headlong - black plastic sheeting
I want to report a discovery.
As we all know, many great wealth in the world has been lost for centuries.
I think I might have found one of them.
Here is the evidence of my claim.
However, I am in a difficult situation.
If scholars don't accept me, I look like a fool. If it is . . .
Then my situation is not good.
This is the case with this discovery, I can only appear as a fool, but as an object of anger and fear.
I can't say anything, no one will know.
But if I want to be a scholar, or even a normal civilization, then I have an obligation to put my findings on the record so that my colleagues and successors, it can still be evaluated now.
I have to describe as fully and honestly as possible the complexities of my finding, because to make judgments, they need to examine them in the smallest details.
Well, maybe it's better to be called a fool or a rogue than not.
However, this is a painful prospect.
Before I finish this testimony, I have to explain something shameful.
I can't bear their pain.
What's worse, though, is that I'm not sure exactly what I did.
Now, where do I start?
The most obvious way is to say what I think this treasure is.
Once there is difficulty, because it has no name.
I can simply describe it and I will describe it in due course, but it doesn't mean anything if I try it now because it has never been described before, no one knows anything about how it looks.
I think the only way I can do this, and the only way I can try, is to give up all the attempts to trace the account.
I have to go back to the original time and relive what happened to it, from one moment to the next, explaining exactly what I thought at that time, what I tried to do at every moment when all the puzzles were in front of me, gave me the possibility that it seemed open at the time, without an afterthought twist.
This has its disadvantages.
My voice will make an inappropriate light. Mind sometimes.
But that's what happened.
The tone of most of the things we do in life may prove to be painfully unsuitable for what happens later.
So, from the beginning.
We came back last year.
It's last year.
It's early spring.
A particularly suitable jump
As will become apparent.
What is the first sign of unusual things starting to happen?
I think it's a worn-out thread.
In my opinion, the same long thread will end the story.
Yes, the prospects are very broad.
It was one of those cautious hopeful days in early April, after the clock made a huge leap, but before the weather or more suspicious trees had the courage to follow them, kate and I traveled north in a car full of food, books, old pans and spare furniture.
We are on our way to the country.
Where is the country? Good question.
I privately thought it started with Edgware and lasted until Cape Wrath, but then I didn't know much about it.
Kate, however, is a connoisseur of these things, and it wasn't her country or the real country until we stayed at least a few hours ago, then turned off the highway and went on the Lavenage Road.
She was cautious even here, and I understood what she meant.
It was all a little neat and organized as if it were a representative of the country in an exhibition.
Hedgesare smooth processing.
There are too many stables and schools.
From time to time we receive an impressive smell of rotten vegetables and animal waste, but we keep passing through the wrong house and you may find this house around edgware and people don't look
In fact, not many people can be seen except for passing cars like ours.
Many cars are designed for rural life. it is a particularly Square car, very high from the ground, which can keep passengers away from walking. and-mouthdisease.
But the people inside look disturbing in the city.
For example, in a few cases, when we are close enough to any iroccupants, when we stop to refuel at the coolkinver, or the organic vegetables at the quendon Castle, they don't have the taste of dirt, feces and moldy radish.
They are like us and the people we know in London, nothing.
I was as upset as Kate.
We don't want to drive away from London's hundred miles, just to meet people who drive away from London's hundred miles to avoid meeting people like us.
This country, what we call this country, after we passed through the busy BeeHoney, took a stretch along the unmarked lane.
A mile or two later, the path began to fall into a forgotten place in the landscape.
The county council has not investigated the hedge situation here for a while. There'sa half-
A mile of mud and shit under the tires, a herd of live cattle often shuttled back and forth between grass and milking.
Outside the bush on the left, one thing is the scattered of bricks and broken tiles, growing a mixed network and ancient leaking lacquerware.
The rusty corrugated iron flaps loosen a crumbling empty structure abandoned in the corner of tussockyfields. Lichen-covered five-
The bar gate rests against the drunken angle on the brokenhinges and is secured with a rusty barbed wire.
We began to relax,
This is the real thing.
That's why we paid our second bill.
We were all silent as we approached our destination.
What worries us now is not the authenticity of our surroundings.
We will consider what we will find when we arrive.
This is our first visit this year.
How humid will the bed be?
How cold is the kitchen?
Will the knife and fork be stolen?
How much did the mouse eat?
