Just below the dawdling canal running through Startford-upon-Avon, winds a road heading east out to Wellesbourne - or some town just as equally dull. It was on that road that I met that Welsh-born, Midlands-raised, Red-head. Let's call him 'Welsh-Red'.
If you head the other way on that road - towards Bidford - you'd find yourself along a stretch of tar flanked by houses of the very rich and the very poor. No pattern to their procedure - they just all jumble in all together. A few mansions, then a shack, then a twisted metal garage door, then a tiny yellow car, then some more large houses, then a council flat. Another council flat and then a bald, high-price lawyer leaving the sprawling, low-slung house he bought for his bride some twelve years earlier. He was just dropping off the kids. He doesn't live there anymore. That same bride done tossed him out months ago. She had been OK with his late night fraternising at the office, but once the gaggle of single mums in that line-up of cars outside school learned that he had unzipped his trousers with one of their very own in that very same line-up, well, you know...disloyalty, shame, embarrassment, betrayal, rage... it all leads to the same place - late Saturday nights at that grey-toned house with the kids and the estranged husband replaced by young men, strong drugs and un-eaten take-away. Only way to treat that particular pain....
But all that is on the road to Bidford. I met Welsh-Red on the road to Wellesbourne - whole different set-up on that side.
He worked short-term jobs. Contract jobs at hotels. He had done loads of them and - as he would tell you if you asked - they'd be loads more to come. Up and down - running from up around them Yorkshire muddy hills to down by those there Portsea muddy banks - were villas, chalets and former homesteads of nobility that had served as Hotels, Inns and Resorts once so grand and now..... well.... not-so-much.
Most of the buildings themselves were still around and in service - standing and fighting stoic and gothic against Great-Aunt Time - we all know that they just don't build them like they used to. All that was needed was a fresh approach - a new way to attack income and outgoings - and this is where Welsh-Red would factor in. In just three months - although, on occasion, it might end up being eight months - he could set into motion systems, procedures, designs and checklists that'd effectively turn fortunes around.
(There was a specific way that he went about doing his job as successfully as he did, which he happily shared and spoke of. I'm sure you're interested to hear what all that was, but this ain't no sorta Employment Manual, so.....)
"I tell ya, there's enough work in this country to last me three lifetimes." he declared one afternoon as we short-cut our way through the golf course that linked out from the hotel currently employing his services.
It was one of those English days when the quick and chilling progression from a fresh yet muted daylight, into a frigid, moonlit darkness happens at such a pace that 'afternoon' - as a period of time - passes too fast for travel along in-direct routes. Both of us had a nose for that manic, Grey House over the other side and wanted to beat the twilight there - for "twilight is the loneliest time of day". So we were shaving time by heading west across the 18th, 16th and 4th fairways.
"When is the next one, then? When do you finish with this job and move on to find the next?" I asked.
"It all depends on when I get my signal. When I get my sign."
"What does that mean? You're looking for a particular turn in the business?"
"No, no, no." he tripled up, as he laughed sideways at me. "No - nothing like that. Haha. No, it's always a girl. There's always a girl and a 'thing' and then there's an ending. It's all brought to me and then I've used it up and then it's time to move on and then I find the next job."
As a reflex, I laughed back at him. And then, in the same moment, I realised I had no idea why I was laughing.
"What?? I don't think I understand."
"Yeah - it's a little bit to explain.."
Welsh-Red then went on to describe what he considered to be the glue that held together his life - the links and the brackets that unified the otherwise seemingly disconnected ramblings of his life and career.
He started by telling me that the greatest accomplishments of the work he did only ever resulted in benefits enjoyed by others. He'd rescue these broken-down business, set them back on a specific path and would be two or three jobs down the road before they were completely grand again. Their renaissance was because of him, but would happen with him absent for the glory. He was never around to actually crunch down on the fruits of his labour. However, this was of no matter to Welsh-Red, for it wasn't why he did the work he did. His career - as it was playing out at that time - was simply a vehicle.
