Digital Ischemia

22/10/2017

Grandparent File Download

LYLE: Sure you want the whole file?
MARIE: Absolutely.
LYLE: I mean—sorry to be patronising, just to cover everything, you know—it’s a massive file; it’s about…ten and a half years’ worth of usage allowance.
MARIE: I’ve saved up.
LYLE: Aye, I see you have the credits.
MARIE: It’s not something you can chunk up. That’s not how the data’s organised.
LYLE: Even if it wouldn’t work in chunks, you could still download it that way? Just to be safer if one chunk got interrupted?
FATHER: Where are you based?
MARIE: Dad! I’m dealing with this.
FATHER: I’m not interfering. Simple question.
LYLE: Sorry, what?
FATHER: Are you a person or a robot?
MARIE: I’m sorry; my father is online too.
LYLE: Ah, OK. That’s good if you got him connected and working.
MARIE: Although obviously he does like to be involved.
LYLE: Right, for the record, then: I’m a real person and I’m at the Onlineage Support Centre in Glasgow.
FATHER: Jolly good. Is that the new establishment in Dumbarton?
LYLE: Er, I can’t actually give any details – for security reasons.
MARIE: Dad, could you just imagine him in Dumbarton so we can move on?
FATHER: I’m not sharing my information with some ‘clown’ in Anniesland. Or Mumbai.—
LYLE: Did he just call me a clown?
FATHER: (OFF) —Or Dubai. Or Arizona.—
MARIE: I think he meant “cloud” but it was disrespectful; I’m sorry.
FATHER: (OFF)—Or Wales.
MARIE: What’s wrong with Wales?! Never mind. Pipe down, eh, or you’ll blow all my credits hijacking a support call.
FATHER: Willco. Dumbarton it is.
MARIE: Onlineage has all your information already. Those cats are out the bag and clawing open all your cans of worms.
FATHER: (OFF) Cats didn’t eat worms in my day.
LYLE: Er, most folk like to get comfortable with the parent file before installing the grandparent files.
MARIE: Aye, in an ideal world I’d be twenty-two and fizzing with vitality, but I have to be pragmatic. This is as comfortable as I get. I don’t have the luxury of time.
LYLE: Fair enough.
MARIE: I’ve saved up for this four times already; each time life got in the way and I had to start all over. If I’d had my parents and my grandparents linked up sooner maybe things would’ve been different. If, if. I’ve had to get through without them. But no more. I have the credits. I’m ready.
LYLE: No bother. Like I said, sorry to be patronising; I just have to check.
SOUND: BEEP
LYLE: OK, that’s the transfer started.
MARIE: Which one?
LYLE: Both, sorry.
MARIE: My grandparent files go “beep”?
LYLE: Aye, just the final confirmation.
MARIE: I can see it coming through! Fantastic. Thanks so much.
LYLE: Welcome. You want to stay on the line till it finishes? Just in case? Won’t cost you any more.
MARIE: Thank you; I’d appreciate that.
FATHER: I say, getting rather crowded in here.
MARIE: Recognise anything yet?
FATHER: That’s not what happened! My memory may not be fully polished but this is clearly faulty.
MARIE: You’re going to need to relax. It’s all just perceptions, same as yours. Somewhere between all these bits of information is the truth. There’s so much to learn.
FATHER: (OFF) Bunkum.
LYLE: So, what are you going to learn first?
MARIE: Gaelic.
LYLE: That’s one I never heard before.
MARIE: I want to learn Norwegian and I reckon there’ll be some overlap. There are some old cultural connections I want to get at.
LYLE: Isn’t Gaelic really difficult?
MARIE: Less difficult than English. Every day I think in English and some daft peculiarity strikes me.
LYLE: But you’re fine at English.
MARIE: Aye, and that’s taken me decades to get this good at. It must be torture for non-native speakers. And when I die: zap – all deleted.
LYLE: I’m sure you’ve got plenty time to use it before then.
MARIE: I’m ninety-two. What odds would you give me?
LYLE: You’re joking? (PAUSE) What age is your dad?! (PAUSE) No, obviously it’s in the file. Shite. A hundred and…twenty-eight? That wasn’t him…
MARIE: That was your excellent Synthesis app.
LYLE: Shite.
MARIE: I have no children. I need to integrate my knowledge so it’s not wasted. Every new person shouldn’t have to learn all this stuff from the beginning.
LYLE: You’re combining your lifetime of experience with your parents’ and their parents’?
MARIE: Isn’t that what this technology’s for? It’s not idle nostalgia: see the world through your ancestors’ eyes. You have to give it forward. Think what we could be if we weren’t restricted to sharing experience only by communication through the filter of societal behavioural norms?
LYLE: Er…
MARIE: Speaking, mostly.
LYLE: Right, right. I thought this was mostly for, like, instead of ‘how was your weekend?’ you just experience the whole thing. Eech.
