The Floating City: A Weekend in Venice (Part 3)

The morning after is the dread of the night before. Sitting upright can undo all the goodwill and happy memories, as your head collapses in on itself and you decide teetotalism is the only sensible option. Fortunately, I avoided living death for another morning. Unfortunately, one of my friends did not. Fortunately, Italian culture allows for slow mornings at a coffee shop, so we found a small café and feasted on croissants and espressos. Unfortunately, we had an appointment at the opera house, so we didn’t have long to groan about it before we had to drag ourselves away again.

The sun was out, which confused us. Could we truly have a day where we weren’t soaked for the entire time? For the moment, it seemed so, and we decided to make the most of it. The streets were fuller than we’d seen before, which also meant we finally witnessed the worst part of Venice: tourists. The streets were full of foreigners, four abreast in some cases, making everyone behind them wait to pass. They were loud, obstructive, well-intended visitors, and it made it that little bit harder to get around certain parts. I realise it sounds rather contradictory to lambaste them when I was one myself, but the contrast with previous days was so severe that I can’t help but comment on it. Alas, the tourist stream is what we had to follow, but it took us past some fun shops. The most notable was a chocolate shop that coerces you in with free samples of limoncello truffles. They were exceedingly good, in fairness, and a rolling chocolate fondue in the window added to the spectacle, but whether the shop was full due to interest or a lack of space on the street outside is up for debate. All I know is I’m glad we were pushed inside.

Once we arrived at the opera house we were told to wait in the lobby for the tour guide to arrive. The chandeliers were pretty, and the rococo style was a nice contrast with the rest of the city. The colour scheme reminded me of an old hotel, however; pale orange and white borders. I split off from the main group whilst they were talking amongst themselves and decided to do some independent exploring. Around the first corner was a very impressive sight: the opera house proper. The stage extended back far further than one would expect and was filled with people working preparing for the next performance. Spotlights illuminated the cherubs on the ceiling, and paint gave an illusion of a domed roof. A hundred lamps marked a hundred boxes, all with gold leaf and Roman wall paintings which added to the ostentatious décor. There was almost too much ornateness for me; it felt like an elaborate set from one of the operas more than it did an opera house. Ultimately, it was pretty, but not exactly to my tastes.

Afterwards we went back to San Marco, and I was able to view the plaza during the day for the first time. The piazza was exceptional for its size alone. When the rest of Venice is a series of backstreets and alleyways squeezed between narrow houses, it was quite a relief to have some breathing space for a change. It also allowed us to feel the sun for the first time in days, and as we walked through the piazza and dodged out of photographers’ frames, I thought how great a day it was to take in all the sights. A slight sea-breeze on our faces, the Campanile overshadowing us, the Tetrarchs huddling by the Doge’s Palace, and granite pillars holing Saints Mark and Theodore aloft was a very cool moment. It finally sunk in that I was in Venice. THE Venice! Some people dream of visiting but never do, and here I am on a long weekend walking around like it’s no big deal.

During our walking (endless walking) we lost one of our friends, so us that remained got lost too out of spite. It ended up being the best decision of the trip. Not only did I get to have some cherry and yoghurt ice-cream, but we ended up in what must have been the art district. There were lots of tiny studio/workshops attended by artists whose work was created in the backroom. They weren’t very busy, and there were almost no tourists either, so it ended up being another quiet moment on the trip. As the day drew on, we rounded off the one corner of the city, around the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute. The Venetians certainly had a eye for location; perched on the end of the sliver of island, the grand basilica was quite a sight. Huge metal doors barred the main entrance, and a walkway under the ground-level buttresses allowed for some light chiaroscuro as we walked underneath. By this time the sun was drawing low, and we were quite fatigued, so we headed home to get ready for dinner. Thankfully, our friend had made it home independently, and once we’d had a moment to rest and get changed, we left again to find food.

