men are singing in my head singing lyrics of tim minchin with me

you see they will play this music singing with me saying it is my body

and i live in it, it’s 7 parts  skin and 13 parts water and the men are

laughing with me saying it’s my body and i live in it

you see despite us partying and vomiting blood yeah

you see it is my body and it’s fine, ya see i fill it completely with wine

and i live in the dark side and every man was saying yeah your cool

just like this singer tim minchin, he is so radical, dude

i can have a dark side i can have a dark side, i can have a dark side

2 poofs and 300 virgins, well the men are probably saying to me, tim minchin sux

but i think tim min chin rules, dudes

i think that tim minchin is radically awesome dude, you see the men are singing tim minchin

with me, because i am still a family person, and it’s true i am a family person

i wrote a letter to yin din olin and he told me i was the worst person i have ever met

then the men said, tim minchin is cool man and i said, yeah he is

and this is my earth and i am proud of it

i walk around the earth picking up ***** off shoes

and then i use turpentine to squeeze all the hooligan out of me

but i know it’s hard oh it can be mighty hard, dad never became involved with my sports when i was a kid

he made it up to me as an adult, but i was always a pure cool family person, he didn’t understand me

i liked playing basketball, i liked playing ten pin bowling, it made me feel like cool guy

you see i feel comfortable with the men who like heavy metal or tim minchin like when

i listen to him all the men say to me ummmmm you are cool, ummmmmm you are cool

you are going to live in paradise, with a 10 ft **** and a few hundred virgins

i hate people who don’t give money to the poor, but i don’t want to call them ***** because

i always believe in hard work, even if it is hard work cleaning my brain out

you see we are sticking a ***** up ya **** while tim min chin is singing it, and of course we feel cool

i tim minchin, he reminds me of fun and games with the young dudes

you see i was looking for a way to bring that atmosphere back, and tim brings it to me

my dad doesn’t understand what kind of cool kid i was trying to be like

tim is singing the good book, the good book is the best song, i like tim minchin

i am writing my old body out of me, but i am a person not a robot

a person who likes tim minchin

you see i liked daddy, he was a nice person on the couch, but dad to me in the 80s was a couch daddy

but i had to yell at him to get him to treat me like a family person, ya see i was teasing dad when

i was saying i was a hooligan, just a tease don’t ya know

i was teasing dad when i said, i wanna stab ya in the back

because i wanted heavy medallists to be men for me, NOT DAD, well, back then anyway

because, i believed in being cool, and i got vibes from dad, he didn’t wanna be cool

so i hear all the men singing with me, each song tim sang

ya know each song he sang,

dads wasn’t perfect, but buddha said love thy father

because you only get one and when he goes

i was going completely crazy, listening to tim minchin’s really cool music

and the men are laughing and joking with me, as i listen to the great tim minchin

ya see, there was so much i never told dad, and now it’s too late

because all the ladies in the house come on let me hear ya say ayoh ayoh

all the fellas in the house RAIDERS SUX, RAIDERS SUX

all the conservos in the house say MONEY MONEY MONEY

all the poor people in the house say WHERE IS OUR FUCKEN LOOT YA ******’ ******

i like the bearded men talking to me when i listen to tim, because he is totally radical dude

i am not discussed by the time in the 90s where all my personalities split out of my bodies

so i can choose what personality i take with me, i love heavy metal, so i sing heavy metal with those nice australian men

you see i hear voices of people saying i am someone people hate, but i want to be someone people like

i don’t want to sing heavy metal with dad, his next life betty campbell, will be in a different generation to me

the fad generation was dads, not mine, and i sang a song

not a dime, i cannot pay my rent

i can barely make it through the week

it’s saturday night, and it’s PARTY night

and i can meet a girl

but i struggle to make my ends meet

i am listening to tim minchin every day

he is totally radical dude

i feel i am in a cranky mood, but really i am in a happy mood yeah

happy like brian allan, and i am not a loser who takes drugs to get me by

i have no problem with people who take drugs, just respect my view that i don’t like taking drugs

the raiders sux, because the bulldogs beat them 41 to 34, and the swans beat the hawks

the men are singing tim minchin with me like they sang heavy metal music

i don’t wanna be someone people hate, i wanna be liked for being the person, i want to be

not the person that dad wanted me to be, not the person that hooligans wanted me to be

