Lost in the Fog; Where has everybody gone…?
I am off to the USA THIS weekend!
This is something I have been looking forward to my entire life, so it’s making me feel dizzy and thrilled all at the same time. It’s a shame my trip is to settle a legal case, but I will get to look around New York for a while, so I’m ready for anything.
If there’s anybody out there, in New York or Connecticut, that fancies hooking up and having a beer, please DO write and let me know. Right here, on the blog is the best place to contact me, as I won’t have email access as such. Quite honestly, I would really like to meet some people, so spread the word to those who don’t dig through the blogs! There must be someone who fancies a natter?
Without some local knowledge it’s likely I’ll just sit in the Holiday Inn, and stare out of the window in absolute terror at the bustling world outside. I’ve seen so many corners and sights of the USA, on TV and in film, it will be a truly mind-blowing experience; I’ll probably think I’m playing some sort of Big Apple adventure game, and refuse the evidence of my own eyes. (It’s Real, it’s real!! I wonder if there really is a ziggurat under Central Park?). What a sad case. But, it does make me realise how many of the US fans feel about good ‘ol blighty, sometimes. I imagine it must be a similar, if smaller, thrill seeing old, well known British landmarks, and visiting locales often imagined from books, music and games. A special relationship, indeed!
So, if you are nearby on Tuesday May 25th to Monday the 31st, please do let me know, as I would love to meet some genuine Americans! Oh yes!
Cornwall is a strange place to be, these days, with scarily schizophrenic weather; I was out with the camera, earlier this afternoon, to photograph The Pinnacles, at one end of Looe beach. It’s foggy, eerie, quiet and deserted around these parts. Yet, I still have bright red sunburn from yesterday’s sunny scorcher! What’s going on? I suspect something supernatural is afoot. The tourists must still be here, somewhere, yet I saw no evidence of them. Perhaps they are holed up in the B&B’s, watching re-runs of Murder She Wrote…
I have been struggling with some of the characters, for The Last Crown, these last few weeks. I’ve been distracted by legal paperwork, most of the time, so it’s not too surprising that my fisherfolk struggled to make it onto paper in a satisfying, and naturalistic way. Everything else is fine, but the locals just felt, and sounded really odd. As I reach the end of the screenplay (yay!) I worried that Saxton was becoming too dark, too surreal and…dare I say it…too Monty Python. So, today’s weather, and the unsettling atmosphere have been wonderful. I am too stupid, sometimes, to realise that I have the best source of inspiration right on my doorstep. So, with camera in hand, I took to the beach and streets to capture some moody, melancholy scenes. This page is dotted with a few of them, but do click one of the images to see more of Looe’s Moody Blues.
Where has everybody gone…
The beach was packed, yesterday afternoon. I had a black cherry ice cream from the seafront, and watched as tourists and locals splashed around in the crystal clear waters, and created sand castles that put my humble home to shame! (“Hey, that sand castle has a second bedroom!”) But today, there’s no sign, nor sound, of anyone… at all. It’s a perfect time to go and wander around one of my favourite TLC locations, The Pinnacles. They are back in game 2, but not quite as you’d expect them. The tide comes in, drowning that crustated world, hiding it from us. Lucy and Nigel will have to do a few quests for Old Moby, the fisherman, before they can navigate those treacherous waters. Moby is a lobster pot man, so he knows those old rocks like the back of his hand. I’ll add that Old Moby’s hand may also have a few barnacles, and limpets, living between his fingers and on the back of his wrinkly old palms.
He’s going to be quite a character, and is based, in some ways, on ‘Dave the Looe Ferryman’; who I watched disappearing out into the fog earlier today. I should add that Dave is not covered in crustations, nor is he wrinkly, and makes quite a dashing ferry and fisherman! But, watching the small boat drift silently out to sea, alongside the Banjo Pier, was really quite eerie. Fog has a way of messing with your senses, so everything takes on a slightly dreamy, no time/no place, kind of atmosphere.
I did see several figures while out wandering, but for the most part I was alone in the ‘real’ Saxton, with only my thoughts and plans. I have to admit to feeling rather melancholy these days, as the pressures of my US trip creep nearer and nearer. (Isn’t melancholy a lovely word?! It sounds so much nicer than ‘bloody miserable’). Ghosts of the past seem to approach, with distant, echoing voices, to offer advice and good will, but they only seemed to linger for a moment, before becoming faint, and then disappeared completely.
The moodiness left me with an increasing feeling of helpful loneliness, and isolation. Fog does that. You are alone in the few meters that surround you, where no-one can see or hear you. It was perfect time to contemplate the fisherfolk of Saxton…whose lives are dictated by the weather, water and wildlife. Old Moby kind of wrote himself, into the story, where there was once a bland fisherman stereotype, with no humanity, soul or purpose. So, I thank Looe for helping me out, once again, and providing as much food for thought as any amateur writer could ever want!
Till I arrive in new York, that is! :-)