GANTOB blog

28. BLACK AND WHITE

Oct 21st, 2023

We interrupt this blog…

An old man, but not The Elderly Gentleman is lying in a hospital bed. He is aware of voices, pain, and a sense of vast expanses of time passing. Eventually he manages to open one eye, then the other. He is seeing black and white. Black from his left eye, which seems to be covered, and white from his right. He peers around with the latter. He is in a room. It is dimly lit, with lots of shadows. It appears to be night-time.

He hears a drone, or perhaps it is a low tinnitus. A door in the corner to the right is open, with bright light spilling out. He is suddenly aware of a silhouette in the doorway, which turns and puts out the light. The drone stops.

“I’m just here to take a blood sample”, explains the intruder. No, that’s not right, it’s The Foundation Doktor. He remembers her now, in her mismatched scrubs and turquoise stethoscope. Her Essex accent. He feels a wipe at the crook of his arm, the smell of alcohol, a band of tightness, a jab, some pressure combined with softness.

“All done. I’ll need to press for quite a long time because of the blood thinning treatment you’re on”, she whispers.

They talk for a few minutes. He hears about the circumstances of his admission, as if for the first time. But The Foundation Doktor has apparently told him this story many times.

He tells her the things that he does and does not remember.

Name – no.

Identity – The Benefaktor.

Address – no.

Phone number – where is my phone?

The Foundation Doktor has a look around, without success.

Employment – no. Hobbies – writing a book, or is that a blog.

Next of kin – not GANTOB. The name seems to come from nowhere.

Home circumstances – can’t remember.

“Anything else I can help you with before I go?”

The Benefaktor has an idea. He pokes around in his recent memory, like a medical student trying to find a vein, and finds a rich seam of information.

Username – tick.

Password – tick.

Content – tick.

So between themselves The Benefaktor and The Foundation Doktor start writing some new blogs and upload them under the cover of night, when GANTOB is asleep. Kreative Tyranny dictates that when a blog is uploaded, it cannot be undone.

THE BENEFAKTOR, WITH HELP FROM THE FOUNDATION DOKTOR

21 October 2023
27. FOUR HUNDRED

Oct 20th, 2023

Wednesday’s post was titled “400“. We have unfinished business with that number.

When I first talked to The Benefaktor about his initial blog posts, we landed on the idea that 400 would be a realistic daily kontribution, allowing some progress of the narrative with each blog. With 27 posts under our belt and the first stage of re-enacting Curt Finks’ story now kompleted, I have had an opportunity to reflekt on that.

We do not know the circumstances under which Curt Finks wrote his story Brent Goose Rock. We can speculate, however, on the basis of his sermon writing and repeated Fringe show, that he will have worked away on it, refining it, until he was happy enough to cut it up and send it to the literary journal. He won’t have had spellcheck or other tools we take for granted. There may have been a tight deadline.

In the process of destroying and rebuilding his story word-for-word The Benefaktor and I could see typos and areas for improvement, for example in avoiding duplication of words such as “looked” or “threw”. The Benefaktor added in a “glanced” at one point to avoid such repetition. We took pleasure knocking Curt’s story about a bit, improving his work.

Creating a well-crafted 400 words without such errors is a skilled task. I am reminded of this every time I look back at a piece I have written under the principles of self-imposed Kreative Tyranny. The pressure of writing a story or blog before rushing out to a meeting, or any of the other challenges of modern life, means there will always be room for improvement. I’m writing today’s blog, for example, before diggers arrive to install new broadband.

I read over my previous work with a sense of trepidation, knowing I will stumble across inkonsistencies, mistakes in analysis or interpretation, and genuine howlers. Take my first announcement as GANTOB at the end of July. At just 150 words it konfused quite a lot of people. It was too wordy, had too many questions and answers. C’est la vie. A recent blog (23. Twenty-three) revealed a typo in the book, in a short Bill Drummond quote. Talk about careless. But we soldier on.

I am not going to kommit to zero-error blogs, or perfekt books. What I will do, however, is promise to read and respekt all writing, and try to treat typos tolerantly.

GANTOB

20 October 2023

Cover image for today’s blog is from earlier GANTOB aktivities (with Margate Bookshop)
26. ROW

Oct 19th, 2023

The Photographer was on the warpath. He looked like his 8-year-old self in a classroom squabble, a 75-year-old row in the offing. I slipped my phone back in my pocket, stomach rumbling with the late hour.

