«هه هه قوانین! عجب!» نمی خواهم به حرفش ادامه دهد و از این بابت رشته ی کلام را، به همان معنی واقعی خودش، حالا هر چه که باشد، در دست میگیرم: «با قوانین نوشته کاری ندارم. قوانین نانوشته اند که بیشتر عذاب آورند. بیشتر از همه شان خوردن ناهار، صدای تق و توق برخورد قاشق و چنگال و چاقوها با بشقاب در میان حرف های های معمولی  آزاردهنده ای که آدم ها به هم میزنند. من جای صبحانه و ناهار را عوض کرده ام و مراسم را تا حد امکان تنها برگزار میکنم. وقتی منتظر رسیدن به هدفی سر خودم را خیلی شلوغ کرده بلشم، هنگام انجام عمل تهوع آور خوردن به خودم وقت میدهم که به یک تکه موسیقی- می گوید « مثلا». نمی توانم پاسخ ندهم. اخیرا او را غیر قابل اجتناب یافته ام. مانند یک نفرین است که باید آنرا به دنبال بکشم، تا همیشه. و گرچه کمتر تکه ای از موسیقی است که نام آن یا حتی سازنده اش را به خاطر بسپارم، از پس ذهنم این را بیرون می آورم « رحمانینف.» او سر تکان میدهد و همچنان خیره به دهان‌من است.

مدتی مکث میکنم. دلم برایش می سوزد. چهار هفته ی تمام اینجا تنهایش گذاشتم و رفتم تهران. از اینکه او هیچ خاطره ای از چنین جایی ندارد عذاب میکشم. انگشتش را در یکی از لوله های کوچک موهای بلوندش  کرده و با آن ور می رود. دلم می خواهد بهش بفهمانم یعنی چی که کسی به تو بگوید: « عمه جان بشین روبه روم می خوام نگات کنم.» اما نشدنیست. اینکه در خیابان از بابت یک دسته از موهایت دلهره بگیری، و حس نشستن در بالکنی که دور تا دورش را تا سقف آسمان «ایرانیت» کشیده باشند را به او‌نشان بدهم. چه کسی کجا میتواند‌ این چیزها را به چه کسی درس بدهد؟ دلم می خواهد دلم این چیزها را به این دلیل بخواهد که او مثلا خالیست، یا به قول این و آن «ناییو«: چیزی مانند کم تجربه است، که هست. اما همچنان هم نیست. حالا دلهره گرفته ام که اصلا چرا او اینجاست، یا چرا من اینجایم؟ او به نظر کاملا خونسرد می آید. همیشه همینطور است. کمتر از خودم، که کمتر از تقزیبا تمامی دیگرانی که میشناسم قابل درکم، قابل درک است. همچنان منتظر است. آنقدر مودبانه که نمی توانم خودم را کنترل کنم و ساکت بمانم. میدانم، خودمانیم! حرف های عادی بینمان هیج لزومی که هیچ، جایی هم ندارد. چیزی به ذهنم می رسد. می توانم هردویمان را سرگرم‌کنم. می گویم: «می خواهی بیشتر بدانی؟» و مطمئنم که پاسخش را میدانم. می گوید: «بیشتر؟» میگویم « در واقع-»

“-Mhor”

I overslept by 8 hours. I overslept by 8hours! Even though not quite to Harry, but that makes sense to Joe. My ex husband should know. And It makes perfect sense to him. Also, I said maybe it was intentional. 

And I think it was Franny who noted that. Because I reasoned that “ I was safe on my birthday”. Relatively safe. Home and alone, and relatively safe.” And actually, in the end everyone was happy. “

So even though it would be fine to talk about that, we can move on from my birthday to the day after when I am sat on a train to Scotland again. Fonab castle this time. It seems Harry knows exactly where to put me to shine. Even though he thinks I’d shine anywhere and he’s right. I am fucking shiny. Scotland, well I guess magical as always. I am put in this nice French boudoir very chic setting and very very comfortable. I put on the coat I chose as a birthday gift, and he kindly bought me and brought with him, which was neatly placed on the table in the usual black Net-A-Porter box; a black coat that looks like a sleeping bag. In fact, having been homeless, having slept in the woods, or simple things such as having been physically attacked in the past, means that coat would come very handy to me. It would be very hard to break into. And I want it very much. But, insead I am happy to report to any of the persons in my life who want to be friends or enemies that later I chose, the sluttiest little too big little skirt in the world, made from Harris Tweed stuff and designed by La Fetiche from Paris and Glasgow, for a birthday present. I found it in the little independent shop on the way to the next hotel. And, with that I also asked for a pair of handmade socks which cost I think around or precisely two hundred and ninety English Pounds or maybe Scotch? I am not quite sure, neither do I care much because I have already lost them once, and although it’s good having them; which is why I chose them, shortly after on my way back to London, along with my suitcase, and then found them again, just as I did in the shop, for the second time; Whether on my own feet, on someone else’s or worn out and gone, the good memory of choosing a gift and being given it will always be with me.

