Me the Fish

There was an incident at the office opposite my shop today. I don’t know whether ‘incident’ is the correct word for what happened as it has such negative connotations. And what happened wasn’t necessarily negative, it was just very strange. Although I believe the police are investigating so perhaps it was negative after all.

It’s not really my business and I’m worried about coming across like a busy-body. A nosy neighbour - that’s not me at all. Although I am community-minded. And communion-minded when I can remember to get to mass. I stare and stare at the bread and wine but I can’t see it change. So I don’t go very often. I think there’s less community-mindedness than there used to be - and this is why it's so important to keep an eye on things. Someone has to.

I spend more time looking out of my shop than I used to. It’s quieter than it used to be. My shop I mean. The world feels busier. Busy, busy, busy. You wouldn’t know it if you looked at my shop. If the rent wasn’t so low I would have probably closed down. I sell candles. Not really a must-have the way it used to be. I make candles too. And candlesticks. Like the nursery rhyme - I’m a candlestick maker. I’ve not had a bath with the butcher and the baker though. Or gone to sea in a bathtub with them. They’re probably too busy anyway. The butcher and the bakers are still busy, us candlestick makers aren’t. I had time to talk to the police. All the time in the world. The police wanted to ask me about the man in the office, the man involved in the incident. They showed me a letter he wrote. The police said it might be a ‘blog’, which is more of a computer thing than a letter. They weren’t quite sure what to make of it. No one is quite sure. I’ll show you. It’s this:

‘Blessed be the mad. I should qualify that. A bit. I’m not saying madness is a blessing. I’m saying my madness is. My own, personal, particular, peculiar-to-me-boring-for-others madness is a blessing. And it’s a blessing because it's so obvious. It is alcohol. Booze - red wines and amber ales and everything in between. You can see me going mad when I drink it. I should say - when I used to drink it. I haven’t had a drink in 12 hours. Before that I hadn’t had a drink in months. Before that it was years. But it crept back in like a spreading stain. Didn’t see it until it was already there. And then it had stained everything. Anyway I’m getting maudlin - I’m hungover and so maudlin comes with the territory. There’s a hay bale in the car. I don’t know why. I don’t have horses. Maybe I thought giving it to my kids would make up for going missing for the afternoon. Yeah that's probably it. It won’t though. Maybe a horse would. One for each of them. Maybe. My wife would need one too. She called the madness for what it was. Gave it a name and called it out of the shadows in which it lay. Coaxed it like something feral and frightened. Which I was. And am. My wife could smell the booze as it rose from my body like a cloud. It was 2am and she asked if I’d had any alcohol. And I sobbed and said yes - it was exactly how you think it would be. She was sad, not angry. And that’s so much worse. But this is maudlin again. And I don’t want you to know about maudlin, I want you to know about madness. Your madness. Mine looks like booze.

I hope with the fervour of the newly sober that you know what yours looks like. That you know when it comes for you. You can recognise it. See what it does to you. I hope that is something you have. The only problem would be if you think you’re free of it. You’re not. It comes, it goes. For the wretched it stays. We all have it. We’re never free. Sometimes we feel like we are though. I think that’s what booze does so well, it’s a prison that feels like freedom. And it’s easy to avoid. You just don’t buy the bottle. That’s why it’s a blessing. I think I said that. Yeah, I said that. Well it's worth repeating. Like a good mistake. Knowing the ways in which you are claimed by madness. That’s worth knowing. I think that's wisdom. And if it isn’t I don’t know what is. The office is noisy today. Mad people doing mad things. Things like laughing when they don’t find things funny. Mad like gossiping about the people they pray with. Things like being indoors all day. That’s mad. It has to be. I like how a cure for madness used to be ‘fresh air’. Going outside was used to heal people. Staying indoors makes us sick. I should start a podcast. About being sober and healthy. 12 hours into sobriety and I have insights that others don’t. People should want to know what I think. They don’t, instead they’re laughing and gossipping and praying and being indoors. I don’t eat lunch with them. I go for a walk. It reduces calories and stress at the same time. If more people listened to me they would do the same. They invite me to eat with them. They should listen to my podcast. When I do it. If I do it. I can’t stay here. I want there to be a swimming pool outside the office door and when I jump into it - no - when I dive into it, it changes who I am. It changes who I’ve been. I don’t have to be this mad drunk. I could be someone good. And the water in the pool is golden hour, it’s the pink of clouds. As I dive in the water, it rips my clothes away and rips my shame away. It's sudden and violent. There’s a sharp intake of breath because it's cold when you first get in. Down I swim. Down and down. Where the water is warmer and kinder. Where there’s light, if only I can get to it. And I get to it. It’s easy. It’s effortless to be this graceful. Grace is always effortless. Well, receiving it is. I think giving it is quite hard. I have white teeth when I dive down deep. White teeth and smooth, strong limbs. They turn into fins and I shimmer with scales. So smooth and shiny. So fresh and briny. Like an advert for fish on the side of a van. And I can swim so freely now. And I’m free. It would be mad to keep pretending I’m not.’

And that’s it. That’s what the man wrote. And he wrote it just like that. I find it quite hard to read - I’m getting older so I find a lot of things quite hard to read. But I don’t like how he didn’t use paragraphs. It felt indecent to read it. And the trouble is, now I want to go with him. The world can stay busy. I want to get in my bathtub and sink down into the beautiful pool. I wouldn’t get my bathtub past the police tape. Also I don’t have a pallet jack to move my bathtub. Getting someone to help me would take too long. They’re cleaning it up now. Cranes and engineers and it’s all cordoned off. I’ve been watching them all day. They seem to be in such a hurry to pretend it didn’t happen. I think that’s a real shame.