“An early evening celebration” was the wording on the wedding invitation. We all knew this was to hide The Photographer’s wrinkles. However, my behaviour meant that fury had ironed out any evidence of age. Perhaps that had been his intention.

I was aware that in contrast to my pallor in the church I was now flushed, uncertain whether from reciprocal anger, childhood memories, or embarrassment as I saw my wife looking on. I could not use my near faint as an excuse.

I stammered out an attempted explanation, as I too slipped three quarters of a century to my 7-year-old self. My excuses were not going to help, but as usual The Photographer’s disgruntlement dissipated now that his regularly practised show of petulance had been performed. He slunk back to his new wife, and I accompanied my old wife to our car.

The reception was no expenses spared. It was completely dark by the time the speeches were underway. My wife and I sat at the edge of the tent. I positioned myself so that the screen of my phone would not be reflected in the windows. I typed in the email address from the pamphlet, wrote out a rather convoluted message about finding the plane under the bridge, its rediscovery in my suit pocket earlier that day, and the fact that it had almost caused a fight with one of my oldest acquaintances. Perhaps echoing this last point, but without repeating The Photographer’s foul language, I asked what “it” was all about.

A reply came during the speech from the father-of-the-bride (who was considerably younger than The Photographer). It read: “Many thanks for your email. I had wondered what had happened to that plane. I last saw it plummeting to a ledge on the bridge at Waterloo Place, as one in a series of disappointing launches. I had worried that somebody might attempt to retrieve it, but if I understand your message korrectly it sounds as if gravity eventually had its effect. I have had a series of questions on a similar theme – do you have any kontext to add kolour to your applikation. Yours, GANTOB”.

Why all the Ks? I wondered.

THE BENEFAKTOR

19 October 2023

As retrieved by GANTOB from WordPress draft posts
25. 400

Oct 18th, 2023

Curt Finks (not his real name), my late father-in-law, was well known to a small group of loyal followers at the Edinburgh Fringe (1970s and 1980s). What is not so well known, until recently, is that he also wrote short stories and submitted them to literary journals of the day. You can find a fuller history of one of his stories – Brent Goose Rock – in the Kompanion Volume to my book. While unpublished, and indeed uncertain whether it was even considered by the editor, the story survived the closure of the literary journal, and was returned in its original “snipped” form to my husband Ali.

The envelope containing the story arrived a few days later, and was left unopened while we debated the next step. Ali opened the envelope in his study, calling along the hall of The Manse for a tray when the contents spilled out. We read the accompanying letter again, with its “suggested order”. The intention of Curt Finks was that the reader would reconstruct the story, using the “snips” which had a number on one side (1-400) and a word on the other. The tiny pieces of paper measured 24mm by 4mm, and appeared to have been produced on a typewriter, with pencil marks to guide cutting.

We spent two evenings painstakingly recreating the story, turning over the snips to read their number and putting them in order. There were heart stopping moments when we appeared to have lost a snip, only to find them under the tray, stuck almost magnetically to another piece of paper, or once turning round on the wheel of Ali’s desk chair. I took notes as he did this, neatly reversing the roles of the protagonists of Brent Goose Rock.

After I cut things up, and stuck them on a sheet in random order, The Benefaktor did the re-cutting and re-sticking, playing to his strengths as the “details man”. See what he did with the repeated “looked” (turning it into “glanced” with some spare letters from an earlier draft).

The Benefaktor and I discussed how to recreate the interactive component, after typing in the words. Between us we snipped up ten copies for recipients of my book. But we ran out of time, so others had to recreate their own version of the interactive tale, asking a friend to snip up the numbered sheet on their behalf and put it in the envelope. We talked about Banksy’s self-destructing art. Another kommentator noted parallels with Bill Drummond’s work on Richard Long’s A Smell of Sulphur on the Wind. After such effort we wanted to share this more widely, so recreated a version for social media, recording our own solution for posterity.

GANTOB

18 October 2023
24. BENCH

Oct 17th, 2023

I found a bench in the graveyard above the church. All was still. I could not hear proceedings from the wedding ceremony. I put my head down between my legs and tuned in to the clicking of my metal heart valve, comforted by the thought of the ball rolling backwards and forwards in its little cage. Click, click, cli click. Like the tinny rattle from a teenager listening to rap on a Walkman three rows behind you on the bus. There was traffic sound audible from the cobbled road a block away, and a river. I was starting to recover.

