kagablog

THE ENGLISH

England, the English, had a way of incorporating change into the system seemingly seamlessly. In spite of inevitable resistance, obstinance. A tide that could not be held in abeyance. This change seeped into the English psyche long before most of the population were aware that it was already there. Incorporating change was the fabric that made English society so vibrant. The English could take and deal with any sort of criticism. They may not like you for criticising them, but they could deal with it - you were allowed the right to express it. And that royal family! How strange they were! In their youth they were almost good looking. In their old age they were positively ugly. Many of the population hated them vehemently. Yet, the entire nation stood waving and applauding as the queen drove past. Without the Queen what would England be? Just an island? Ampleby could not work out whether the queen was stupid, laughing all the way to the bank, or kept ignorantly genteel, a figure-head giving status to chaos. She, a personification of the many strange contradictions that permeated English life. The rich were very rich! The poor had the dole. On television, there were long and informative programs giving equal attention to completely opposing opinions on every topic imaginable. One was thus kept alert, informed. And in spite of the fact that the education system was such a mess, England still produced the most fascinating top rated leaders in fashion, design, science, art, sport, pop. They must be doing something right.

BREAKDOWN

Within a year, Ampleby had a complete nervous break down. He had been unable to sleep soundly for quite a few weeks. At about midnight, he rose and had a hot bath. His mind could not settle on anything. He was incredibly tense. A violin about to snap. He towelled himself down and lay on the bed. Suddenly he went rigormortic. His limbs, his spine, locked. He was gasping for breath. A fish suddenly out of water. An eternity. Then convulsions. He had visions. He was fighting for his life. A demon. A demon was bearing down on him. He became embroiled in a life and death struggle. A coil within him, within his abdomen, began to get tighter and tighter, congealing, solidifying. His blood. His blood. The demon at the centre, pulling, pulling, dancing in delight, tightening. Winding the clock spring to snapping point. He fought, fought. Dug down deep and resisted. With every fibre that he had. Super human resistance. To loosen. To loosen it. To release it. To uncongeal. The sheets, the bed, were soaking wet.
Frynwyd appeared calm and unperturbed. That ability to glide over authority came to her aid. By the time the doctor arrived in the early hours of the morning it was all over. The doctor said nothing. He gave Ampleby two sleeping tablets. Prescribed Valium. That was it. He slept for two days.

“Frynwyd, Frynwyd, I’m bisexual.”

“I know,” said Frynwyd.

But this was something Frynwyd was not ready for. It was the actual fact that did it. Like when a person with a terminal illness, whom you have been watching die, suddenly dies.
As much as they had had conversations regarding the value of experiencing broader aspects of life, emotionally Frynwyd was out of her depth. As long as sexuality remained buried, under cover, it was containable and thus acceptable. A conspiracy about a lie. Now the lid was off. Frynwyd became suspicious. And she tried, yes she did try. They both tried. But what were they to do? What was he to do? As much as he adored her, as much as he reasoned himself through her, his inner stirrings were stronger than he, her, them. His breakthroughs had created new dictates. He was no longer what he once was. All he wanted to do, all he had to do, was live connected to his life.

Lying next to a woman in the heat of her heat and not fucking her. A sense of cheating life. But what else could he do? How else was he to resist this incessant pull towards her, discover if there was anything more to they, them, their? If they had sex, suddenly all the tension disappeared. The pull subsided. Until the next time. He refused to go from fuck to fuck. The pull that magnetised into sexual intercourse. He could no longer submit to this inevitability. He did not want to wake up at the age of forty five and discover that his life had gone from fuck to fuck. The grounds for a mid-life crisis.