MARIE: At first I wondered how folk’d get along without the liberty to embellish, but seemingly that’s factored into their perceptions.
LYLE: Like, if you want to believe you had the best time, that’s what others will get from your experience, too?
MARIE: Nobody will care that my father always kept fifteen spare packets of toilet paper, but they might benefit from his experience as a child during wartime. They can feel his psychology and understand how he attributed a lifetime’s hyperconsumerism to suffering rationing. I have this theory…
LYLE: You may as well tell me; we’re only at thirty-four percent.
MARIE: Last century our cultural evolution suddenly got turbocharged. Industrialisation, commercialism, technology raced away with our beliefs about success and happiness. ‘Can do’ completely overtook ‘should do’. We started making demands on our bodies that would take generations for physiological evolution to deliver. Bombarding ourselves with information and materialism. At the same time it became apparent that this hyperconsumerism was equally unhealthy for us and the rest of the living world.
LYLE: This is where technology solutions come in?
MARIE: Aye and no: we have to ask if, now a robot prepares your tea, are you happier? Saves you twenty, thirty minutes, right? Time you could use for something more useful? More useful than appreciating where your food comes from? Savouring the smells as well as the tastes that are part of the full experience for your body? More useful than the mental downtime of a simple task?
LYLE: I don’t know if that spiritual stuff is for everyone – all that overanalysing stuff.
MARIE: I think that’s where our lives are generally: chronic overstimulation, poor mental and emotional agility, constant analysis of marginal information.
LYLE: So you mean, like, get implants?
MARIE: They just enable you to process more and more information of less and less value. You still have to work out what that vanishingly small value is in order to make use of it. More and more work to get the same quality of information.
LYLE: Surely adding your parents’ experiences in to the mix is just more stress then?
MARIE: Only if you don’t learn from it. See the lessons they learned from their lives; see what worked for them, what they figured out.
LYLE: You’re pretty bright for a ninety-year-old.
MARIE: I’m still learning. How’re we doing?
LYLE: Sixty-two.
MARIE: Humans have been grappling with the same life problems for millennia; wouldn’t it be good if we learned from others more efficiently – the benefits of their experience?
LYLE: Isn’t there a point to, you know, working it out for yourself?
MARIE: Sure, and maybe you come up with an even better solution, but why not see what your predecessors came up with first? Minimise that struggle, that suffering?
SOUND: BEEP
LYLE: Er…
MARIE: Finished?
LYLE: No… Some block. Your system has stopped confirming the request for download.
MARIE: Ah, I bet I’m using too much processor being online.
LYLE: That shouldn’t be an issue. Can you check you’ve shut down absolutely everything apart from our app?
MARIE: Oh, I have, really: I checked the processes before I called. That’s all that’s been running this whole time.
LYLE: OK, you’ve filled in all the criteria in the form, all the technical specs; you have plenty memory, enough processor capacity. What else could be using up the system?
MARIE: Your Synthesis app.
LYLE: Your father? Can you suspend him?
MARIE: (laughs) Aye, but that won’t be enough.
LYLE: Wait: I have a mirror pane; it’s showing another person running… Is that…you?!
MARIE: The very one.
LYLE: I’m speaking to a Synthesis?
MARIE: Indeed. Died a while ago. Something snapped. Who cares? This is far too important for a hurdle like that to derail the whole project.
LYLE: Er, if there’s any indication that you’ve reverse engineered our software, I have to invoke a non-compliance procedure…
MARIE: Don’t be daft: I’m ninety-two! How would I ‘reverse engineer’ anything? Couldn’t even reverse my tea trolley without cowping the last fifteen years. I haven’t broken any of the agreement I signed. But by all means check. And while you do that, consider who you’re going to prosecute. Hah.
LYLE: But how— How can you— How am I having this conversation with you?
MARIE: Your Synthesis app! Onlineage is really very good. You should probably be promoting your products a bit more.
LYLE: But it needs something— How can you launch it?
MARIE: Ah, the combination of all these experiences, knowledge, so on; it takes on a life of its own, so to speak.

