Love, Nina (20 page)

Me: Do you have the tea loaf?

Bagwan Shree woman: (
calmly
) The tea loaf has been stopped.

Me: Oh no.

BS woman: (
calmly
) Another sweet loaf has taken its place in our bakery selection.

Me: What sweet loaf?

BS woman: A cinnamon loaf with currants.

So. Back at 55 I broke the news:

MK: What, no more tea loaf?

Me: No.

MK: Are you sure?

Me: As sure as I can be.

MK: No more tea loaf?

Me: They've stopped it.

MK: Did you get the recipe?

Me: (
lying on the spot, to soften blow
) Yes.

MK: Oh good, you can bake it.

Later:

MK: (
to AB
) Did she tell you about the loaf?

AB: What?

MK: (
to me
) Haven't you told him?

Me: Not yet.

AB: Told me what?

Me: The tea loaf has been superseded by a cinnamon bread.

AB: What a shame, I liked that loaf.

MK: She got the recipe.

So now I have to go back to the shop and ask what was in it and try to bake the damn thing. It's taken over my life and I don't even like it that much. I'd rather have a Rich Tea.

Hope all's well with you. Let's make a plan soon.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Zig came into college to tell us
he's leaving
and to get his chest-expander back. London hasn't worked out very well for him.

I'm glad I assumed he was a boy. He is (a boy)—we all saw his ribs when he showed his injuries.

It's not just London that's been a disappointment: he's just split up with his girlfriend of three months. He was very candid and talkative (unusual for him and probably a side effect of the recent mild concussion). He told us the exact reason for the split, which was to do with something his ex-girlfriend liked that he didn't like (in the bedroom dept). The thing (that he didn't like) sounded very odd and I think the girlfriend must've been a punk.

But Stella and I both said we felt a bit warmer toward him now he's had a road accident and he's leaving.

Train back to NW1 very late. Read a short play called
The Zoo Story
by Edward Albee. The introduction calls it an “early dramatic venture” (i.e. not quite a play). It's not as good as two other things I've read/seen by the same bloke. Dated and a bit biblical, and not nearly so funny.

From train window I saw graffiti, “I fuck my couzin,” in long white letters (very neat) and I thought of Charles Darwin and felt quite impressed with myself.

Hope you're well. Funny about X and the caravan.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

I tried to tell Mary-Kay about Zig being clipped by the lorry, him going to hospital with mild concussion and calling his mother a witch and so forth…but MK zoned out after a while because of its complexity and her supper preparations. She's not very good at getting on with supper if there's something else going on. So she has to concentrate.

She managed to pick up on the candid chit-chat aspect though (Zig saying what his girlfriend liked/he didn't like—in the bedroom). I'd meant to stay vague about that bit, but you know how it is when someone's onions start burning and they lose interest in your story. So I mentioned
that
bit and then AB arrived and MK brought him up to speed straightaway.

MK: Another one of her college pals has got a sex thing.

AB: Good grief—it all goes on there.

Me: It doesn't. We're reading Hegel most of the time.

MK: So what is it that he doesn't like doing?

Me: I can't say.

MK: OK.

Me: OK, the girlfriend likes to have her hair tugged.

MK: What hair?

AB: Upstairs or downstairs?

Me: Down.

MK: Tugged—golly!

Me: I know.

MK: Is tugging just pulling but harder?

Mary Hope's visitor friends are worse than MK's—they stay for days on end, just doing their own thing and use the house like a hotel. At least MK's houseguests have to do the cooking etc. One's staying (here) at the moment and using my bathroom. I regret using her vitamin-rich night cream—it's got a depressing smell. The friend before this one used “fragrance-free” Clinique. Preferable.

See you soon.

Love, Nina

PS Made a tea loaf. You make it with actual tea. Supposed to use yeast but couldn't find any so used baking powder. It was OK. Like a hard, square scone.

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Went to see Sam in Great Ormond Street. Karel Reisz was there. Sam was asleep. Karel said he'd dropped off while they'd been chatting. Karel and I spoke about Harold Pinter—whose play
The Birthday Party
I saw at college earlier in the week (I loved it even though it's not American).