"A vehicle for what?"
"One moment, my eager Australian friend." Welsh-Red replied.
He then informed me that The Welsh are different to the other Home Counties, in that they were the only true Romantics. That - and all this is according to what Welsh-Red told me that day with nose full of candy, so... - the English, Scottish and Irish expressed their Romanticism in Art and The Welsh expressed Romance in the very fibers and minutes of their day-to-day lives. Now, you're best off tracking him down yourself if you need full clarification and support of his point - either I wasn't really following what he said or my memory has faded or something. All I remember now is him going on about Burton - Richard, not Tim - and Everest and wind and sheep and hope and mountains and some other shit. I don't really remember how his theory went. It's OK though. We can carry on...Anyways....
"Now, that you know this," he continued (For the record, I'm not sure I did 'know this'.) "All of this steady moving around the country, changing jobs, closing chapters and beginning new ones is all because of that Romanticism which dictates my life. You see, the way it has worked out is that every job eventually provides a romantic interest. A new woman enters my life throughout my daily order of business. A guest, a saleswoman, an owner, a staff member's sister. That sorta thing. Whatever. The point is, the actual job itself ends up the matchmaker - the conduit - that brings us together. In these new places I meet someone and it is passionate and exciting and raw and it gives me life and energy and charge at the excitement and vitality of it all. I feel centered, satisfied and alive. And I live in the peace of that electricity. And then it fades - it always does. Either after a few days or a few weeks or a few months, it fades and that's my sign! That's my sign that it's time to move on. The fade of that intensity is the sign to move on."
"Wait - you take all these contract jobs just so you can fuck random chicks that stay or work at these hotels??" I interrupted with a smirk.
"What?? No! How did you get at that from what I said??"
"Hahaha. Relax.... I understood what you said. I understand what you're chasing. It's just that if The Welsh are Romantic Hunters, Australians are Sarcastic Arseholes and I felt the need to wave my flag back at yours..."
And right at that moment we arrived at The Grey House on the river bank. We hadn't quite beaten the onset of darkness. Twilight had descended and I needed something that fought the effects of its creeping silence and cold. On the other side of the door in front of us was the perfect antidote for just that and we lost our train of conversation as we chased on inside.
A month or so later, Welsh-Red and I spoke again of his Romantic Progressions in a less abstract sense. But, because this time the conversation involved my girlfriend as The 'romance-provided-to-him-through-a-shared-connection-to-the-job-he-was-on' thing, well.... things were a little more heated and emotional and louder and painful and personal.
But that part is whole other story for whole other time....
It was one of those English days when the quick and chilling progression from a fresh yet muted daylight, into a frigid, moonlit darkness happens at such a pace that 'afternoon' - as a period of time - passes too fast for travel along in-direct routes. Both of us had a nose for that manic, Grey House over the other side and wanted to beat the twilight there - for "twilight is the loneliest time of day". So we were shaving time by heading west across the 18th, 16th and 4th fairways.
"When is the next one, then? When do you finish with this job and move on to find the next?" I asked.
"It all depends on when I get my signal. When I get my sign."
"What does that mean? You're looking for a particular turn in the business?"
"No, no, no." he tripled up, as he laughed sideways at me. "No - nothing like that. Haha. No, it's always a girl. There's always a girl and a 'thing' and then there's an ending. It's all brought to me and then I've used it up and then it's time to move on and then I find the next job."
As a reflex, I laughed back at him. And then, in the same moment, I realised I had no idea why I was laughing.
"What?? I don't think I understand."
"Yeah - it's a little bit to explain.."
Welsh-Red then went on to describe what he considered to be the glue that held together his life - the links and the brackets that unified the otherwise seemingly disconnected ramblings of his life and career.