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01/08/2017

Cold Call: Day 19

The last in a series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1

SOUND: PHONE RINGS, REPEAT, REPEAT
LACRIMOSA: You know I know how to escalate nuisance calls.
SìMON: (D) I wasnae a nuisance till you found out I wasnae a total stranger. That’s no’ even rational.
LACRIMOSA: You were a nuisance, even when you were funny.
SìMON: The end justifies the means. Just like it did for you.
LACRIMOSA: You kept calling me! I was lying in self-defence!
SìMON: You could’ve hung up. You did, even.
LACRIMOSA: And yet here we still are! You’ve created this whole idea of me in your head that’s not real!
SìMON: Aye, no’ like you’ve any experience of making up fantasies.
LACRIMOSA: Why did you call me?
SìMON: It really was because of the whale thing.
LACRIMOSA: No, I mean why did you call me after I left Dalry’s? – if you weren’t after a job.
SìMON: (PAUSE) I like speaking to you. You speak about interesting stuff, no’ boring shit like soap operas and celebrity gossip. You’re funny. Why did you no’ call me?
LACRIMOSA: You scared me. I don’t know why. Probably my subconscious alarms bells going off: here’s a guy that thinks you’re someone else!
SìMON: You cannae imagine someone just liking speaking to you? OK, listen: I’m sorry for the way the conversation went yesterday – and this conversation seems to be going.
LACRIMOSA: It’s not your fault I’m like this: shit-abled.
SìMON: What I was gonnae say was: it turns out it doesnae matter.
LACRIMOSA: It really does.
SìMON: No’ to me.
LACRIMOSA: You have no id—
SOUND: DOORBELL
LACRIMOSA (CONT’D): How can there be someone at the door?! I used to live a peaceful life then I started getting these nuisance calls.
SìMON: And those were just the ones fae me.
LACRIMOSA: They were all from—
SOUND: DOORBELL
SìMON: You should answer it. Could be important.
LACRIMOSA: No, it won’t be; it’ll be some chancer with a flat-bed wanting to mess up my path or mutilate my trees or ruin the roof or something.
SìMON: Could be Gordon, checking on you.
LACRIMOSA: He just walks in.
SìMON: Still, you should maybe just check.
LACRIMOSA: OK, but it might take me a while.
SìMON: I’ll wait.
LACRIMOSA: No, hang up! I don’t care. I want my life back.
SOUND: DOOR OPENS
LACRIMOSA: (OFF) But you’re on the phone!
SìMON: (OFF) I ken you willnae have much experience of these devices, since you’re no’ ‘mobile’, but—
LACRIMOSA: (OFF) Are those your aunty’s dead daffodils?

