
See you soon, sweetheart.
9
Romney Marsh is a tract of land of approximately two hundred and fifty square miles, in the south-western extreme of Kent which borders Sussex on the west, and the English Channel to the south. At one time the whole area lay under water but gradually over centuries, as clay was washed down from the Weald and shingle redistributed itself, the sea receded.
As a result it is a particularly fertile region, ideal for grazing. William Cobbett notes in 'Rural Rides' that the Romney Marsh sheep are "Very pretty and large. The faces of the sheep are white; and, indeed, the whole sheep is as white as a piece of writing paper". It is also a habitat for wild flowers: Marsh Mallow, Phragmites, Sea Kale, Viper's Bugloss and Foxglove, a few of the many species. The rootstock of the Marsh Mallow ( Althaea officinalis ) is used to make marshmallows.
Several small towns and villages break up the vast, flat area, their very names—including a pair of ancient manors and two lost villages—spelling out Romney Marsh's chief characteristic:
D ymchurch, E astbridge, S nargate, O ld Romney, L ydd, A ldington, T inton, I vychurch, O rgarswick, N ew Romney.
If a person wanted to be alone in England it is difficult to imagine a better place; in some spots the only company is flora. Pink and White Valerian, Wild Mignonette, Bird's-Foot Trefoil; Yellow Horned Poppy, Marram-grass, Great
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