He started by telling me that the greatest accomplishments of the work he did only ever resulted in benefits enjoyed by others. He'd rescue these broken-down business, set them back on a specific path and would be two or three jobs down the road before they were completely grand again. Their renaissance was because of him, but would happen with him absent for the glory. He was never around to actually crunch down on the fruits of his labour. However, this was of no matter to Welsh-Red, for it wasn't why he did the work he did. His career - as it was playing out at that time - was simply a vehicle.
"A vehicle for what?"
"One moment, my eager Australian friend." Welsh-Red replied.
He then informed me that The Welsh are different to the other Home Counties, in that they were the only true Romantics. That - and all this is according to what Welsh-Red told me that day with nose full of candy, so... - the English, Scottish and Irish expressed their Romanticism in Art and The Welsh expressed Romance in the very fibers and minutes of their day-to-day lives. Now, you're best off tracking him down yourself if you need full clarification and support of his point - either I wasn't really following what he said or my memory has faded or something. All I remember now is him going on about Burton - Richard, not Tim - and Everest and wind and sheep and hope and mountains and some other shit. I don't really remember how his theory went. It's OK though. We can carry on...Anyways....
"Now, that you know this," he continued (For the record, I'm not sure I did 'know this'.) "All of this steady moving around the country, changing jobs, closing chapters and beginning new ones is all because of that Romanticism which dictates my life. You see, the way it has worked out is that every job eventually provides a romantic interest. A new woman enters my life throughout my daily order of business. A guest, a saleswoman, an owner, a staff member's sister. That sorta thing. Whatever. The point is, the actual job itself ends up the matchmaker - the conduit - that brings us together. In these new places I meet someone and it is passionate and exciting and raw and it gives me life and energy and charge at the excitement and vitality of it all. I feel centered, satisfied and alive. And I live in the peace of that electricity. And then it fades - it always does. Either after a few days or a few weeks or a few months, it fades and that's my sign! That's my sign that it's time to move on. The fade of that intensity is the sign to move on."
"Wait - you take all these contract jobs just so you can fuck random chicks that stay or work at these hotels??" I interrupted with a smirk.
"What?? No! How did you get at that from what I said??"
"Hahaha. Relax.... I understood what you said. I understand what you're chasing. It's just that if The Welsh are Romantic Hunters, Australians are Sarcastic Arseholes and I felt the need to wave my flag back at yours..."
And right at that moment we arrived at The Grey House on the river bank. We hadn't quite beaten the onset of darkness. Twilight had descended and I needed something that fought the effects of its creeping silence and cold. On the other side of the door in front of us was the perfect antidote for just that and we lost our train of conversation as we chased on inside.
A month or so later, Welsh-Red and I spoke again of his Romantic Progressions in a less abstract sense. But, because this time the conversation involved my girlfriend as The 'romance-provided-to-him-through-a-shared-connection-to-the-job-he-was-on' thing, well.... things were a little more heated and emotional and louder and painful and personal.
But that part is whole other story for whole other time....
Now, don't go looking too deep for the point here. Don't reach or strain or squint for meaning. It's all pretty obvious. I'll just straight-out give it to you. The reason I told you this story was because of - and to be in - the manner and the way in which I've done told it to you. For the style, not the substance.
You see, I love a Hyphen.
More than you'd ever know.
I love a Hyphen.
I love a Hyphen.
It's as if Tacos and Tinder and Cake and Cocaine all went and got wrapped into one glorious package of pleasure and pain and pleasure again - that's how much I love a hyphen. And it's all for a reason.
Hyphens make stories better.
This is a fact.
You can argue with me - but you'd still be wrong.
If you don't use hyphens in your stories then your stories suck. I'm sorry, but it's true. Your stories are shit if you ain't on-board that Hyphen-Train. So that's the point here:
Start using Hyphens...and even if you do use them a bit, you should undertake to start using them more...
Start using Hyphens...and even if you do use them a bit, you should undertake to start using them more...
And then once you've accomplished that, we'll start talking about using The Ellipsis.....