respect me, i want to be a cool party dude who LOVES TIM MINCHIN, radical STUFF

The curtain has risen with the eyes of a child
The Greyhound bus fulfills a child’s dream
The Greyhound bus is the headlight on target being the beam
A child’s dream in meeting Santa Claus
The child wants to journey to the North Pole
Greyhound will provide the behold
Little Tim as the child is called is awakened
Wake Up Wake Up Tim
Are you Santa, no, I am the Greyhound Driver that is going to take you on your destiny to Santa in the North Pole?
Tim, get dressed
Your Hound Bus a waits
Little Tim steps aboard
Suddenly, there was an applaud
It Santa’s Elves journeying with Tim to his Santa adventure
It will be a venture far and wide
Greyhound is at your service and Tim, lean back and recline
Little Tim was amazed
Little Time sits in his seat, and its journey on
Hours Later, The Greyhound bus stops at Santa’s North Pole Castle Front Entrance
Little Tim is greeted by Santa Claus himself
Santa shows Little Tim how the toys are made, and a brief tour around Santa’s Castle
Ms. Claus is busy in the Kitchen in keeping Santa fattened up and Jolly
She baked some Christmas Cookies, and offered one to Little Tim
The cookies were sprinkled with assortment of colors for the Holiday and in center was a red nose cherry flavored
The Red Nose represents Rudolph the Reindeer
Little Tim is starting to yawn, and his mind is focusing on Christmas to look upon
But it is almost Midnight for Santa’s ride
Santa tells the Greyhound Driver that he can go on, and my Sleigh will provide
Everything is loaded and ready on the sleigh
Santa gives the Reindeers the ok
Santa then says, “Let’s Dash Away”
Little Tim is aboard
The first stop is Nestled Town where Little Tim lives
Little Tim marvels the winter air and Christmas decorations below
Santa carries Little Tim to his room and bed
Little Tim gives Santa a big hug
Santa quietly says, “** ** **”
Little Tim is fast asleep
He is thinking Reindeers deep
Santa flies away
Merry Christmas to all on this day.

They had long met o’ Zundays—her true love and she—
   And at junketings, maypoles, and flings;
But she bode wi’ a thirtover uncle, and he
Swore by noon and by night that her goodman should be
Naibor Sweatley—a gaffer oft weak at the knee
From taking o’ sommat more cheerful than tea—
   Who tranted, and moved people’s things.

She cried, “O pray pity me!” Nought would he hear;
   Then with wild rainy eyes she obeyed,
She chid when her Love was for clinking off wi’ her.
The pa’son was told, as the season drew near
To throw over pu’pit the names of the peäir
   As fitting one flesh to be made.

The wedding-day dawned and the morning drew on;
   The couple stood bridegroom and bride;
The evening was passed, and when midnight had gone
The folks horned out, “God save the King,” and anon
   The two home-along gloomily hied.

The lover Tim Tankens mourned heart-sick and drear
   To be thus of his darling deprived:
He roamed in the dark ath’art field, mound, and mere,
And, a’most without knowing it, found himself near
The house of the tranter, and now of his Dear,
   Where the lantern-light showed ’em arrived.

The bride sought her cham’er so calm and so pale
   That a Northern had thought her resigned;
But to eyes that had seen her in tide-times of weal,
Like the white cloud o’ smoke, the red battlefield’s vail,
   That look spak’ of havoc behind.

The bridegroom yet laitered a beaker to drain,
   Then reeled to the linhay for more,
When the candle-snoff kindled some chaff from his grain—
Flames spread, and red vlankers, wi’ might and wi’ main,
   And round beams, thatch, and chimley-tun roar.

Young Tim away yond, rafted up by the light,
   Through brimble and underwood tears,
Till he comes to the orchet, when crooping thereright
In the lewth of a codlin-tree, bivering wi’ fright,
Wi’ on’y her night-rail to screen her from sight,
   His lonesome young Barbree appears.

Her cwold little figure half-naked he views
   Played about by the frolicsome breeze,
Her light-tripping totties, her ten little tooes,
All bare and besprinkled wi’ Fall’s chilly dews,
While her great gallied eyes, through her hair hanging loose,
   Sheened as stars through a tardle o’ trees.

She eyed en; and, as when a weir-hatch is drawn,
   Her tears, penned by terror afore,
With a rushing of sobs in a shower were strawn,
Till her power to pour ’em seemed wasted and gone
   From the heft o’ misfortune she bore.