Will they laugh at the key parts of the bed again?
Will they start electrical insulation?
This is not the same as our previous visit.
This time we didn't come for the weekend or even a strange week.
We stayed here for at least two months, maybe three months or even four months.
Can we live with the reality of such a long time?
Another disturbing novelty of this visit is that the Dragon Box is stuck in all the rubbish in the back seat and carefully placed in place with two seat belts.
It makes a faint sound.
Kate turned around and stared at what was inside.
You put the diaper. rash cream in? " she asks.
"We should have woken her up before.
You have to feed her before we catch fire.
"Yes, what will Tilda feel about the country?
How will she get along with them?
Will she feel cold and wet like we do?
Will she appreciate the truth of everything?
I parked my car by the lake where we found the dead tramp.
"Maybe we should turn around? " I say. "Go back home?
"Kate looked at me.
It was too late, I remember, and it would be another example of what she thought my goal was not firm and I was accused of suddenly moving from one project to another.
But she only said this time: "I will feed her in the car when you open your luggage.
We keep the engine running.
"So we move on and the offer to abandon the expedition has never been put to the vote.
We are here now.
There is no sign to announce our arrival, there is only a small runway opening to the left, and even if the tourists do not, we will be surprised by the feeling of arrival.
However, since we don't know who might want to visit here, this is not a real problem.
We bumped slowly on the runway.
But when we go above and beyond the elders, we want to start producing elder Muhua wine from this summer, and we are not in front of our familiar green front door.
This is a worn-out charter line.
There are many balers in real countries.
One of the ways you can judge that this country is a real country is the extent to which it is combined with other things. Not just bales.
Maybe there is no bag at all, I have never seen anything related to it.
What bag is it Anyway?
Everything else, despite the black plastic cloth, the bright blue plastic bag, the door, the pants, the agricultural machinery, before the invention of the baler hemp wire, all used to use the rope or the rusty barbed wire
But no one ever throws it away, it's made of plastic, so it will never degrade.
Some are pink and some are brown, so it matches the green and brown in the countryside.
The car is pink and tied to the tail of an Ancient Land Rover to close its tailgate.
There is no problem with the authenticity of the car.
This is because rural aturnip is the same.
Kate and I looked at each other. A visitor!
Not a friend from London, a real countryman.
Perhaps only two years later, the local community began to send a friendly signal.
I went out to investigate, still wearing the wrong shoes, still not in country mode, carefully balancing from island to island in mud.
There is a huge barking sound, the size of two dogs
On one side of the cottage, the growing Sheep surround.
I was a little surprised to be blocked from my own property by guard dogs. No, not a little surprised person, basically surprised, and hit mudI, who has been avoiding it all the time.
But I saw the wrong dog;
They didn't keep me out of the door, they warmly welcomed me to the country, passionately pushed their wet nose into my groin and wiped their belly down the front of my sweater
When their owner also appeared on the side of the cottage, I looked as real as he was.
A countryman who is more real than him, Kate and I have not paid attention to it. "Heel!
He said that with a voice that would have no effort to own the land, the dog would immediately become obedient.
I would love to lie on his bed but find the ground a bit too muddy and untilI has put on my country pants anyway and instead holds the hand he has reached out.
"Tony chute," he said.
"One of your neighbors.
"He caught a man who had broken the neck of the injured wild bird.
He is taller than me and I have enough time to absorb the mud when I look up my eyes
Splashing boots, mud
Colored velvet trousers and mud
Color plaid jacket
He has holes in the mud.
The colored jerseys, and any garishness hints by the muddy green velvet shirt triangle above, were offset by his muddy brown tie.
He even had a gun on his arm and was properly broken.
His long face stretched up against the mud --
The color flat cover is the only feature that does not meet the current color scheme.
It's both raw and blue.
Gray, there was a little bit of a neglected dry blood drop where therazor scratched it.
"I think you might be in the back," he said . ".
"Skelton said you were coming down. " Mr.
Both Kate and I are called Skelton and are the ones who fix the local pumps and septic tanks.
We called in advance to make an appointment for his service.
I introduce Kate.
Tony Churt raises the mud
Colored hat, revealing the mud of the backcolored hair.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said . "
"I heard about both of you. " "From Mr. Skelton? " asks Kate. Though why not?
A person standing in your sewer may know a lot about you.
"From everyone. " Everyone?