ENDS

31/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 18

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1 and ends at Day 19

SOUND: PHONE RINGS, REPEAT, REPEAT
LACRIMOSA: Why did you suddenly decide to call me?
SìMON: (D) I always call about this time.
LACRIMOSA: The first time.
SìMON: Just a spur of the moment thing—well, a spur of twenty hours thing.
LACRIMOSA: Meaning?
SìMON: I was on a boat, aff the coast of Iceland—place called Olafsvik – brilliant, by the way—so I was watching for whales, and that conversation we had – what was it—four, five years ago?
LACRIMOSA: This whole obsession is over a conversation five years ago that I don’t even remember?
SìMON: Aye, you do.
LACRIMOSA: Reading my mind now?
SìMON: You told me the beached whale story then, too.
LACRIMOSA: Norway?
SìMON: No, the rotting carcass.
LACRIMOSA: OK, because Norway was after…
SìMON: Alright? So, anyway, it came into my mind and I wondered if you’d ever been there—Iceland—and seen a live whale. Like, how it’d be weird if you’d been in the same boat or at the same exact point in the ocean. After a while I thought, why am I tantalising myself with ‘what ifs’ and pish? Why don’t I just ask you? Maybe you’d want to come with me somewhere. Maybe see a non-beached whale.
LACRIMOSA: So you just lifted the phone.
SìMON: After the twenty hours on boats, buses, ferries getting back.
LACRIMOSA: You weren’t planning to come back?
SìMON: No’ at that point. I just suddenly felt like, what am I doing here myself?
LACRIMOSA: When you could be making nuisance calls to someone who it turns out can’t go anywhere.
SìMON: No, it—

30/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 17

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1 and ends at Day 19

SOUND: PHONE RINGS
LACRIMOSA: What?
SìMON: (D) Er, how are you?
LACRIMOSA: I’m sure you have a satellite oriented at my window so you can see for yourself.
SìMON: Oh, aye, that’s you gi’ing me the finger, right?
LACRIMOSA: Near enough. Why the Mrs McIver charade? Do you even have an aunty?
SìMON: To prove you could like me, without preconceptions.
LACRIMOSA: Whose? No, I mean: who to?
SìMON: To whom?
LACRIMOSA: Aye, try the grammatical high-ground, since the moral high-ground is crumbling under your feet.
SìMON: Both of us.
LACRIMOSA: How is that fair? You knowing who I was?
SìMON: No’ kenning who I was didnae stop you making up your ‘stories’.
LACRIMOSA: That was fun.
SìMON: That excuses lying.
LACRIMOSA: Congratulations: you’ve taken cold calling to a whole new level of insult. So I’m hanging up now.

29/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 16

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1 and ends at Day 19

SOUND: PHONE RINGS
LACRIMOSA: Right. How did you get my home number?
SìMON: (D) Private detective.
LACRIMOSA: What?
SìMON: Kidding. Council Tax records.
LACRIMOSA: I tick the box!
SìMON: It only takes one wee slip one year and yer cooncil’ll flog your details to anyone that pays. Once it’s on the internet, that’s it: name, full address, age bracket, co-habiters. I already kenned which toun you live in.
LACRIMOSA: Hang on, Council Tax record—electoral register—doesn’t have phone numbers.
SìMON: I got the area code and just started trying combinations. All very logical.
LACRIMOSA: You are a fucking cold caller!
SìMON: OK, seriously, it doesnae take much searching to find some local site with your name and number on, like a community cooncil report with planning applicants listed, or, in your case, a freecycle site trying to affload some classy knick-knacks.
LACRIMOSA: You’re a fucking cold calling stalker. I told Gordon about you, by the way.
SìMON: Are you no’ flattered I went to all that trouble to cyber-stalk you?
LACRIMOSA: I suddenly feel very exposed.
SìMON: Good.
LACRIMOSA: How is that good?
SìMON: All your information is out there already; better you ken about it.
LACRIMOSA: So I can be even less trusting of cold callers?
SìMON: Am I still digging myself in a bigger hole here?
LACRIMOSA: I’m sure you can get yourself a ladder off Gumtree.