“O Tim, my own Tim I must call ‘ee—I will!
   All the world ha’ turned round on me so!
Can you help her who loved ‘ee, though acting so ill?
Can you pity her misery—feel for her still?
When worse than her body so quivering and chill
   Is her heart in its winter o’ woe!

“I think I mid almost ha’ borne it,” she said,
   “Had my griefs one by one come to hand;
But O, to be slave to thik husbird for bread,
And then, upon top o’ that, driven to wed,
And then, upon top o’ that, burnt out o’ bed,
   Is more than my nater can stand!”

Tim’s soul like a lion ‘ithin en outsprung—
   (Tim had a great soul when his feelings were wrung)—
“Feel for ‘ee, dear Barbree?” he cried;
And his warm working-jacket about her he flung,
Made a back, horsed her up, till behind him she clung
Like a chiel on a gipsy, her figure uphung
   By the sleeves that around her he tied.

Over piggeries, and mixens, and apples, and hay,
   They lumpered straight into the night;
And finding bylong where a halter-path lay,
At dawn reached Tim’s house, on’y seen on their way
By a naibor or two who were up wi’ the day;
   But they gathered no clue to the sight.

Then tender Tim Tankens he searched here and there
   For some garment to clothe her fair skin;
But though he had breeches and waistcoats to spare,
He had nothing quite seemly for Barbree to wear,
Who, half shrammed to death, stood and cried on a chair
   At the caddle she found herself in.

There was one thing to do, and that one thing he did,
   He lent her some clouts of his own,
And she took ’em perforce; and while in ’em she slid,
Tim turned to the winder, as modesty bid,
Thinking, “O that the picter my duty keeps hid
   To the sight o’ my eyes mid be shown!”

In the tallet he stowed her; there huddied she lay,
   Shortening sleeves, legs, and tails to her limbs;
But most o’ the time in a mortal bad way,
Well knowing that there’d be the divel to pay
If ’twere found that, instead o’ the elements’ prey,
   She was living in lodgings at Tim’s.

“Where’s the tranter?” said men and boys; “where can er be?”
   “Where’s the tranter?” said Barbree alone.
“Where on e’th is the tranter?” said everybod-y:
They sifted the dust of his perished roof-tree,
   And all they could find was a bone.

Then the uncle cried, “Lord, pray have mercy on me!”
   And in terror began to repent.
But before ’twas complete, and till sure she was free,
Barbree drew up her loft-ladder, tight turned her key—
Tim bringing up breakfast and dinner and tea—
   Till the news of her hiding got vent.

Then followed the custom-kept rout, shout, and flare
Of a skimmington-ride through the naiborhood, ere
   Folk had proof o’ wold Sweatley’s decay.
Whereupon decent people all stood in a stare,
Saying Tim and his lodger should risk it, and pair:
So he took her to church. An’ some laughing lads there
Cried to Tim, “After Sweatley!” She said, “I declare
I stand as a maiden to-day!”

You see Tim McGrath was getting teased by Mark and Ryan whilst jonithan was filming the whole thing on his iPhone
And Tim said ******* I don't deserve to be treated like this
You see I am trying to enjoy life
And you **** are trying to push me down and then Tim said I don't wanna get teased like this because I am a family person who doesn't deserve this inappropriate teasing
Ryan said how about I give you a nice kick up the *** whilst Mark said as I pass by your head I will  knock your brains right out of your head and Tim said I don't want this awful teasing to keep going because I do a lot of good for this country
You see everyone presumes Tim hates people partying but nothing could be further from the truth because Tim was the party animal a bit like me I guess and Tim hated people treating him like someone who is against partying and like me Tim said he was the party animal of the world a bit like Brian Allan but Mark and Ryan was having fun teasing Tim whilest jonithan filmed the whole thing with a big smirky smile on his face and Tim was sad because nobody likes him
And they want him an object for social media and Mark Ryan and jonithan were laughing as they humiliated poor old Tim

196

We don’t cry—Tim and I,
We are far too grand—
But we bolt the door tight
To prevent a friend—

Then we hide our brave face
Deep in our hand—
Not to cry—Tim and I—
We are far too grand—

Nor to dream—he and me—
Do we condescend—
We just shut our brown eye
To see to the end—

Tim—see Cottages—
But, Oh, so high!
Then—we shake—Tim and I—
And lest I—cry—

Tim—reads a little Hymn—
And we both pray—
Please, Sir, I and Tim—
Always lost the way!

