cerebellum. What’s going to happen now?
5: Everything Starts Here
Stuart Everything starts here. That’s what I keep repeating to myself. Everything starts here.
I was only average at school. I was never encouraged to think that I should aim for university. I did a correspondence course in economics and commercial law, then got accepted by the Bank as a general trainee. I work in the foreign exchange department. I’d better not mention the Bank’s name, just in case they don’t like it. But you’ll have heard of them. They’ve made it fairly clear to me that I’ll never be a high-flier, but every company needs some people who aren’t high-fliers, and that’s all right by me. My parents were the type of parents who always seemed faintly disappointed by whatever it was you did, as if you were constantly letting them down in small ways. I think that’s why my sister moved away, up north. Onthe other hand, I could see my parents’ point of view. I was a bit disappointing. I was a bit disappointing to myself. I tried to explain earlier about not being able to relax with people I liked, not being able to get them to see what virtues I had. Now I come to think of it, most of my life was like that. I couldn’t get other people to see the point of me. But then Gillian came along, and everything starts here.
I expect Oliver’s given you the impression that I was a virgin when I got married. No doubt he used some rather choice language about this hypothesis of his. Well, I’d like you to know it isn’t true. I don’t tell Oliver everything. I bet you wouldn’t tell Oliver everything either. When he’s cheerful his tongue runs away with him, and when he’s depressed he can be unkind. So it’s common sense not to let him into every area of your life. We very occasionally went on double dates but they were without exception complete disasters. For a start, Oliver would always provide the girls and I would always provide the money, though naturally I had to slip him his half of it beforehand so the girls wouldn’t know who was really paying. Once he even made me hand over all the money beforehand, so that it would look as if he was paying for everyone himself. Then we would go to a restaurant and Oliver would get dictatorial.
‘No, you can’t have that as a main course. There’s mushrooms and cream in your starter.’ Or fennel and Pernod. Or whatever and whatever. Do you ever feel the world is getting too interested in food? I mean, it does come out at the other end very soon afterwards. You can’t store it, not for long. It’s not like money.
‘But I like mushrooms and cream.’
‘Then have this main course and the aubergine starter.’
‘Don’t like aubergine.’
‘Hear that, Stu? She cringeth at the glossy aubergine. Well, let’s try converting you tonight.’
And so on. Then the business about wine with the waiter. Sometimes I used to go for a pee at this point. Oliver would start by addressing the table: ‘Shall we perhaps essay a Hunter River Chardonnay ce soir ?’
And having got our agreement in theory he would begin grilling the poor waiter. ‘Would you advise the Show Reserve? Would you say it had enough bottle age? I like my Chardonnays fat and buttery, but not too fat and buttery, you understand. And how oaky is this one? I do find the colonials tend to be rather over-zealous in their use of oak, don’t you?’
Mostly the waiter would go along with this, sensing that Oliver was one of those customers who did not, for all their enquiries, actually want any advice, and it was just a question of slowly reeling him in like a fish. Eventually the order would be placed, but this was not the end of my anxieties. Oliver had to be seen to approve of the wine he had himself chosen. At one time this involved a lot of slurping and gargling and half-closed eyes and many seconds of mystical contemplation. Then he read an article somewhere which said that the point of tasting a wine before it
5: Everything Starts Here
Stuart Everything starts here. That’s what I keep repeating to myself. Everything starts here.
I was only average at school. I was never encouraged to think that I should aim for university. I did a correspondence course in economics and commercial law, then got accepted by the Bank as a general trainee. I work in the foreign exchange department. I’d better not mention the Bank’s name, just in case they don’t like it. But you’ll have heard of them. They’ve made it fairly clear to me that I’ll never be a high-flier, but every company needs some people who aren’t high-fliers, and that’s all right by me. My parents were the type of parents who always seemed faintly disappointed by whatever it was you did, as if you were constantly letting them down in small ways. I think that’s why my sister moved away, up north. Onthe other hand, I could see my parents’ point of view. I was a bit disappointing. I was a bit disappointing to myself. I tried to explain earlier about not being able to relax with people I liked, not being able to get them to see what virtues I had. Now I come to think of it, most of my life was like that. I couldn’t get other people to see the point of me. But then Gillian came along, and everything starts here.
I expect Oliver’s given you the impression that I was a virgin when I got married. No doubt he used some rather choice language about this hypothesis of his. Well, I’d like you to know it isn’t true. I don’t tell Oliver everything. I bet you wouldn’t tell Oliver everything either. When he’s cheerful his tongue runs away with him, and when he’s depressed he can be unkind. So it’s common sense not to let him into every area of your life. We very occasionally went on double dates but they were without exception complete disasters. For a start, Oliver would always provide the girls and I would always provide the money, though naturally I had to slip him his half of it beforehand so the girls wouldn’t know who was really paying. Once he even made me hand over all the money beforehand, so that it would look as if he was paying for everyone himself. Then we would go to a restaurant and Oliver would get dictatorial.
‘No, you can’t have that as a main course. There’s mushrooms and cream in your starter.’ Or fennel and Pernod. Or whatever and whatever. Do you ever feel the world is getting too interested in food? I mean, it does come out at the other end very soon afterwards. You can’t store it, not for long. It’s not like money.
‘But I like mushrooms and cream.’
‘Then have this main course and the aubergine starter.’
‘Don’t like aubergine.’
‘Hear that, Stu? She cringeth at the glossy aubergine. Well, let’s try converting you tonight.’
And so on. Then the business about wine with the waiter. Sometimes I used to go for a pee at this point. Oliver would start by addressing the table: ‘Shall we perhaps essay a Hunter River Chardonnay ce soir ?’
And having got our agreement in theory he would begin grilling the poor waiter. ‘Would you advise the Show Reserve? Would you say it had enough bottle age? I like my Chardonnays fat and buttery, but not too fat and buttery, you understand. And how oaky is this one? I do find the colonials tend to be rather over-zealous in their use of oak, don’t you?’
Mostly the waiter would go along with this, sensing that Oliver was one of those customers who did not, for all their enquiries, actually want any advice, and it was just a question of slowly reeling him in like a fish. Eventually the order would be placed, but this was not the end of my anxieties. Oliver had to be seen to approve of the wine he had himself chosen. At one time this involved a lot of slurping and gargling and half-closed eyes and many seconds of mystical contemplation. Then he read an article somewhere which said that the point of tasting a wine before it
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