28/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 15

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1

SOUND: PHONE RINGS
LACRIMOSA: Listen: this isn’t the Fetish Warehouse.
SìMON: (D) Oh, really?
LACRIMOSA: It’s just me stuck in the house.
SìMON: Aye, I figured, you’re too…caring to inflict pain.
LACRIMOSA: If you only knew me.
SìMON: No, OK, I just couldnae hear any chains clanking so I kenned you were—
LACRIMOSA: Pulling your chain?
SìMON: Hah!
LACRIMOSA: The fetish BDSM thing just was stupid. It was a spur of the moment bit of nonsense. It’s not even funny.
SìMON: It worked for me.
LACRIMOSA: Doesn’t say much for you.
SìMON: I don’t have anything against that, er, ‘community’; it’s good for bad puns – the stereotype.
LACRIMOSA: We’re all stereotypes. So, you rumbled me. Can we stop doing this now?
SìMON: My name’s no’ Sìmon.
LACRIMOSA: Mine’s not Lacrimosa.
SìMON: Oh, really? What is it?
LACRIMOSA: Does it matter? Can we just hang up now?
SìMON: Probably no’; you could say anything.
LACRIMOSA: Henrietta Soleil Buckminster-Fullerene the third.
SìMON: Aye.
LACRIMOSA: Your turn.
SìMON: It’s Simon.
LACRIMOSA: How utterly dull. Try again.
SìMON: It really is.
LACRIMOSA: I don’t care. Can you not invent something?!
SìMON: Simon Gillespie.
LACRIMOSA: There must be thousands of those. I think I used to know one—well, work with one.
SìMON: That’s me.
LACRIMOSA: What do you mean?
SìMON: I’m the one you used to work with – at Dalry’s.
LACRIMOSA: Wait, there, you don’t know who I am, never mind where I worked!
SìMON: Actually I do. Mind I used to call you, at your new work, after you left? You thought I was after a job. Then one day you didnae answer. Then someone else picked up and it was all careful wording about you being oot the office. Then eventually they just said you didnae work there any more. (PAUSE) Hello?
LACRIMOSA: How many times did you call?!
SìMON: Several.
LACRIMOSA: Hello not-the-person-I-thought-I-was-speaking-to – pointlessly-lying-to.
SìMON: So we were both lying.
LACRIMOSA: I’m sorry.
SìMON: What for?
LACRIMOSA: For not calling you back. I still have your number.
SìMON: Thanks for no’ lying there. I hate that ‘I lost your number’ shit.
LACRIMOSA: Oh, I definitely still have it. I just can’t get at it.
SìMON: On a shelf you cannae reach?
LACRIMOSA: Hah. I thought you were a ‘professional contact’ so I saved one of those fancy files with all your trivia to remind me who you were, you know, and how often you pestered me about ‘doing lunch’. I saved it and backed it up and copied it to my external hard drive at home. Then I got the sack and didn’t have hundreds of pounds to furnish myself with Microsoft Office and all its security botches and flaky instabilities. So now I have a dot-VC-something file that my dear old second-hand open-source PC has no idea what to do with.
SìMON: That was a pretty convincing story.
LACRIMOSA: OK, good, because yours is so totally full of holes and creepiness that I’m not going to speak to you anymore.
SìMON: Fair dos.

27/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 14

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1

SOUND: PHONE RINGS
LACRIMOSA: Still speaking to me?
SìMON: (D) Ah, I suddenly thought ‘oh shit, that’s why you were so…reticent about your personal life: you’re married’ and I just felt totally inappropriate.
LACRIMOSA: Right, because I couldn’t have any other relationship with a guy and usually I’ll tell my entire history to any weirdo that calls.
SìMON: Who is he? A friend?
LACRIMOSA: Neighbour.
SìMON: Just good neighbours, eh?
LACRIMOSA: Not your business, but aye, actually.
SìMON: Even though you’re at work?
LACRIMOSA: Wow, good accusatory tone there, like you’ve just uncovered organised fraud!
SìMON: He’s the neighbour of the ‘Warehouse’?
LACRIMOSA: No, I’m working from home. And no, my home isn’t a Fetish Warehouse; twenty-first century telephony allows you to route calls pretty much anywhere you want.
SìMON: Plausible.
LACRIMOSA: By all means hang up and give me peace.
SìMON: I’d best let you keep the line free, then. Get back to filing your nails to a sharp point.
LACRIMOSA: I’m sure you have an aunty to visit.
SìMON: Aye.