Fonab Castle looks like a little, at night, colourful cozy, and in the morning foggy, and because of the river and the trees and the hills and the clouds and the sky and the rain and the rainbow… dreamy cartoon like building out of a VanGouch painting. I planned to stay up all night but as per lately I drank too much at dinner and fell asleep soon after. But, I woke up before the sunrise and I watched the whole thing from the balcony. When I had had enough of tea and rainbow and morning contemplation, I woke Harry up. I’m not quite sure what I did after until I was in the car on the way to Monachyle Mhor.

Mhor is more of a concept than a physical place. What I entered from the very first moment was an idea of a place which I am sure I still have not fully understood. But, in the next twenty four hours I had enough time to explore every little corner of it. Including the cabin number 24. Normally, at this point of time if you have stayed at the Mhor recently or you are there now, you should not be able to find a cabin number 24 there but when the staff give you the key to your own cabin, room, or whatever kind of logging you have chosen to stay in, they might mention it. For example, someone might come knock on your cabin door, in which you have already settled, and say « here is the key to number 24 ». You might look at the key and say «  but it says number 20? » and they might say for example «  yes, thank you ». Simple conversations like this are the types of conversations you’d be having there. And you might think that because they are simple, they are not important, but in fact they are. Let me demonstrate.

The dialogue I just mentioned is an actual one I had with a staff member. That is, after I sat in the nicest, comfiest, cutest , warmest , jolliest  bar for hours, and drank and indulged in simple important conversations like the above which afterwards made me curious; like I needed to do something, go after finding something, as if I was participating in a programme like the task master, so I got out of my own cabin, which is again what I chose amongst a couple of other options – some big rooms with everything including tv sets and lots of space and furniture and not much view. I knew that all the evidence including my key suggested that I was currently living in a small cabin, cabin number twenty in which there is a bed next to the huge wall window which together cover half of the room, a fireplace in the middle, a small kitchen and behind it the toilet and the shower room, all neat and tidy and as compact as one can imagine. The cabin is like a very small BnB in London expect for the amazing view, and everything inside it being not just expensive but carefully picked and quite artistically. I decided to go out for a smoke before dinner, then walked up the hill and found two more cabins; number twenty two and a numberless one. The door to all the cabins are open. I think they are always unlocked. 

I entered the numberless cabin. It looks like my own but better. It’s a family cabin and there are kids bunker beds on the left side and a double bed on the right. There are no stairs to the top bunker. I had a spliff in my hand as I walked in. I layed on the double bed and smoked my joint. There is a table on the left side with three different aid lights on it. I tried them all. Then I tried the bunker beds. The bottom one first, which is facing the big window and the amazing view of the mountains and sky. I contemplated the view for a few minutes and then moved the plastic chair next to the bunker beds and climbed up on the top one. From the top bed, one can only see the ground. But, if you look down towards your feet you’ll see a little window which frames a part of the cabin number twenty two. That makes it interesting. I imagined living here and having neighbours whom I could see walking in and out of their cabin, under the duvet and for the first time in my life within seconds I fell asleep. 

Harry sounds stressed. “ what are you doing here? Were you smoking? He sounds like my mum. I am half awake. I say: what? I am sleeping. I was just sleeping”. It takes me a few more seconds to wake up and Harry is stressed and full of questions. Looking back, I should have never said anything. I should never try to explain things to anyone. I shouldn’t feel like I have to answer every question put to me. I tried to make light of the what I considered already light but clearly Harry found a grave situation. I promised not to tell anyone, but then he told Tom. The man is part of the couple who own this place. Tom gave me a high five. I gave him one back and stated: wasn’t that the purpose of this place?” He laughed, maybe even nodded in agreement. I cannot understand what goes on in Harry’s mind. I cannot also deny that he is not like my mum. He only has a few similarities, some of  which are ok and a few are annoying. “Policing you” Franny suggested later on! And yes that’s the word. She was always policing me and so does he. And I feel like he himself finds it strange that he has to do that. It’s like him finding it strange to send me flowers on valentines day because he has never done that before for anyone. I had never done that before for anyone until last valentines day. When  I sent a rose to the man who was going to do that thing to me on my birthday. I couldn’t accept that. But now, anyway…. it’s not a big deal. You sent someone a flower, or twelve. So what? Even if they thought it was especially romantic, for example twelve red roses and a box containing 12 pieces of chocolate, for 12th of January. They could be wrong anyway. Like I was. I found that out when Franny told me that roses come in doses and I concluded probably a matching box of chocolate should too. So no biggy. Right?

So now, having spent a few days in hotels and finally for the first time at his house which is in a remote place near his own restaurant; a little beachside get away, I have a train to catch. All of a sudden, I am sitting at a train station near Harry’s, following a young man who is getting on the train which just arrived. And, sat on the train,I am offering him cake? Where am I ? I need to get off! Jump out. Look at the mobile. Train gone. Where is my suitcase? Cry a second. Run to the authorities. Text Harry. Tell the whole world. Eat something at the cafe. Toilet. Water. Run. Cafe. Smoke. Notice the city. Look at the sky. See the colours. Breathe… all is good.