After a minute or two I was back on my phone, reading through the Kompetition pamphlet. A different phone: “For the next thirty minutes I’m going to give you a special phone number”. From a quick glance over both sides of the sheet there was no phone number. There was marker pen scrawl on both sides and a layer of Calton Road grime. The graphic in the centre of the sheet, thickly bordered in black, like a funeral announcement, was a cartoon pyramid and the words “THE KLF RE-ENACTMENT SOCIETY” printed above a more densely populated section in smaller font.

The KLFRS announcement shown on the pamphlet plane

I heard the church door opening. My head still between my knees, I craned my neck and saw two ushers talking quietly, pointing to the drivers smoking by their cars. I read faster. “How can I improve my swimming skills?” and “Will AI develop empathy during 2023?” An email address. On the other side some detail on books that I did not recognise, some unknown names and very familiar places – Jura, Laggan, Newtonmore, Cape Wrath. A circuitous route if ever there was one. At the end: “the Kompetition rules over the page”, and I am back to swimming and AI.

Familiar faces were leaving the church, and I could make out the groom (AKA The Photographer) and, as people’s heads moved, the bride. I shifted along the bench to make myself less conspicuous and kept reading. My own wife’s voice appeared like Jiminy Cricket, advising me to return to the church and join her to exit the church and congratulate the happy couple. I kept reading. Dusk was falling. I was an old man recovering from overexerting myself. I heard the crunch of gravel, and a yell. The Photographer striding up, shouting “What the F*** is going on with you?”

THE BENEFAKTOR

As retrieved by GANTOB, adding some asterisks

17 October 2023
23. TWENTY-THREE

Oct 16th, 2023

We interrupt The Benefaktor’s pontifications to focus on the number 23. I am a late konvert, so have little emotional attachment to the number, but know it has almost religious importance to some. Other novices to the topic might want to update themselves at some point, but it is not really necessary for today’s blog. Just be aware that it is likely to be of significance to some readers, and we should respekt that unreservedly.

In the Kompetition for my book (which was conveniently titled GANTOB), published on 23 September 2023, there were to be 23 recipients, to mirror the fictional book of the same name referenced in the link in the preceding paragraph. The “23” were selected on the merits and general interest of their question on how to improve the remainder of 2023 for themselves or others. These 23 copies were numbered to allow recipients to identify the specific quote chosen to answer their question.

There were another 18 other copies issued, but these were unnumbered. That was simply a measure of my generosity/ weakness. Many questions were well phrased and thoughtful, but were just a bit too specific to be of more general interest. I had developed an affektion for these unsuccessful applikants, so I sent them all a kopy. The “18” will hopefully find a quote in the book to answer their questions.

One of the successful applikants asked: “since it’s now 2023, will someone please explain to me what the fuuking fuuk is going on? In 23 words ideally…”

This was the first question of several received on a similar theme. Apologies that I was unable to include the rest, but it would have resulted in a rather repetitive book.

The quote I selected in response was:

“Cherish these natural wonders. Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches or its romance.”

(Theodore Roosevelt)

It felt like an appropriate quote given the events of the year up to that point, and the way that the world was heading. I would substitute “country” with “world”, to strip the quote of any potentially nationalist konnotations.

Photo of Grapefruit Are Not The Only Bombs (GANTOB the book, pages 38-39). GANTOB notes that the Bill Drummond quote should read: ‘For me starting the day without a pot of tea would be a day forever out of kilter.’ Apologies to Mr Drummond.

I have permission from the applicant to write this. Quite clearly the world is in a considerably worse place than it was even on 23 September. We must hold on, however, to the importance of beauty, (non-pecuniary) riches and romance in its widest sense.

GANTOB

16 October 2023
22. PLANE

Oct 15th, 2023

I have described at some length the events of 23 August. If you have not read previous blogs, and have time, please go back to the start. Otherwise, all you need to know is that a paper object hit me on a sore spot on my then 82-year-old head. The pictures included in this blog rather give away the identity of that object, but stay with me as the story unfolds. It was a few days later, when preparing to attend a friend’s third wedding, that I came across the Edinburgh Fringe detritus in my suit. I emptied my pockets.