The woman in the paper shop, who knows what paper we take?
Charlie Tille, who knows what size?
Eggs we prefer?
"We are all very happy to have you here. Great bonus.
"The country finally took us to the muddy arms.
TonyChurt had a faint smell and I found it immediately, very real.
It's a sign that we 've always missed a few other people we can smell, though it's hard for me to say what it is.
Of course, there are dogs in the mixture, and traces of tardiness of oil-coated waterproof materials.
And the rigors of some rough wool fabric.
There's something else.
Some stiff moral support.
It could be carbs soap and cold water.
"Laura and I would like to know if you would like to come over one night," he said . ".
"Dinner, why not?
"You are so good.
Nothing special. Say hello.
Tell you the local gossip.
Let you tell us what happened to this great world outside.
We can't get in touch here. Monday week? Tuesday?
When will you be right?
"I mentioned Tilda. "Bring her. Of course. Wonderful.
There are many rooms for her to park. Upwood.
Do you know where it is?
So we say Monday week? Eightish?
Meet the feeding time?
If we can, we may ask you to give us some advice when dealing with this matter.
"A small suggestion. Of course.
When I reversed the car and let him out, there was an alarm in the car.
Our clever little daughter tried to warn us that someone broke into our lives.
Do we know where Upwood is?
Yes, even if we know where Upwoodis is.
This is a big house with half a country.
Hidden in the trees of our private valley heads.
Now, of course, we know who Tony Churt is.
The valley is his.
Not all the valleys.
For example, it is not the land around our cottage.
Our property, half as a City owner
In this case, the country likes to tell you humorously, to march with him.
It wasn't long enough for the parade, and both of these properties felt sore feet, which was true, but it gave us a bond.
We are compatriots.
When I had three fans
The heater was spinning, the fireplace made a huge log sound, Tilda's mother's milk fell asleep in front of it, and four oil stoves smelled comfortable with kerosene, SC on the rest of the cotton, our spirits are unusually high.
There are fresh wet places in the bedroom, which is true, and there are strange smells on several walls.
The mouse ate the towels and feces in the fridge.
Other more surprising changes have also been exposed.
I put on a pair of country casual pants hanging in the bedroom closet but couldn't get them around the waist.
They shrink in a humid environment.
Or did I expand?
Did I catch lagenis from Kate?
I watched her move around slowly and insecurely, stacking diapers on the shelves.
Three months after she was born, she was still huge.
She will roll a little while walking.
She didn't know she was rolling! I laugh at her.
She smiled at my laughter and frowned to find out why.
I don't say anything, but when she sits on a bench in front of the fire and eats sweet potato Tilda, when the gray spring night out the window goes deep into the middle of the night, the three of us filled our little world, and I stood behind her, leaned over and looked at her, picked up two chubby faces, tilted it up and kissed, secretly glad she had so many lovely things.
Nor am I very unhappy that there are more people who love her now.
"So," I said, sitting next to her, "we are with the nobles.
All the vague left bias is gone.
We can say that Tilda is ill.
"Don't you want to go ? "" "Do you? " Do I? Yes! Why not?
Social AdventureHuman contact. Life.
"We won't like it," Kate said . "
"Of course not.
"She said nothing, which is a sign of disagreement.
That said, she agreed that it would be terrible, but she knew what I meant was that it would be very scary, a source of entertainment, and it was not the whole way she looked at life.
And she knows I made up my mind. For once.
Although it can sometimes be destroyed by itself, it cannot be destroyed by external pressure.
"Come on," I said.
He is charming.
He raised his hat to you.
"I don't understand why he asked us.
He said he wanted our advice. " "Yes.
"Well, you don't need to give it.
"Because what advice does he want from us?
This is not our moral advice, I think.
Nor is it our suggestion about agriculture or animal husbandry.
Does some small but annoying question of etiquette or precedent bother him?
Should the lieutenant take the Queen's second cousin's divorced wife to dinner?
I think it's okay for him to go to the hunting ball in a pair of briefs?
Or is it my professional advice that he wants?
My opinion on some of the intellectual issues that plague him is a philosopher?
Does he really know that his tenant has feelings?
Everything around his estate, his brown plaid jacket, is it really a dream for hisLand rover heights?
Kate and I both know what advice he wants.
This is Kate's professional opinion.
He has a painting that has been known in the family as police officers, dintolito, Rembrandt, etc.