We must die—by and by—
Clergymen say—
Tim—shall—if I—do—
I—too—if he—

How shall we arrange it—
Tim—was—so—shy?
Take us simultaneous—Lord—
I—”Tim”—and Me!

Home improvement randy leaves in a black kidnappers van



You see it was a usual Christmas at the Taylor's and randy who was 15
Was busy at the homeless shelter, each day, but one poor man, who was
Getting ****** around by right wing governments decided to talk to randy
And yes randy, being the helpful soul that he is, spoke and joked around
With him, and this man said, how about we meet down the mall, ya see
I really am doing it tough, buddy, and it would mean a lot for me, if you would
Meet me there, and randy, said well, yeah alright see ya there, and went home
And when he told tim and Jill, well they were worried, but they were looking
Out for him and brad said, dude, it's suspicious, I will come with you and
Randy said, no buddy, I think this means nothing and randy went to bed
Already to meet his new found homeless friend and the next day, his homeless
Friend hot-wired this black van and then randy left his house to meet him
And on the way to the mall, the man jumped out of the van and grabbed randy
And randy found himself bound and gagged in the back, and randy struggled
And yelled our, HELP let me out, let me out, but this man drove randy to a very
Dark looking cave, and inside this dave were Indian drawings and randy who is
Unaware of the dangers he is in, was fascinated by these drawings and then
The man drew a picture explaining the things randy is going to suffer from
In here but despite taking a while to catch on, he finally figured out that this
Man, was bad news, and randy now realises his life is in danger and this
Made him very scared, the man looked at randy and said, buddy, you are dead
In 3 days and this made randy so scared, he struggled to get out, and the man
Rang up tim and Jill saying he has their son, blah blah blah, and there is nothing
They can do, to save him, from this trauma, randy was scared, but he was smart
Enough to understand that this could be the end of his life, and he struggled
And struggled to get through but these ropes were on so tight it gave him rope burns
And tim and Jill said, I will withdraw $20-000-000 out and you can give randy back
And then tim though, I knew that this man was up to no good, but the man won't
Budge, he didn't want the money, well he did, but having randy was more important
That any crazy dollar bill, ever could help, randy was still struggling and it made him
Feel like he was suffocating and randy screamed, HELP, I need to get out of here,
I am captured by this homeless kidnapper, well that is whet he was saying, but
The gag was tightly round his mouth, so all that he was letting out was wool lobby
Weeeeeretrtyes, well carp like this, and the kidnapper was really having a field day
With tim and Jill, saying your son is with me, you will never ever get your son back
Cause he tried to be a hotshot cool kid, and randy is not like us, his elder brother brad
Is like us, and young brother mark is a ******, but little teaser randy, is mine, I have
This kid where I want him, right now, he will never escape, no way hoisei, and
Tim and Jill got really worried, as they tried to alert the police but the police had no leads
But they told tim and Jill that they will do their best and tim and Jill gave them a
Photo of randy, and told them that there was this homeless man, who randy was
Befriending and they are pretty sure it is him who has kidnapped randy, and then after
Tim and Jill explained what happened, well, yeah, but if randy wanted it, it ain't kidnapping
But there are more fierce charges that we can put him on if he has your son and if he has harmed your son in an way, like grevious ****** harm, it's still wrong what he is doing
And tim and Jill left and the police did their best, and then a call came in saying a man
Came back to the carpark to find his tools all broken and over the road, and the police went
Down to check it out, and the police said, well we have to alert the Taylor's cause there could be a connection between this van robbery and randy's kidnapping and as soon
As tim heard, he demanded that the police do a city search, which they did, stopping at
Every gas station and ice cream shop, asking if they saw the car and whether they saw
Randy or this man, now nobody can help, cause this kidnapping is so closed off from
The rest of the world and randy was struggling with the kidnapper singing the song,
We're not going to take it, no we are never going to take it, no we ain't going to take it, anymore, and I am not taking any **** from you dude, and as randy heard that, he was
Really scared, and screamed right into the heavens, **** and the kidnapper put the duct tape back on his mouth saying shut up, *******, you are not like us, no more, you
Are like an old biddy's kid, buddy, and the police were still searching and searching
And just as they were about to give up, they saw a van matching the missing cars description near the old fashioned caves, and went down to take peak and this man
Looking suspicious, who was the kidnapper, was trying to flee the scene, but the police
Were too quick and the other policeman searched the cave and noticed randy hanging
By his neck in the cave, but the police got their in the nick of time and they saved randy
And randy was returned to the Taylor's and randy had to have counselling and the kidnapper
Was sentenced to life imprisonment but if he was good after 40 years, he will be could get free, but the homeless man said thank you, I only did it to get a home and all the rich ******
Have to pay for my rent in their taxes, *******, rich conservative *****, and randy
Was having mojo issues from the ordeal, brad and mark helped him get through this