I was in something of a rush. However, something tugged at my interest. Time unravelling as it often does when I should be getting ready for a social event, and my wife bustling around at the front door, I took a few photos of the object that had struck me (which I referred to as an “entity” in my “quantum blogs”). I would have these photos to inspect if the wedding ceremony and reception were to drag. At my advanced age I have plenty of excuses to take myself off for a few minutes of tinkering at a moment’s notice.

The wedding proceeded in standard fashion. The groom, The Photographer, stood at the front of the church, Murdoch style, with his much younger wife. I was invited, no doubt, to pad out the numbers. Wedding guests are in surprisingly short supply when one reaches one’s 80s, especially when family members apparently disapprove of yet another inheritance diluting coupling. It was a traditional church set up, with pews and pillars. The vows were nauseating and very long, particularly with The Photographer’s hesitating delivery. Removing my phone and crossing my notoriously long legs in one well-rehearsed motion, I started checking my emails.

Bored with the neighbourhood notifications, adverts, private gardens minutes and notification of literary events in my inbox, my thoughts turned to the photos that I had taken in my earlier rush. I swiped through them, struggling to read them on the small screen. My wife tutted as I moved to bring the phone out from its limby cradle. I slipped it back in my pocket when attempting to stand as we moved into the next stage of the ceremony. I had lost track after sitting so unforgivably long. Almost fainting, blood pooled in legs, I slipped out for some air.

THE BENEFAKTOR

Written late September, posted 15 October 2023

As retrieved by GANTOB from draft blog posts by The Benefaktor, and edited to update a few details
21. EJEKT

Oct 14th, 2023

Eskape plan aktivated.

I am on the bus to Perth.

The Benefaktor will return, in a way, as threatened in the last blog. However, this will simply be Kreative Konvenience: he had quite a few draft blogs teed up. They deskribe (in his labourious, heavily parenthesised and akademik way) our meetings and joint aktivities, so remain relevant to “our” planned 100-day narrative.

I kannot tell you though if The Benefaktor will be back in person. As I have already said, I am on the bus rather than beside his hospital bed. I am not going to komment on my alleged role in any tumble.

As you will know by now, real names have not been used. Thinking back over events that may implikate me in his “accident” I am reassured that his kopy of GANTOB (my book) was “destrukted“. And aside from The Manse, which may or may not be in Badenoch (see Kompanion Volume), there were no konnektions to me specifikally in the book. I even doubt that I was spotted on his birthday as we slipped into his study to sign the prizes for the Snip, Stuck, Solved kompetition. I have them ready for posting once the frames arrive.

The stated lokation of the fall was also a diversion. The aktual fall was not so dramatik. And old people are well known to take a tumble from time to time. Plus, who would believe a frail man who’s just taken a knock to the head. A klear kase of delirium.

2 foxes/vixens and a black kat kommune in the back streets of Perth. GANTOB watches on from a distance, from behind a white van. Kredit: The Photographer

So even if there were suspicions about the fall, there would be very little reason that an investigating police officer or Prokurator Fiskal would land on this blog. And of kourse I was nowhere near Edinburgh when the fall took place. I was just deskribing an imaginary event. My name is at the end of the piece, but nowhere do I feature in the body of the blog.

“Fox” you ask? No, I am a vixen. Kompletely different animal.

Sharing a name with the original (fiktional) GANTOB brings some baggage. But did events above that London kanal really konstitute murder? I kan’t really remember. Following my trail of Destruktion (see pamphlet 4) I no longer have a kopy of 2023: A trilogy to konsult. And The Benefaktor and I were not in a relationship. I disembark at Perth, walk to my sister’s house, shower and burn my klothes.

GANTOB

14 Oktober 2023

Kover photo (of fox/vixen skulpture) was taken in Newcastle, 19 February 2023, by GANTOB. The skulpture was in The Biscuit Factory, and was made by Peter Sales.

Photo of night scene was taken by The Photographer, who happens to be an acquaintance of The Benefaktor.

