The BeginningA Chapter by Jonathan Bradley Well this is the beginning... #mouseholeorbust Captain's log - Day 1 Arrived. Animals safe. Humans positive. House, "not quite available." Thankfully, s**t car made it. Emergency shelter found at Ship Inn. Worldly belongings have been ensconced to Lamorna. Living a nativity play, of sorts; well we're all in one room, cats, dogs and humans - just need a donkey. We had permission to sneak the cats in, so long as no one noticed. Fish and tortoise are safe in the car. The smell in the room is of sea and now barn. The whiff in the room is of dog trumps, mainly. Our scene is set by the Northern star (we think as we have no compass). Away in a manger. #mouseholeorbust Captain's log - Day 2 Humans and animals safe and sound. Mousehole mothership still not ready for embarkation. Demobbed to Newlyn for most of the day. We are looking quite dishevelled as we have no fresh clothes and much to Charlie's delight I slipped over on the walk to Newlyn and covered myself in mud. Mummy Bradley saved the day and just after lunchtime, following a pint of shandy, she secured us some refuge nearby. New base camp is a caravan near St Just. The static is very homely, why don't we all just live in caravans? Is trailer trash the way to go? Tomorrow we will be dressed head to toe in emergency clothing, courtesy of Sainsbury's Penzance. The dogs no longer have wind. Things are looking up. #mouseholeorbust Captain's log - Day 3 Animals and humans are safe and sound. Trailer park living seems to suit us. I'm certainly quite content when loitering on the porch. Today, has been quite calm. Dressed in our new Sainsbury's clobber, from head to toe, undies too, we spent the day out and about, went to the beach, ate a packed lunch and drove to Cape Cornwall and back. Mrs Bradley has started using the site laundrette so we can now rotate our stock of clothes every two days. Tomorrow is another day. I'm starting to think a lot about hardy exotics. #mouseholeorbust Captain's log - Day 4 Animals and humans have settled in to traveller life. We now have a routine; short-walk the dogs, breakfast, The Wright Stuff, get dressed, go out, stare at the Atlantic - from somewhere remote and blustery - return to camp and make supper. It's our own reality version of The Martian. In our time of uncertainty we have adopted simple routines, mashed up with a good dose of daytime TV. I'm now the community leader on the caravan site - only by right because we have been here the longest. Today some newcomers parked their car outside their trailer. Obviously, the BIG SIGN which reads, 'No cars beyond this point, except for unloading", doesn't apply to them. I'm dealing with it by occasionally peaking from behind the net curtains and tutting. I then tell Mrs Bradley that the idiots are still flouting Site Rules (incidentally this scene is now stuck in repeat mode.) We finished off the day with a dose of Pointless and then Eggheads, whilst looking forward to the jolly One Show. Today we learned that the music with which clowns are introduced is called the Entry of the Gladiators. Charlie seems to be a stickler and has been reprimanding mummy Bradley for shouting, "Sh*t!" It's only happened twice, so far, in frustration, but I think it's a sign of things to come. Tomorrow is another day. I'm thinking a lot about new Site Rules.
#mouseholeorbust Captain's log - Day 10 Humans and animals safe and sound. Well, we're in the house, or should I say The Money Pit II. My family and other animals are no longer on the road. The cats do look slightly deranged. Moving secretly, from new bathroom to new bathroom, for a week, is not much fun for felines. Yesterday, Bradley (the cat) made a bolt for freedom. I had no choice but to arrest him by his tail. He had no choice but to whip around and bite me. We're no longer not on speaking terms. Oliver (the cat) has recovered from his short time on the run last week. Although, I'm not sure the people in the caravan next door have yet. They were jolted from their rest by Mrs Bradley, outside their static, thinking I couldn't hear her from inside ours, kicking at their door, Oliver in hands, late at night. They opened the door armed with an Alsatian. Oliver met Alsatian, dog met cat and there was a right hullabaloo. A rotten case of mistaken caravan identity. It was dark. I've now got my eye on the Harbour Master's position in Mousehole. Three half days a week telling people they can't sleep on the beach, can't have a bbq and must not scuba dive in the harbour. And no dogs on the beach either. As well as attending to the occasional boat. We went to Newlyn on the bus today. Mrs Bradley thinks you can get on a bus going in the opposite direction to your intended destination, so as to avoid waiting in the rain, and then remain on it for its return journey until reaching your original port of call. Being a stickler I wasn't having any of this so we waited and got wet. We've found out the dogs don't like mackerel guts - they puked on the carpet. A man used our back passage today as a short cut to the harbour, ignoring a sign saying PRIVATE. I've set up CCTV. I'm thinking a lot about joining Mousehole Male Voice Choir. #mouseholeorbust Captain's log - Day 21 Humans and animals safe and sound. It's been a while since my last update. We've been integrating family, animals and work into a new routine. The number 6, Mousehole to Penzance, is now our principle mode of transportation (for the school run). We get on opposite The Old Coast Guard and alight at Newlyn Bridge. There's a 4G connection at Newlyn so morning emails are easily retrieved too. Louise has made friends with the Pastor's wife, through school, so we're destined to be doing our bit for the community. Actually, it is all go on the community integration front. I'm now a 1st tenor in Mousehole Male Voice Choir (on probation). I'm a bit worried they haven't heard me sing (they have really). Mrs Bradley has taken to buying fresh fish daily from Newlyn and walking back to Mousehole. Today we even hoisted our washing into the sea breeze for all to see. We've seen most of the neighbours undies. I've had a case of mistaken identity. A man, rather weathered looking, like a salt crusted Citizen Smith, shouted at me, as I walked past with Betty in Mousehole, "You never even thanked Mary for the books I dropped off!" I explained we were in a case of mistaken identity and we parted on jolly terms. We've since crossed paths three times on the same day - how does