Sent from my iPhone

This is the story of Good-Time Tim
That I sit down to tell you today
No matter the weather
No matter the season
This man just wanted to play

And rain always calls for a raincoat
Boots and a hat for good measure
But Tim didn't need any protection from the storm
In the downpour in fact he took pleasure

His father put the pressure on
From a young age expected perfection
So when he grew up he got the hell out of dodge
Moved far away from parental correction

He was always in a drinking mood
Any time of day or night
If you caught him four drinks or more in
Whew! He was quite a sloppy sight!

This is the story of Good-Time Tim
That I sit down to tell you today
No matter the weather
No matter the season
This man just wanted to play

He drank hard alcohol and beer
Without discrimination
Either one would work just fine
For his goal of inebriation

He was a bit too rough on his body
Which is an overly gross understatement
He neglected his health and mental well-being
In reckless pursuit of entertainment

He wasted his life away getting wasted
Never pausing to consider that he might be missing out
Too self-destructive to attract a wife
So a family he chose to live without

This is the story of Good-Time Tim
That I sit down to tell you today
No matter the weather
No matter the season
This man just wanted to play

There was the time Tim broke his shoulder
Falling out of a tree
Because someone bet he couldn't reach the top
A task that proved to be an impossibility

Tim hardly ever brushed his teeth
So they all fell out by age 45
But considering his lifestyle
He was just lucky to still be alive

Surprisingly he was a religious man
Although not one page of the bible did he read
He had heard Jesus turned water to wine
That was all the preaching he'd ever need

This is the story of Good-Time Tim
That I sit down to tell you today
No matter the weather
No matter the season
This man just wanted to play

As he grew old he began to slow down
But not once did he ever regret
The countless mistakes he had made through the years
I guess the ***** made him forget

His liver held up for a very long time
But eventually started to rot
But for Tim it was too late to get sober
So he still swallowed shot after shot

When the doctor gave him his fatal diagnosis
He laughed and said "I'm ready to go
But make sure I'm buried with a bottle
In case they don't serve liquor way down there below!"

There’s a film by John Schlesinger called the Go-Between in which the main character, a boy on the cusp of adolescence staying with a school friend on his family’s Norfolk estate, discovers how passion and *** become intertwined with love and desire. As an elderly man he revisits the location of this discovery and the woman, who we learn changed his emotional world forever. At the start of the film we see him on a day of grey cloud and wild wind walking towards the estate cottage where this woman now lives. He glimpses her face at a window – and the film flashes back fifty years to a summer before the First War.
 
It’s a little like that for me. Only, I’m sitting at a desk early on a spring morning about to step back nearly forty years.*
 
It was a two-hour trip from Boston to Booth Bay. We’d flown from New York on the shuttle and met Larry’s dad at St Vincent’s. We waited in his office as he put away the week with his secretary. He’d been in theatre all afternoon. He kept up a two-sided conversation.
 
‘You boys have a good week? Did you get to hear Barenboim at the Tully? I heard him as 14-year old play in Paris. He played the Tempest -  Mary, let’s fit Mrs K in for Tuesday at 5.0 - I was learning that very Beethoven sonata right then. I couldn’t believe it - that one so young could sound –there’s that myocardial infarction to review early Wednesday. I want Jim and Susan there please -  and look so  . . . old, not just mature, but old. And now – Gloria and I went to his last Carnegie – he just looks so **** young.’
 
Down in the basement garage Larry took his dad’s keys and we roared out on to Storow drive heading for the Massachusetts Turnpike. I slept. Too many early mornings copying my teacher’s latest – a concerto for two pianos – all those notes to be placed under the fingers. There was even a third piano in the orchestra. Larry and his Dad talked incessantly. I woke as Dr Benson said ‘The sea at last’. And there we were, the sea a glazed blue shimmering in the July distance. It might be lobster on the beach tonight, Gloria’s clam chowder, the coldest apple juice I’d ever tasted (never tasted apple juice until I came to Maine), settling down to a pile of art books in my bedroom, listening to the bell buoy rocking too and fro in the bay, the beach just below the house, a house over 150 years old, very old they said, in the family all that time.
 