CHALLENGE: I have previously described the process of calculating the “K Faktor” (pamphlet 18). Read the rules very carefully. What is the K Faktor for this blog (21. Ejekt)? Look just at the 400 words that make up the body of the piece (without title, my name, photo caption, date or footnotes). That is, the bit between “Eskape plan aktivated” and “burn my clothes”, but without the communion of feral beasts. Do not include punctuation or spaces in your calculations. If, after reading pamphlet 18, you want to take on the more devilish challenge detailed, then you have until the end of December 2023 (your time zone) to email me your submission at 100percentvinyl2@gmail.com, or send me a message on social media (gantob2023 on Instagram or Twitter). Good luck!
20. RETURN

Oct 13th, 2023

GANTOB has been educating me in the ways of popular music. ABABCB (A=verse, B=chorus, C=bridge). As you might have spotted from my recent blogs, some of this education has been in selected classics of the canon – The Beatles I knew well already; ELO (A New World Record era) were instantly palatable, like familiar friends; and PSB (The Hits) were enjoyable in their knowing way. They were good examples of conventional song structures. The JAMs and KLF are less easy to pin down, at least until their Stadium House period. The JAMs are Dadaist; a kollage. The KLF sometimes go on and on (and on). Take No More Tears for example.

But it is The Beatles who internally soundtrack my somersault down Playfair Steps, halfway down from Edinburgh Castle level right down to Princes Street. Helter Skelter builds in a crashing crescendo before it fades out and then back in again. My cartwheeling descent is guided by the railings down the steps, banging hip, shoulder, skinning hands. It is going to be a bad one. That deceleration of time familiar from previous bike accidents. But I land on a surprisingly soft bundle at the bottom of the steps, hands held to my head after warnings from my cardiologist about the blood thinning medication I take for a metal heart valve.

I cannot be confident whether I banged my head. I will need to go to hospital, for a brain scan and to have my other injuries investigated. And so will the homeless gentleman I have landed on, padded mercifully by a blanket and duvet and some bags of clothes and papers. His companion will need to go to the vet school.

Nobody else has followed me down the steps. My phone is cracked, but functioning. My briefcase lies tented on the paving, papers blowing up into the air. It is cold, and the pain has landed. I dial 999 and signal to my fellow traveller to speak into the phone.

I regain consciousness as the paramedics arrive. I am tangled in the bedding that my new friend has wrapped around me. I have curled up, comforted by the unexpected warmth. The dog licks my face expectantly. ELO. I hear Jeff Lynne’s distant voice rising from another fade out, soaring, a glorious end to a beautiful song: “I will return to Shangr i -La/ (I will return)”, before slipping and sliding away into unconsciousness.

ON BEHALF OF THE BENEFAKTOR

AS ADDED TO BY GANTOB

(Very much) Friday 13 October 2023
19. THE FALL

Oct 12th, 2023

The group of youths in front of me in the queue at the National Library of Scotland café are placing their order.

“You’ll be total wired”, after that, shrieks one of them. It is a new term to me, but “I catch their drift”.

After checking my emails and undertaking essential social media duties (personal and GANTOB/ Benefaktor business) in the café, and now lightly caffeinated myself, I select another desk for the rest of the day, a changed perspective.

I have set myself a few tasks. Gentle reminders rather than GANTOB’s Kreative Tyranny. One is to plan tomorrow’s blog (which you are reading). Another is to ask about sources of information available in the different libraries to research GANTOB’s father-in-law Curt Finks. GANTOB’s husband Ali (not real name) has shared his father’s actual name (which I have promised not to reveal to you).

Site of Curt Finks’ digs and venue: formerly C&J Brown Furniture Store, Newington, Edinburgh

And finally, I need contact Ali to check on his health. I remind myself that the original GANTOB (in The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu’s book 2023: A trilogy) stabbed her boyfriend, rolled his body neatly up in a duvet and pushed him off the balcony into the canal below. I worry that fiction might become a reality. He should lock up their knives.

I have mentioned that GANTOB is on manoeuvres. She has come down to Edinburgh unannounced. I have also noticed some Instagram messages that she posted when I was not online, assuming that I would not spot them. And I am sure that I have glimpsed her from the corner of my eye, or detected her presence, fox like, skirting the edges of the terrain, as I go about my daily business.

After writing some words about old TV programmes yesterday I worry that this is all becoming a bit soap-like. It is certainly no sit com. And perhaps after reading about Archie Bunker and his show All in the Family, my thoughts move to The Archers. I am initially soothed by thoughts of that most gentle of soaps, until I recall the controversy of Helen’s attempted murder of Rob.

It is library closing time, dark outside. I pack up, having not quite achieved my goals, but with some new angles. I take the shortest route home, via Playfair Steps. As I power down, my usual long stride, I hear a familiar voice behind me. I turn, stumble, and tumble, flight after flight.

ON BEHALF OF THE BENEFAKTOR

AS COMPLETED BY GANTOB

12 October 2023

Featured image credit: Caught By The River