AVAs, a kettle, a Chinese dog, a ceramic shepher woman, of course he doesn't think it's of any interest or value, but if she can look at it carefully, he would appreciate it if he just focused. , etc.
"I will say everything," I assure her . ". Silence.
She means I always do this.
I mean, I will explain to him that she is on vacation and she is on maternity leave and she cannot be asked to identify things.
Even if she didn't have a vacation, even if she didn't have a baby in her mind, even if she was sitting in Hamlish's office and she was paid to think about art, she didn't think about art that way.
She doesn't agree with things.
She is not the kind of art historian, either a woman at a newspaper or a man who repairs a septic tank, probably told him. More silence.
I know what she's thinking.
She thought I was positive about the art he wanted.
Perhaps, she ironically suggested that the churth family had a painting that they had always thought was a master of embroidered leaves, and that an artist had opened up a delicate world between us.
I'm not going to do that.
I will remain silent like her.
But she is a bit unkind to raise the question now, no matter how speechless.
I haven't given her any reason for rebuttal lately.
In fact, I just kissed her in a sudden surprise and she liked what I did.
But I can't say a word.
I didn't say a word.
I just need to nudge her fat shoulder and laugh her out.
"Come on," I said.
"Tell him it's the police and maybe he will invite me to shoot with him.
"When I said it, silence began again, and I realized that when I was here, I even joked that I might find an alternative to writing, this will arouse her suspicion.
She felt uneasy about my sudden shift from philosophy to something more like art, or, in any case, the philosophy of art, as if I had invaded her territory.
When I decided to take an annual leave to start my new career, she became more difficult because I wrote a book about the influence of nominalism on 15 th century Dutch art;
When I was on vacation for seven months, I suddenly put the book aside and wrote a long article about a particular artist who seemed to be seriously undervalued during this period, and I was publicly shocked;
I did not feel relieved a few months later, but even more shocked that the owner of the embroidered leaves, far from being underestimated, did not have any merit, and I could feel it now, I suddenly gave up this extramarital affair and went back to the legit arms of nominalism, and now, before I go back to my department, there is only five months left to complete the book.
I have been free for 14 months for 8 months.
She suspects that less than 8 out of 14 books about to start my new career have been written.
She was worried that by September, I would jump down from philosophy without art.
She thought I was lost in my life.
Although her reputation in comparative Christian iconography has grown slowly and methodically year by year, just like the standard work of the references he wrote on this issue, I am embarrassed to move from behind the carriage
That's why we come to this country and stay away from any friends, acquaintances, libraries, or galleries that might give me some new ideas.
We cook, we look after Tilda, we write.
There is nothing to tempt us out of the house, because there is nothing to do except pour in the mud, and no one can speak to us except sheep and cattle.
Now, within a few hours of arrival, I was humorously thinking about another sudden reboot as a country gentleman.
No wonder she said nothing.
Once again, I gently pushed her on the shoulder, comforted her, and announced a change of topic.
Image of the sports jacket.
Why does TonyChurt's brown plaid sports jacket make it clear that he is the country owner while my gray pepper-and-
The salt jacket declared me an urban intellectual?
Why does the seed of my jacket look high
Thought and poverty, and his seed shows wealth and limited intelligence?
Kate said nothing.
But it's more friendly now.
The moment of her panic and distrust is over.
"In fact," I said, "the image of the whole estate is very interesting.
The tattered Land Rover and the broken gates family are an ironic understatement.
They all sell money.
We can do a joint paper on the iconic meaning of the pink baler winding.
"Is he Rich ? "" says Kate.
"Of course he will.
"We stare at the fire together.
"His name could be another irony. Tony Churt.
He's really SirTony.
He's Lord Churt.
"In fact, is he ? "" "No idea.
I will continue to treat him as Tony.
"Tilda got excited and settled down again.
We look at her instead of the fire. She's lovely.
"You get as fat as I am," Kate said . " She's still looking at Tilda, but I think that's what I mean.
I say nothing.
Like her and Tilda, I'm getting fat. All right. Itsuits me.
My character is fat, indifferent and cheerful.
All three of us have
No matter what Kate thinks, I have to finish my book.
Everything will be fine. I know that.
How do I know?
Well, how do I know the warmth of the Sun and the orange is orange, the lovely of Tilda?
There is a simple but philosophical answer to all these questions: that's what I did.