It was a house full that weekend,  4th of July weekend and there would be fireworks over Booth Bay and lots of what Gloria called necessary visiting. I was in love with Gloria from the moment she shook my hand after that first concert when my little cummings setting got a mention in the NYT. It was called forever is now and God knows where it is – scored for tenor and small ensemble (there was certainly a vibraphone and a double bass – I was in love from afar with a bassist at J.). Oh, this being in love at seventeen. It was so difficult not to be. No English reserve here. People talked to you, were interested in you and what you thought, had heard, had read. You only had to say you’d been looking at a book of Andrew Wyeth’s paintings and you’d be whisked off to some uptown gallery to see his early watercolours. And on the way you’d hear a life story or some intimate details of friend’s affair, or a great slice of family history. Lots of eye contact. Just keep the talk going. But Gloria, well, we would meet in the hallway and she’d grasp my hand and say – ‘You know, Larry says that you work too hard. I want you to do nothing this weekend except get some sun and swim. We can go to Johnson’s for tennis you know. I haven’t forgotten you beat me last time we played!’ I suppose she was mid-thirties, a shirt, shorts and sandals woman, not Larry’s mother but Dr Benson’s third. This was all very new to me.
 
Tim was Larry’s elder brother, an intern at Felix-Med in NYC. He had a new girl with him that weekend. Anne-Marie was tall, bespectacled, and supposed to be ferociously clever. Gloria said ‘She models herself on Susan Sontag’. I remember asking who Sontag was and was told she was a feminist writer into politics. I wondered if Anne-Marie was a feminist into politics. She certainly did not dress like anyone else I’d seen as part of the Benson circle. It was July yet she wore a long-sleeved shift buttoned up to the collar and a long linen skirt down to her ankles. She was pretty but shapeless, a long straight person with long straight hair, a clip on one side she fiddled with endlessly, purposefully sometimes. She ignored me but for an introductory ‘Good evening’, when everyone else said ‘Hi’.
 
The next day it was hot. I was about the house very early. The apple juice in the refrigerator came into its own at 6.0 am. The bay was in mist. It was so still the bell buoy stirred only occasionally. I sat on the step with this icy glass of fragrant apple watching the pearls of condensation form and dissolve. I walked the shore, discovering years later that Rachel Carson had walked these paths, combed these beaches. I remember being shocked then at the concern about the environment surfacing in the late sixties. This was a huge country: so much space. The Maine woods – when I first drove up to Quebec – seemed to go on forever.
 
It was later in the day, after tennis, after trying to lie on the beach, I sought my room and took out my latest score, or what little of it there currently was. It was a piano piece, a still piece, the kind of piece I haven’t written in years, but possibly should. Now it’s all movement and complication. Then, I used to write exactly what I heard, and I’d heard Feldman’s ‘still pieces’ in his Greenwich loft with the white Rauschenbergs on the wall. I had admired his writing desk and thought one day I’ll have a desk like that in an apartment like this with very large empty paintings on the wall. But, I went elsewhere . . .
 
I lay on the bed and listened to the buoy out in the bay. I thought of a book of my childhood, We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea by Arthur Ransome. There’s a drawing of a Beach End Buoy in that book, and as the buoy I was listening to was too far out to see (sea?) I imagined it as the one Ransome drew from Lowestoft harbour. I dozed I suppose, to be woken suddenly by voices in the room next door. It was Tim and Anne-Marie. I had thought the house empty but for me. They were in Tim’s room next door. There was movement, whispering, almost speech, more movement.
 
I was curious suddenly. Anne-Marie was an enigma. Tim was a nice guy. Quiet, dedicated (Larry had said), worked hard, read a lot, came to Larry’s concerts, played the cello when he could, Bach was always on his record player. He and Anne-Marie seemed so close, just a wooden wall away. I stood by this wall to listen.
 
‘Why are we whispering’, said Anne-Marie firmly, ‘For goodness sake no one’s here. Look, you’re a doctor, you know what to do surely.’
 
‘Not yet.’
 
‘But people call you Doctor, I’ve heard them.’
 