One of us knew a good fish restaurant not far from us, so we decided to go there. I should say at this point that I’m not partial to shellfish, despite growing up in Hastings for a time. As it was, I made the effort, and ultimately, I ate more clams and mussels than ever before. I refused to eat the prawn however; I despise them. We had the sweetest waitress I have ever met. She was so happy to serve us, but kept apologising for her poor English (which was better than most English people’s). In the bathroom they had a framed note which read ‘I used to be a pretty picture, but someone stole me ☹’. I think I preferred it that way. Post-post-modern toilet art.

On our way back, we passed a square that for whatever reason, had decide to become the party square. In Venice this was an unusual sight as not many places were open too late, and certainly not with loud music and patrons spilling out into the streets. In any case, one quick dance with a magnificently-moustached man, and so ended another day in the Floating City.

#2018 #Travel #Europe #Venice

Essays from the Crypt: NHS in Urgent Plea for New Magazines

(Originally published 2016)

NHS in Urgent Plea for New Magazines

The NHS has issued a plea for members of the public to donate magazines to their local practice to ease the suffering of patients.

Visitors to NHS practices across the country currently must endure outdated literature, which many believe is contributing to a nationwide ennui epidemic reminiscent of the Great Yawn of 1930.

I visited Royal Surrey County Hospital to discover just what kind of conditions some of the patients had to endure. Pike and Predator

magazine, a Homes and Antiques issue from December 2015, and an assortment of out-of-date Grazia, Hello!, and Now! magazines were scattered across coffee tables around the waiting room. None were being read, save a copy of Good Housekeeping from May last year by a rather tired-looking gentleman. He later died from boredom.

An orderly described how just last week a patient broke down in tears upon rifling through all the available magazines in the waiting room and finding none of interest. She sighted a severe shortage of donations from the general public for the underperformance in hospitals.

‘What we need is for more people to bring in their old magazines when they come to the doctors.’

The NHS has been increasingly missing its targets when it comes to patient satisfaction in the waiting room, and with the government cutting funds to the national service, it is clearly becoming the public’s duty to entertain themselves.

The current supply is provided mostly by old ladies, probably. No one has ever seen who leaves the magazines and they are loathe to admit any supernatural suspicions. Whilst there is evidence that ghosts may be responsible, it is unlikely that they would be the source as nobody enjoys being in a waiting room when they’re alive, let alone after death. However, the magazines are clearly from another place and time.

No ghosts were available for comment.

#Satire #EssaysFromtheCrypt #2016

Denial, Acceptance, and Dogs (A Short Play)

Denial, Acceptance, and Dogs (A Short Play)

I opened my laptop, wondering about what to write that day. It was after a party the night before; nothing too crazy, just dinner and a few friends. I’d tucked my laptop out of the way, and now that the dust had cleared I was gearing up to get back to work.

I turned it on, and now there’s a big black smudge in the corner, with hairline cracks snaking down the left side of the screen. It is with supreme irony that in full screen mode, I now cannot click the button on Word to save my words of woe.

This is something I’ve never experienced with a laptop before now. Phones, of course. Those things are so fragile that they’d shatter if you told them you prefer a landline. I lived with a cracked phone for two years. Bits of the screen were missing altogether before I eventually got a new one. This however, is a different creature entirely. The Big Black Blob (referred to as BBB from hereon out) lingers in the corner, not unlike one of the guests at the party last night. It taunts me, obscures just enough of the screen to be noticeable, but not enough to be unbearable. I am torn between stoic acceptance and reluctant replacement, because whilst I could live like this, I shouldn’t have to for the price of £30. I could just as easily replace it, but that’s so inconvenient. I have other things I need to do which take priority over this! I’m teaching a kid how to read and write tomorrow, but now whilst I’m with him all I’ll be thinking is ‘who the hell broke my laptop?!’

