75. PROF GRAYLING MUIR – part 2

Continuing an account of the activities of Bronwyn Gosling, Grayling Muir and Curt Finks back in 1992. Part of a weekly series (Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5).

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When Curt Finks left his cottage that morning, his thoughts were broken down as follows: 80% on ink and printing equipment, 15% on Brent Geese migration, and 5% on the piece of apple pie that was left over. He was not thinking about the leaves on the path that lay before him or the black wooden gate that had been jammed shut for the past few days. He pulled on his jacket, checked his pockets for his sandwich and apple, and hurried down the steps, only to slip on the leaves, slide down the path, tumbling headfirst over the gate.

Trying to maintain some sense of dignity he brushed himself down, retrieved the apple and his cap, and set off once again, heading for the twitchers’ hide on the edge of the fens. He would need to hurry if he was to meet Bronwyn at their rendezvous point, entering the hide together to minimise the disturbance to the birds. He picked up his pace. Tripping on a curb by the cul-de-sac in the new estate, he found himself trying, unsuccessfully, to right himself for the second time that morning, his landing cushioned by a pair of unfamiliar white sports shoes.

Investigating further, looking up, and then even further up, he found himself being helped to his feet by a huge binoculared stranger wearing a purple sweatshirt under unzipped waterproof. It bore the logo of a Canadian university. “Curt Finks, I presume”, the stranger laughed, shaking his hand and putting his other arm around Finks’ shoulder. “Are you alright? The name’s Muir”. Curt Finks rubbed his hands on his trousers, inspecting his palms for cuts and embedded gravel, and issued four hundred words of angst before the other man stopped him with a smile and a friendly shake of his head.

Later that afternoon, following sandwiches and tea, after which Finks had “certainly not” had a postprandial nap, Grayling asked Finks about his traumatic morning. Curt had warmed to the Canadian professor, despite his slovenly dress. It transpired that an enthusiast from a fanzine called “Fringe of The Fringe” had door-stopped Finks when he was still in his pyjamas, asking for details about his yearly Edinburgh Fringe show. Discussion quickly moved to Finks’ “famous printing set” and his bespoke programmes, unique to each performance. Did he keep a copy for his archives? Finks had no idea what she was talking about.

To be continued in a week

Reconstructed from Curt Finks’ 1992 diary (by Ali and GANTOB 2023)

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