Dandy Nichols from
Till Death Do Us Part
and the bloke from
Jaws
in it. Menacing and brilliant. Said that to Karel and he agreed with my description.

Sam's area was a mess.
Daily Mirror
all strewn about, around and under his bed. I was starting to pick it up when Sam woke up.

Me: What's all this mess?

Sam: Frank Bruno did it.

Me: What?

Sam: The boxer.

Me: Frank Bruno?

Sam: (
weary
) Yes, Frank Bruno. He came in and asked me how I was. I told him to fuck off and he chucked my
Daily Mirror
around.

MK: (
arrives with food
) Hullo, what's all this mess?

Me: It's something to do with Frank Bruno.

MK: I should've guessed. (
To Sam
) How are you?

Sam: Better for seeing you (
hugs
).

Me: You didn't say that to me.

Sam: You didn't ask how I was.

MK: You didn't ask how he was?

Me: I didn't think I was allowed. Look at what happened when Frank Bruno asked.

MK: (
looks curious
).

Sam: I told him to fuck off.

Me: And Frank threw the
Mirror
around.

MK: What a day you've had.

Love, Nina

PS Frank Bruno didn't. Sam did. The nurse wasn't even aware that Frank Bruno had been in the hospital that day. Sam was just trying to blame someone else. As per.

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

I'm hardly doing any cooking nowadays. Mary and JDF have soups and healthy stuff or ready-made and I'm not usually there for meals and if I go to 55 I can't really cook because I don't live there. But I do sometimes, but only what's in the fridge already. I don't plan any 55 meals.

I did cook a chicken there yesterday, but only by accident.

Mary-Kay said I could stuff it with bulgur wheat and spinach—if I wanted to. So I did, but forgot the all-important tarragon and garlic, so made an oily thing to drip on instead. It was nice apparently. I didn't have any, it looked odd.

Mary-Kay has bought toilet paper with pink rosebuds on it. Looks nice until you use it.

Me: I don't like the rosebud toilet paper.

MK: I know, I know.

Me: It's worrying.

MK: I know, I didn't think it through.

Stella is beginning to make a bit of an effort in seminars. She's gone mad on poetry and this has caught the eye of Peter M, the poetry lecturer. I didn't choose that course because he seemed such a mardy-arse. But Stella loves it and now I think maybe I should have taken it. Not that I like poetry much.

Love, Nina

PS I know how it must seem…but you have to understand that Sam telling people to “fuck off” is the same as anyone else saying “no thanks” or at worst “you must be joking.”

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Not having 100% success with the three-ring code. Some people just won't play ball. S&W do it fine. They like stuff like that (procedures, secrets). Others, control freaks like Nunney, just ring up in the old-fashioned way and wonder why I'm never at home.

Also, Mary Hope is getting a bit annoyed with it.

Mary: People keep hanging up on me.

Me: Oh, do they?

Mary: Yes, just as I pick up.

Me: It might be my phone code thing.

Mary: Oh well, it's rather irritating.

Me: Don't answer till after at least four rings.

Mary: I thought it was
three
rings.

Me: It sometimes goes to four. If it's four rings, it'll be Sam.

Mary: I can't keep up.

Also, Mary-Kay caused havoc this week. She did the three-ring code, I answered and she asked to speak to Mary Hope. And Mary Hope was there, in the next room grinding seeds by hand. Listening.

MK: Is Mary there?

Me: Is that you?

MK: Yes.

Me: You did the code.

MK: Well, whatever, is Mary there?

Me: Yes, but she'll be confused, you did the three rings.

MK: Just get Mary and stop messing about.

Me: Speak to me for a moment to legitimize it.

MK: Fuck (
hangs up
).

I told Mary H to ring MK.

Mary: (
ringing MK
) She's not there.

Me: Did you do the code?

Mary: For heaven's sake, do
I
have to do the code to her now?

I rang 55 (
using the code
).

MK: Hello.

Me: Mary wants to speak to you.

MK: Put her on, then.

Don't know what MK wanted Mary for but I heard Mary say “bladder in jeopardy.”