26/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 13

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1

SOUND: PHONE RINGS
LACRIMOSA: How can I not help you today?
SìMON: (D) I think I might have a thing for ninety-year-old women.
LACRIMOSA: I like that you’re accepting of it, in a mocking it kind of way, but you don’t have to keep speaking about it. You can get bored and walk away, but I can’t, so…
SOUND: DOOR OPENS
SìMON: Am I ask—
GORDON: (OFF) Anyone hame?
LACRIMOSA: Oh!
SìMON: Who’s that?
SOUND: DOOR CLOSES, WHUMP, RUSTLE
LACRIMOSA: Sounds like Gordon; hang on. (OFF) Hey, how’re you?
SOUND: KISS
GORDON: No’ bad. Yoursel’?
LACRIMOSA: Usual—hang on. Hello? You still there? No, you couldn’t wait fifty seconds, could you? Hung up.
GORDON: Oh, sorry; I didnae realise you were on the phone. Who was it?
LACRIMOSA: Yet another cold caller. You should drop in more often. Frighten them off.
GORDON: You still having bother with that? Are you reporting the numbers?
LACRIMOSA: Aye. They do what they can, the enforcement people, but these cold calling centres—well, I’m imagining racks of underpaid, disillusioned, terrorists-in-the-making, obeying the über computer like robots, but maybe it’s just one woman in her front room, while the wean’s asleep, making a bit to afford spaghetti hoops.
GORDON: Can you still get spaghetti hoops?
LACRIMOSA: Oh, tell me they’re not replaced by spaghetti emoticons or something? I was raised on hoops! And beans and anything else in dubious orange sauce on cheese on toast. So long as it had dairy it was ‘healthy’. Ugh, that foul Mr Men mug of warm milk.
GORDON: I dinnae mind Mr Foul…
LACRIMOSA: Hah hmm. He was an ‘adult-themed’ Mr Man, who discovered that cows and chickens didn’t spend their days in idyllic pasture, contentedly producing milk and eggs to thank us for their wonderful lives, but were rammed in squalid barns, festering with disease, unable to move, too weak even to stand, treated like expendable machines.
GORDON: No’ an entertaining read.
LACRIMOSA: No, it didn’t sell so well.
GORDON: Well, that’s the day’s vegan propaganda over.
LACRIMOSA: Maybe I should try it on one of my cold callers.
GORDON: What was this one selling?
LACRIMOSA: He’d only been on two minutes; they take longer than that to wade through the scripted preamble.
GORDON: Why dae they dae that?
LACRIMOSA: I suppose it’s so unsuspecting folk get confused and agree to take out some PPI so they’re covered for when they have to check if they’ve had PPI.
GORDON: You’re pretty sparky the day.
LACRIMOSA: It’s nice to have someone intelligent and self-determined to speak to.
GORDON: Thanks very much!