‘Oh sure. But I’m not, I’m just a lousy intern.’
 
‘A lousy intern who doesn’t want to make love to me.’
 
Then, there was rustling, some heavy movement and Tim saying ‘Oh Anne, you mustn’t. You don’t need to do this.’
 
‘Yes I do. You’re hard and I’m wet between my legs. I want you all over me and inside me.  I wanted you last night so badly I lay on my bed quite naked and masturbated hoping you come to me. But you didn’t. I looked in on you and you were just fast asleep.’
 
‘You forget I did a 22-hour call on Thursday’.
 
“And the rest. Don’t you want me? Maybe your brother or that nice English boy next door?’
 
‘Is he next door? ‘
 
‘If he is, I don’t care. He looks at me you know. He can’t work me out. I’ve been ignoring him. But maybe I shouldn’t. He’s got beautiful eyes and lovely hands’.
 
There was almost silence for what seemed a long time. I could hear my own breathing and became very aware of my own body. I was shaking and suddenly cold. I could hear more breathing next door. There was a shaft of intense white sunlight burning across my bed. I imagined Anne-Marie sitting cross-legged on the floor next door, her hand cupping her right breast fingers touching the ******, waiting. There was a rustle of movement. And the door next door slammed.
 
Thirty seconds later Tim was striding across the garden and on to the beach and into the sea . . .
 
There was probably a naked young woman sitting on the floor next door I thought. Reading perhaps. I stayed quite still imagining she would get up, open her door and peek into my room. So I moved away from the wall and sat on the bed trying hard to look like a composer working on a score. And she did . . . but she had clothes on, though not her glasses or her hair clip, and she wore a bright smile – lovely teeth I recall.
 
‘Good afternoon’, she said. ‘You heard all that I suppose.’
 
I smiled my nicest English smile and said nothing.
 
‘Tell me about your girlfriend in England.’
 
She sat on the bed, cross-legged. I was suddenly overcome by her scent, something complex and earthy.
 
‘My girlfriend in England is called Anne’.
 
‘Really! Is she pretty? ‘
 
I didn’t answer, but looked at my hands, and her feet, her uncovered calves and knees. I could see the shape of her slight ******* beneath her shirt, now partly unbuttoned. I felt very uncomfortable.
 
‘Tell me. Have you been with this Anne in England?’
 
‘No.’ I said, ‘I ‘d like to, but she’s very shy.’
 
‘OK. I’m an Anne who’s not shy.’
 
‘I’ve yet to meet a shy American.’
 
‘They exist. I could find you a nice shy girl you could get to know.’
 
‘I’d quite like to know you, but you’re a good bit older than me.’
 
‘Oh that doesn’t matter. You’re quite a mature guy I think. I’d go out with you.’
 
‘Oh I doubt that.’
 
‘Would you go out with me?’
 
‘You’re interesting.  Gloria says you’re a bit like Susan Sontag. Yes, I would.’
 
‘Wow! did she really? Ok then, that’s a deal. You better read some Simone de Beauvoir pretty quick,’  and she bounced off the bed.
 
After supper  - lobster on the beach - Gloria cornered me and said. ‘I gather you heard all this afternoon.’
 
I remembered mumbling a ‘yes’.
 
‘It’s OK,’ she said, ‘Anne-Marie told me all. Girls do this you know – talk about what goes on in other people’s bedrooms. What could you do? I would have done the same. Tim’s not ready for an Anne-Marie just yet, and I’m not sure you are either. Not my business of course, but gentle advice from one who’s been there. ‘
 
‘Been where?’
 
‘Been with someone older and supposedly wiser. And remembering that wondering-what-to-do-about-those-feelings-around-*** and all that. There’s a right time and you’ll know it when it comes. ‘
 
She kissed me very lightly on my right ear, then got up and walked across the beach back to the house.

Here I have a chocolate meditation,
Writing an ode for edification,
What is a chocolate meditation?
It is a packet of Tim Tams, in Oz nation,
Let's hear it  for Oz Tim Tams,
From an Australian native chocolate plant,
Thence to an endless dish,
Of chocolate biscuits, utter bliss,
No afternoon tea is complete,
For the last Tim Tam we do compete,
Giggling gerties, one and all,
Chicks can hide them in their holdalls,
Without Tim Tams, housework is incomplete,
Must keep our ample figures neat!
I've heard they're unique to Oz nation,
Tim Tams, total chocolate meditation!