this happen? The office (SW branch) is up and running - Mousehole has super-fast broadband, but no Bargain Booze (Making Life Richer for the Pourer). On the booze front we've had a bout of deflation: take out wine at the Old Coast Card £15+, The Ship Inn £15+ but most recently only £8.60 from the British Legion (The Legion). We've decided to join a wine club. Tomorrow I will mainly be thinking about GWAHODDIAD. #mouseholeorbust Captain's Log - Day 24 Humans, dogs and tortoise fit and well, cats disturbed. We met a very nice man at the surf shop on Thursday, after school. He told us everything we wanted to hear about keeping Charlie warm in the sea and not putting him off becoming a world champion surfer. He marvelled at Charlies' height and insisted he was made for the surf. We loved his flattery and gave him £80 for a wet suit that Master Charles will grow out of in 3 months. My dreams of paddle boarding took a broadside when I inspected the price tags; £1,000 and more (oh but you get a free paddle). It's okay though you can get an inflatable one for £300, or more. I shall be making my own. The cats seem to have suddenly taken the move badly. Bradley will not go out, or if he does he goes commando; low to the ground and on red alert, then bolts back in. During these stressful times he has no shame pissing and shitting in secluded spots around the house. Oliver on the other hand is already a local Lothario. He's taken to going out for a few days and coming home to sleep it off for a day, or two. I'm spending a lot of time staring at the sea. I'm planning on being a Yogi for the next 35 years, if I last. Speaking of the dead, things are moving around the house, mysteriously. So far garden ornaments have been moved back to their original places, new ones appear from nowhere, a cotton reel revealed itself on the sideboard without our involvement, last night and the bathroom door locked itself from the inside a few nights ago. Never mind the poltergeist, this morning Charles and I were jinxed by Mrs Bradley. Before we set off to catch the number 6 she said, "Don't leave his school bag on the bus." Well in my mind that's not a warning, it's a spell, which once cast worked likes dream. The school bag is currently touring south west Cornwall. Finally, we went for early doors in The Ship Inn tonight. An elderly gentleman came in, sporting the look of one Freddy Kruger, and I overheard him say he leaves the house in the early morning, walks all day and gets home at 1.00 am. I'm not doing that. Fat prawns for tea, tomorrow I will mainly be thinking about Penzance. #mouseholeorbust Captain's log - Day 32 Humans, dogs and tortoise fit and well, cats in recovery. Thanks to the local recycling scheme I'm no longer worried about being a middle class, functioning, secret, home-binging alcoholic. You see everyone has to separate their recyclables into a bag for tins and cartons, papers and cardboard. Then there is s plastic tub for bottles (booze). Once every two weeks it all goes on display in the street for neighbourly comparison. Well I tell you Mrs Bradley and I need to drink more wine, our empties put us to shame. There was a kerfuffle down by the harbour on Tuesday evening. Some young boys were throwing pebbles at the boats. They were seen off by a big hairy man who hangs about the sea front. I congratulated him on his community spirit. Maybe we will go fishing? On Thursday morning I confronted someone using our back passage as a cut through. It runs down the middle our garden, so it's grander than a cut. Anyway I said - Excuse me this is private property. He said - I've been using this passage for thirty years, are you telling me I can't use it any more? I said - Of course not, my names Jonathan. I really did. So English! Anyway Jeremy marched off quite pleased, maybe we will go fishing? We had breakfast tea with the Pastor and his wife this morning in Newlyn. It seems Mrs Bradley will be doing community work. I'm going to be fixing up an old trawler with the Pastor and crew. Maybe we will go fishing? I've asked Mrs Bradley to speak highly of my grinding skills and how handy I am with a wrench. It's only a white lie. Tonight we joined the local arts scene, by accident. Well we gate crashed it unintentionally when we went to our nearest public house and there was a private viewing of local artists' work. We were invited in so we must look arty. I kept my scarf on, which seemed to be the right look. We ate canapés and sipped wine with our pinkies erect. All the artists' dogs were wearing neckerchiefs too. Tomorrow I will be thinking about going fishing. #mouseholeorbust Captain's log - Day 39 Humans, dogs and tortoise fit and well, cats are paranoid. We had an unexpected visitor on Saturday. Mylo the dog. We heard his owner calling out his name outside number 6, on our terrace. The owner departed but subsequently Mylo took refuge in our house. Hector and Betty loved all the excitement of Mylo bounding around their place. Mylo's owner subsequently found our house too. We awkwardly exchanged pleasantries before running around together, capturing his dog. By happenstance, Mylo, the human, lives at number 6, on our terrace, so when Mrs Bradley heard all the commotion she wondered why a grown man should not be allowed out on his own and initially was bemused by all the fuss. We've not seen Mylo, the dog, since. We've learned that our neighbour, Mike, is a retired consultant. We met a gentleman in Newlyn on Tuesday who instructed us on the best places to dine out. During the conversation he also remarked that we must be the couple who live next door to Gynae Mike. We do indeed live next door to a retired gynaecologist who it seems is well known, across Penwith, as Gynae Mike. Apparently he sees every women as a job - not my words. We no longer have any curtains downstairs. The freaked out felines have pissed on them all so they've been thrown out. Hopefully they will soon establish their territory outside, the cats not the curtains. Jeremy is a tricky character. This morning he came up my back passage at 7.30 am, instead of going down. I saw him on the bus later and we exchanged a wave. Mrs Bradley and I have new wheels, the weekly shop will never be the same again. © 2016 Jonathan Bradley |
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Jonathan BradleyMousehole, Cornwall, United KingdomAboutI've been writing a novel for about three years, very slowly! more..Writing
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