If it gets any bigger I feel like parts of the screen will start to fall out. Sometimes, I feel like this format isn’t the best way to describe my frustration. In fact, I think I’ll make a short play about the whole experience in the form of an internal dialogue. That couldn’t have sounded less natural could it?

-

Act 1, Scene 1

Interior. A boy sits in his Living Room, typing a sarcastic script in lieu of anything more creative. His mind flits between other things, more important things, but he knows he must write about a cracked screen.

Alex: (sighs) OK Alex let’s do this.

Alex begins to write. His dog is breathing loudly on the floor beside his feet.

Scene 2

Zoom into Alex’s mind. Interior. Two figures, one dressed in black and one dressed in white, are sat around a table. A cracked laptop is placed between the two of them. They eye it with the same careful examination, before locking gazes. The black figure leans back in his chair and speaks first.

Black: So, he’s called it BBB, has he? Reminds me of Star Wars.

White: To be fair, with the amount of plasma leaking out, this paragraph’s starting to look a lot like an opening text scroll.

Black: You look like an opening text scroll.

White: Well there’s no need for that attitude.

Black: There is too, and you know it. We’re the personifications of acceptance and denial remember?

White: Yes of course I remember. I just don’t see why you have to be so curt with me. We’re here for a reason alright? Alex didn’t just conjure us out of nothing to fill a quota.

Black: Sounds like denial to me.

A pause in the conversation whilst Black and White high five each other.

White: OK seriously though let’s get down to business. What do we think about this laptop?

Black: Personally, I think it’s fucked. If he doesn’t finish this article sharpish he’s not gonna be able to see any of it, let alone write anything else. Let’s just crap something out now and fix it in post.

White: No no, that’s a terrible idea. What if it ends up unsalvageable? He’d have to rewrite the whole thing again and probably make it more professional-sounding.

Black: God forbid.

White: God forbid. I think it’s bearable for now if he just writes his stuff on the right side instead. It’s not ideal, but it does mean he can see the stock-image background of a woman running along a beach.

Black: Where is she running to?

White: A better future, my friend. A better future. One with better screen integrity.

Black: One with better stock image backgrounds.

White: Like a dog.

Black: Oh yeah I love dogs! Retriever?

White: No, it’s got to be sheepdog. Border Collies are the sweetest things ever. They’re so full of energy, they’re intelligent, and they have the kindest faces ever.

Black: Yeah but a Golden Retriever can hold an egg in its mouth without breaking it. A sheepdog can do, what…?

White: Herd sheep.

Black: Yeah herd sheep.

White: I don’t know I think if I had two dogs and one brought me a herd of sheep and the other a wet egg, I’d say the first dog was much more valuable.

Black: From a practical perspective sure. But then you could say a stick has more practical uses than a dog so why not pick that.

White: Because a stick can’t carry an egg in its mouth.

Black: Or herd sheep. Not on its own at least. Would have to be carried by something.

White: Like a dog.

Black: Yeah like a Retriever.

White: How could it, it’s already holding an egg.

Black: Maybe it’s in an egg and spoon race.

White: Now you’re just being ridiculous.

A short pause. Black picks a speck of hair off his shirt whilst White stares off into the middle distance, before snapping back to the room.

Black: Sorry, what were we talking about?

White: Cracked screens.

Black: Oh yeah, of course. I don’t know just bear with it for now I guess, I don’t really care anymore.

White: Yeah fair enough.

The broken laptop is replaced with a crate of Kopparbergs

White: Right let’s get shit-faced.

Black: Nice one.

Black and White clink their bottles, before fading out of the scene. Zoom out on Alex face-down on the desk with an empty bottle of Kopparberg in his hand. He is surrounded by other empty bottles and cans of varying levels of emptiness, reflecting the progressive emptiness inside himself.

End

Thank you for enjoying my short play about the woes of a cracked screen. Please look forward to its exciting sequel ‘The Unfortunate Circumstance of Dropped Jam on a Carpeted Floor.’

#2018 #Dog #Experience #Technology #Play