Uninvited guests

We – Kate and I, I think – stay in someone’s house, having been told it’s OK to do so, while they’re not there. But, they return and either they’re not who we’d been expecting or they are but they hadn’t been expecting anyone to be in their house and they don’t know who we are. ‘I know what that must feel like,’ I say, ‘to come back and find not only that there are people in your house, but that they are complete strangers.’

We pack up and leave, but, having left, we have to go back for something left behind. I see they’ve left a basket of washing, all of which I had folded, outside, where it has been rained on. Someone helps me take it in and while looking for whatever had been left behind I see a cup of tea perched on top of a cupboard where I’d left it while having a shower. I pour it away in the washbasin and it overflows, leaving pools of tea-coloured water everywhere. I try to wash this away with clean water. Only partially successful.

Something about M John Harrison, about recommending one of his stories to one of the three or four grown-up sons who live in the house. Self-consciously, I refer to Harrison as ‘Mike’, to show how well I know him. (22/06/09)

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2 Responses to “Uninvited guests”

  1. Wendigo81 Says:

    The strange, almost surreal, experience that I get from reading your blog is that I now find that your recollections are becoming emeshed in my own dreams and I am literally thousands of miles away from you. Something metaphysical at play or does it just mean that I am a sad and slightly boring old cow? A sort of vicarious synchronicity?

  2. nicholasroyle Says:

    Like minds, maybe. I find, with my memory blighted by years of childcare and sleep deprivation, that unless the conditions are perfect, I remember little. It fascinates me to think of the forgotten dreams, where they might have gone, like lost films.

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