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Stella and me have opted to take a course called
Autobiography & Fiction
. So far it has been my absolute best thing and Stella's worst nightmare.

Had a seminar earlier this week in which we all spoke briefly, autobiographically, just to get the hang of it. Tutor Peter H said we should try to say something revealing or even difficult.

Here are some of the things we said:

A: My sister, aged fifteen, is podgy and can't spell house. I'm ashamed of her and ashamed of being ashamed (three ashameds).

B: I often dream I'm eating shit and can actually taste it (everyone horrified).

C: I'm frightened of insects and if I see one or think of one when I'm eating, I almost throw up. If a thing flew in here now, I'd find it difficult to remain in the room (everyone bored).

D: I don't connect with my parents, grandparents, siblings or anyone I know in Luton. Since my father laughed at my bra when I was twelve (everyone amused).

E (mature student): When I was twenty-one I married my husband. Two weeks later he moved back in with his mother and never spoke to me again. I never got over it (everyone sad).

Stella: I used to be prejudiced against people with scratches, cuts or grazes on their hands and plasters, bandages or any wounds (everyone a bit cross).

I said: When I went to Greece last year I saw Germans for the first time and I couldn't imagine what it must feel like to be German. I feel bad enough being English (mixed reaction).

Tutor Peter H seemed pleased.

When we came out of the seminar, some students, inc. Stella, were all wrung out and we went to the 5th floor coffee bar to discuss things further. All except the insect girl.

Next we have to read some stuff, then
write
some stuff.

Hope all's well with you.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Went to University of Sussex near Brighton to stay weekend with Nunney. He's living in the Halls of Residence on campus. It's very green and hilly and not at all like Thames. It's full of students, but they seem a different type to the Thames type. More studious and longer hair.

I weed in the basin when Nunney was in the shower and felt guilty enough to run the tap and squirt fairy liquid down the drain (it's a small room).

Went for a walk on the Downs and a meal at the Ship Hotel where Elspeth and Paul had their honeymoon in 1960. Had fish pie and threw up (me, not Elspeth and Paul).

Also went to Rottingdean where Rudyard Kipling lived and a few other places of interest.

I stripped right off on a beach in Eastbourne. It was funny and like old times seeing Nunney outraged and shocked, but quite pleased really.

Strange being with him. Strange being with him
there.
Strange going away again. Got the feeling it was all over. Or something.

Brighton seemed pleased with itself again.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

1985

Dear Vic,

Thought you might like to see some photographs.

(photo 1) Tall building with orange curtains is Churchill House (Humanities and Arts, 3rd floor). The woman emerging is Valerie Stead, a Thames Poly bigwig.

(photo 2) A homeless man sleeps in the porch—same man every night. For ages I thought he was an engineering student.

Used a special technique which I might have told you about before (Nunney taught me). You do
not
hold the camera up to your face, therefore it doesn't appear that you're actually taking a photograph—good for getting natural shots in public scenarios. It's a bit hit and miss. Used the technique to try and take a picture in a seminar but ended up with photo of a dusty ledge.

A group of us are starting a new student magazine (for students' work—art, stories, poems, photographs). Not sure Thames Poly needs or wants another magazine but that doesn't affect our plan. The existing magazine is an official thing connected to the library. I think it's called the
Thames Poly Magazine
or similar. We want to have a good look at it as our magazine will compete with it but we can't find a copy. Not even in the library. There's one bloke, a materials science PhD student, who says he once saw a copy, so we asked him what it was like, what was in it and so on. He could only remember a recipe for minestrone soup and a picture of Desperate Dan and that was it. So at least we know to avoid those two items.

Discussion about what to call our new magazine ended in a secret vote.

The name
Blurt!
was chosen (with exclamation mark)—four votes to three. Other options included:
You Say. We Say. Your Say. I Say. Thames Gems
(mine).

I've done lino prints for the first front cover (see photo 3) and for the “call for submissions” and I've submitted the accidental dusty ledge photo for inclusion in the first edition. It might be monthly or less often.

Will has started saying “scenario”; I've picked it up and keep saying it all the time. Sam has too.