transpired that we shared a common interest.
What was that?
I’m not quite sure. But I think it was food. But it could well have been something else.
Such as?
I don’t want to say.
You don’t want to say?
No.
Nina!
Yes? What is it?
I just made contact with my reptile brain.
What?
My reptile brain.
Oh yes?
It was quite extraordinary, almost unreal, but at the same time quite real, if you see what I mean, like theatre.
Was it now?
Do you want to hear any more?
If you like.
I was thinking about the theatre, as usual, in fact I was just on the point of making a note about something I thought should be made a note of when I became aware of some movement at the edge of my field of vision.
Go on.
My brain immediately transmitted chemical signals left, right and centre, I don’t know what they’re called, but I’ve heard about serotonin and dopamine and adrenalin, so it’s conceivable that some of these chemicals were involved in this case, too. I could feel it in my backbone, and in my forehead, a kind of stabbing, hot impulse, and my muscles tensed, I felt I was about to wave an arm, the left one, I think, and also about to panic.
Heavens.
Do you know what the movement I saw was?
No.
It was the end of a tea bag, where there was no tea, the end with the paper tag with Lipton written on it, or in this case: Teekanne Liebesfrucht.
Really.
The paper tag was swaying to and fro beside the cup. My brain must have imagined it was a poisonous spider and was preparing itself to kill it. It was a matter of life and death, you see.
Goodness.
It or me, it was.
How dramatic.
It was, wasn’t it? It was theatre at its best. Forgive me for repeating myself. It was just as good as theatre.
Golly.
I need to come to terms with all this, Nina. Do you mind if I go for a little walk on my own?
Not at all.
I’d like a sideboard.
I see.
With a fern leaf carving on it.
Well, you’ve just had your birthday.
Yes, I know, but I’m just telling you, so that there’s no need to ask next time you’re buying me a present.
Fine.
The sideboard should be about this high and the fern leaf shouldn’t be too small.
I see.
And I want it on the right of my desk at home, in front of the window.
What made you think of that?
I don’t know.
Stop saying that.
What?
Stop saying I don’t know.
But what if I don’t know?
You know very well. It’s just a way of cutting short the conversation so that you can carry on with your own thoughts.
OK.
So what made you think of sideboards and ferns?
I’ve seen numerous photos of theatre people with fern sideboards. Actors, directors, playwrights.
The whole caboodle had one. Darwin did, too.
Darwin?
Yeah.
I didn’t think he had anything to do with the theatre. Depends on the eye of the beholder. The theory of evolution is theatre too, in a way.
And in a way it isn’t.
Yes, indeed. You have to keep your mind open.
But you still think that sideboards, ferns and theatre-thoughts go hand in hand.
I think one presupposes the other.
So ferns and sideboards cannot be separated from theatre-thoughts?
And vice versa.
Vice versa?
That’s the way it is. It all suddenly seems so obvious. Fancy my never seeing the connection before now. Crazy.
But it’s quite a radical idea.
Quite possibly.
So you consider yourself a radical?
That could be the case. But I can’t wait for my next birthday.
Can you not?
Every minute theatre-thoughts in my head are going to waste.
That must be absolutely intolerable.
Yes, I’m glad you understand me. Would you have any objection to my acquiring a sideboard with ferns at my own expense?
Not at all.
Do you think there are any here in Mixing Part Churches?
It’s not called Mixing Part Churches.
Telemann!
Hm?
You’re talking in your sleep.
What?
You’re keeping me awake.
Was I talking?
Yes.
What did I say?
What do you think?
I don’t know.
Stop saying you don’t know.
I don’t know what I said. As I was
What was that?
I’m not quite sure. But I think it was food. But it could well have been something else.
Such as?
I don’t want to say.
You don’t want to say?
No.
Nina!
Yes? What is it?
I just made contact with my reptile brain.
What?
My reptile brain.
Oh yes?
It was quite extraordinary, almost unreal, but at the same time quite real, if you see what I mean, like theatre.
Was it now?
Do you want to hear any more?
If you like.
I was thinking about the theatre, as usual, in fact I was just on the point of making a note about something I thought should be made a note of when I became aware of some movement at the edge of my field of vision.
Go on.
My brain immediately transmitted chemical signals left, right and centre, I don’t know what they’re called, but I’ve heard about serotonin and dopamine and adrenalin, so it’s conceivable that some of these chemicals were involved in this case, too. I could feel it in my backbone, and in my forehead, a kind of stabbing, hot impulse, and my muscles tensed, I felt I was about to wave an arm, the left one, I think, and also about to panic.
Heavens.
Do you know what the movement I saw was?
No.
It was the end of a tea bag, where there was no tea, the end with the paper tag with Lipton written on it, or in this case: Teekanne Liebesfrucht.
Really.
The paper tag was swaying to and fro beside the cup. My brain must have imagined it was a poisonous spider and was preparing itself to kill it. It was a matter of life and death, you see.
Goodness.
It or me, it was.
How dramatic.
It was, wasn’t it? It was theatre at its best. Forgive me for repeating myself. It was just as good as theatre.
Golly.
I need to come to terms with all this, Nina. Do you mind if I go for a little walk on my own?
Not at all.
I’d like a sideboard.
I see.
With a fern leaf carving on it.
Well, you’ve just had your birthday.
Yes, I know, but I’m just telling you, so that there’s no need to ask next time you’re buying me a present.
Fine.
The sideboard should be about this high and the fern leaf shouldn’t be too small.
I see.
And I want it on the right of my desk at home, in front of the window.
What made you think of that?
I don’t know.
Stop saying that.
What?
Stop saying I don’t know.
But what if I don’t know?
You know very well. It’s just a way of cutting short the conversation so that you can carry on with your own thoughts.
OK.
So what made you think of sideboards and ferns?
I’ve seen numerous photos of theatre people with fern sideboards. Actors, directors, playwrights.
The whole caboodle had one. Darwin did, too.
Darwin?
Yeah.
I didn’t think he had anything to do with the theatre. Depends on the eye of the beholder. The theory of evolution is theatre too, in a way.
And in a way it isn’t.
Yes, indeed. You have to keep your mind open.
But you still think that sideboards, ferns and theatre-thoughts go hand in hand.
I think one presupposes the other.
So ferns and sideboards cannot be separated from theatre-thoughts?
And vice versa.
Vice versa?
That’s the way it is. It all suddenly seems so obvious. Fancy my never seeing the connection before now. Crazy.
But it’s quite a radical idea.
Quite possibly.
So you consider yourself a radical?
That could be the case. But I can’t wait for my next birthday.
Can you not?
Every minute theatre-thoughts in my head are going to waste.
That must be absolutely intolerable.
Yes, I’m glad you understand me. Would you have any objection to my acquiring a sideboard with ferns at my own expense?
Not at all.
Do you think there are any here in Mixing Part Churches?
It’s not called Mixing Part Churches.
Telemann!
Hm?
You’re talking in your sleep.
What?
You’re keeping me awake.
Was I talking?
Yes.
What did I say?
What do you think?
I don’t know.
Stop saying you don’t know.
I don’t know what I said. As I was
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