25/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 12

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1

SOUND: PHONE RINGS
LACRIMOSA: Hello?
SìMON: (D) I came up with a better response for your beached whale.
LACRIMOSA: I remembered another beached whale.
SìMON: Go on, then.
LACRIMOSA: I was camping on South Uist in the Hebrides – island hopping for students. I was following this burn through a gulley. Everything lovely till I got to the coast and started smelling something nasty. Why am I telling you this?
SìMON: Gi’e me a laugh?
LACRIMOSA: It’s awful.
SìMON: The clue’s in the name, Lacrimosa.
LACRIMOSA: It did upset me a bit, that massive, bloated, steaming, putrefying… It was unnatural: all cut up by fishing gear. I was stuck gawping at it a while, then I got the fear that with the sun on it any minute it would explode and shower everywhere with rotten flesh and maggots.
SìMON: Step away fae the ticking whale?
LACRIMOSA: Pretty much. Sorry, that wasn’t entertaining. I don’t know why I launched into that.
SìMON: Reality doesnae have to always be, you ken, happy.
LACRIMOSA: What was your comeback?
SìMON: Eh?
LACRIMOSA: You said you had a better response?
SìMON: Oh, aye. I think you look like someone with hidden depths. (PAUSE) That didnae sound as good as it did in my heid. Oh, I see what I’ve done there: cannae look at hidden things, can you?
LACRIMOSA: No, it’s that you think I look like anything. How would you know?
SìMON: Oh, it’s just a common word construction. I’m a visual person. I’m not stalking you.
LACRIMOSA: Wouldn’t be difficult.
SìMON: How?
LACRIMOSA: Never mind. I need to go: that’s the postie pulled up.
SìMON: No, you don’t. I’m sorry. Clumsy phrasing.
LACRIMOSA: I really do. Big load of kit due.

24/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 11

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1

SOUND: PHONE RINGS
LACRIMOSA: Hello.
SìMON: (D) Any better today?
LACRIMOSA: A bit.
SìMON: I was thinking about your…condition, obviously. You seem pretty calm about it.
LACRIMOSA: I am generally calm. You can’t really be hysterical with clingfilm and chains hanging off everywhere.
SìMON: Hanging aff your what?!
LACRIMOSA: Bad choice of words. Very lax, Lax – that’s my nickname by the way in case I’m just baffling you.
SìMON: Right, right. I wouldn’t’ve gone for ‘Lax’; I would’ve figured you as a ‘Mosey’.
LACRIMOSA: I didn’t get that far: I got scared by the ‘crim’ bit.
SìMON: How are you so calm then? Or were you always?
LACRIMOSA: I was a melodramatic adolescent – tramping the streets at night, rain mixing in my tears, composing hideous poetry…
SìMON: You did that an’ all?
LACRIMOSA: Not dramatic enough?
SìMON: Pedestrian.
LACRIMOSA: OK, one time I got a bit…’despondent’ is what the doctor says—about my health: another chronic thing not shifting—and decided to dare my body to survive. Basically out the comfort zone and say to it ‘do you want to live? Do you have a survival instinct? Operate or die!’ (PAUSE) Hello?
SìMON: Hello. Hey. I’m here, I just—I’m just a bit shocked, well, stunned—startled.
LACRIMOSA: Are you all of those?
SìMON: One at a time, but things are changing fast. It sounds like you had, well, half a mind to kill yourself.
LACRIMOSA: I know it sounds like I was seriously depressed, but I really wasn’t. I was quite calculating. And the doctor signed off on it.
SìMON: They maybe thought you were going on one of those health pilgrimages.
LACRIMOSA: It was a bit, like those folk with cancer taking the notion to walk across North America.
SìMON: Did you go?
LACRIMOSA: Aye. Packed myself on a ferry for the seasickness – all part of the masochism. Chugged up to Stavanger, Kristiansand, Bergen… Then I just started walking out the town, until I got lightheaded and keeled over.
SìMON: Obviously somebody found you.
LACRIMOSA: You’re nae use for suspense. I was lucky in that, but it was a popular path, seemingly, so I was never in real danger. Curses.
SìMON: Who found you?
LACRIMOSA: My ex.
SìMON: I wasnae expecting that twist.
LACRIMOSA: I mean at the time he was my ‘pre-‘. Doing fieldwork from a gorgeous log hut by the fjord.
SìMON: Boffin?
LACRIMOSA: Marine biologist. Probably still is. He was pretty fervent. I learned the word ‘fecund’ from him. And ‘brackish’. He said—he always made a joke that he thought I was a beached whale, lying there, totally inert. Otherwise he wouldn’t’ve approached me.
SìMON: A whale? Where was this again?
LACRIMOSA: Norway? You’re supposed to say I couldn’t possibly look like a beached whale.
SìMON: Missed my cue there. Have to go, sorry.
LACRIMOSA: Bye.

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