Monday, July 14, 2003
In which Meat mistakenly switches off Rachel's mobile:
"'We' were going to leave her mobile on in case the text message went out, but 'I' forgot and thought 'Rachel has left it on AGAIN so it will start bleeping at 3 in the morning to tell me it has a flat battery and I will eventually have to get up, find which jacket/bag/box/cupboard/crack in the sofa it is in and turn it off.' (Obviously this is difficult because it only makes a noise every ten minutes to reveal it's whereabouts so you eventually give up and sit on the sofa staring despondently into space in the prickly light trying to remain alert even though it is 3am and your body conspires against your will by shutting it down and you struggle but the struggle turns into a surreal dreamscape with ... BE-BEEP...
"Did it come from the hall? Or the pushchair? Or the bags over there under the seat? You start digging again, watching the clock, because at least you now know what time it will go off again, and you search half heartedly through the likely pockets of the likely jackets, and then wonder if you should start on the pushchair before the unlikely pockets are examined because it's more likely to be in there, but you check the unlikelies anyway because scouring the pushchair means bending down and you don't fancy that at 3am. Then you find it. Something makes you turn round, it's there on the piano. You switch it off, it takes two attempts because your fingers are fatter than normal. You go back to bed, someone says 'Whadayou dooin' and rolls over presenting you with a cold bottom.
And that is why I turned it off."
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"'We' were going to leave her mobile on in case the text message went out, but 'I' forgot and thought 'Rachel has left it on AGAIN so it will start bleeping at 3 in the morning to tell me it has a flat battery and I will eventually have to get up, find which jacket/bag/box/cupboard/crack in the sofa it is in and turn it off.' (Obviously this is difficult because it only makes a noise every ten minutes to reveal it's whereabouts so you eventually give up and sit on the sofa staring despondently into space in the prickly light trying to remain alert even though it is 3am and your body conspires against your will by shutting it down and you struggle but the struggle turns into a surreal dreamscape with ... BE-BEEP...
"Did it come from the hall? Or the pushchair? Or the bags over there under the seat? You start digging again, watching the clock, because at least you now know what time it will go off again, and you search half heartedly through the likely pockets of the likely jackets, and then wonder if you should start on the pushchair before the unlikely pockets are examined because it's more likely to be in there, but you check the unlikelies anyway because scouring the pushchair means bending down and you don't fancy that at 3am. Then you find it. Something makes you turn round, it's there on the piano. You switch it off, it takes two attempts because your fingers are fatter than normal. You go back to bed, someone says 'Whadayou dooin' and rolls over presenting you with a cold bottom.
And that is why I turned it off."
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