Her hand quivered gently as she held it out. She didn't feel nervous, but not knowing exactly what was happening always made her tense. She watched as he gently laid his hand flat over hers.

After a short moment that was still a bit too long, he moved his hand away and she gasped silently at the sudden weight in her palm. It looked like plasticine, a small lump, had been deposited there, reddish and waxy, slightly oily in a not unpleasant way.

"...and that's me?" she said, still incredulous this late in the game.

He moved around her to look at her outstretched arm from over her shoulder.

"Is it?" he whispered in her ear. The small blob rolled gently, erratically around her hand as she still quivered with nerves. "If you think it is, you'd best look after it."

She laughed "I think I can see my house from here". Then her face exploded into red. It felt like what a thunderclap sounded like. Hot, white.

"NO!" he yelled at her. "That's not your house. You aren't home, you aren't anywhere near home. Don't even pretend that you are."

He stormed away into the trees, his steps leaving little crushed indentations in the ancient astroturf which had long lost its spring.

Gradually she pulled her face back together from where he had smeared it across another plane.

"Ow." she said, rubbing her cheek gently, but there was no mark. It hadn't really hurt. It only hurt if she thought it did. She looked after him, but he couldn't be seen in the trees any longer. Or maybe he was just hiding a few metres in, still watching what she did.

Turning in the other direction she walked off in the direction of not her house. The trees, for lack of any one else apparent to be making the noise, groaned.

"This must be what thinking feels like." she thought, then laughed at what she was thinking. And then realised what she was thinking and decided it was probably best not to. She was physically aware of everything. Pressing against her. Little shapes, forms, blobs rubbing up against her. Some were floating away, independent of others, some were clustered together. Some were trying to make their way up her skirt. One was chewing at her fingernails. A particularly adventurous bundle were crawling up her blouse like they were climbing Everest. She had sizable breasts, but they weren't that big. And besides she was lying flat on her back. Well, that's what she thought. As she thought that everything around her shifted sideways and she...was lying on her back, on a patch of sand. The bundle that was crawling up her blouse was a bird, sat there, pecking at one of her shiny buttons. "Oi" she shouted. The bird turned to look at her, then flew off into the sky. "Come back?". There was nothing else around her but sand. The sun was bright, but not hot. There was no real breeze, but she could feel the air move gently around her. "I'm not dreaming, am I". It wasn't a question. It was a statment. "No! You're thinking! Quit it" something off in the distance shouted. She craned her neck around from where she was lying, but couldn't see anything but distance.

"Oh my god" she screamed as she ran forwards. The grass wasn't particularly long but it was enough for her to be concerned about turning her ankle on a hidden rock, mound or small animal. All the damn animals, they were just...everywhere. And she was a lifelong vegan and animal rights activists. She hated herself for hating the animals. She didn't even know why she cared about them so much, it just seemed such an easy, non threatening cause to get behind. So much for wanting to be popular. She squealed again as something hissed from the hedge she was running alongside. She darted away from the hedge, but not deftly enough, and she unbalanced herself and went over, and down, through the grass and dirt into a lake. "Oh god I can't swim!" she squealed and splashed around desperately in the inky black water. As she began to tire of splashing she realised that nobody was there to care she quit flailing, kicked off her shoes and delicately probed for the bottom of the lake. It was just far enough away from her to be not able to walk to shore without putting her head under, but she managed to paddle forwards enough to get a grip. Slowly, squeaking and yelping as she stubbed various toes, or thought something was eating her legs, she made it to the edge of the water. There wasn't anything around the lake. The lake had a bottom, like any other lake - she could see it as the water shallowed, but where the water stopped so did the ground. She waved her hand around and down, as if she was reaching over the side of a bath, and no, there was definitely nothing. Other than an odd sucking sound where the lake where she was standing started to get sucked into the nothing where she had stuck her hand. "Oh crap" she said to herself as the water, and rocks, and small weeds, and tiny, tiny fish got sucked into nothing until she as well got sucked into nothing.

God, I am so late. Fucking buses never run on time on a weekend. You'd think they would, with less traffic on the road, but no, never on time. 20 minutes I waited and now look at me. I shouldn't have stopped to get some lunch for everyone, but if I'm late somehow if I show up with something to say 'yes, there's a reason I'm late, and you're all benefiting from it' make me feel better about being late. Not that it makes it okay. Fucking buses. Damn hot food. You'd think if they're going to sell hot food they'd have some sort of bag to carry it in. I wish I could switch hands but if I stop in this crowd it's just going to swallow me up again and I'll never make it out the other end. Why the hell did I decide to walk along fucking Portobello Road, on a weekend? Oh yes, fucking buses. And lunch. I should have just bought some bags of crisps from Tesco, but no I had to be swanky and buy some fresh cooked stuff. I don't even know what I ordered...I just pointed and asked for three of them. God I hope they don't have shellfish in them or Martin is going to kill me. Well, assuming that they don't kill him. Maybe I should have checked. Dammit if I hadn't have been pushing through this damn crowd I could easily turn back and ask the people at the stall whether I got the risotto with the clams in it. Fucking buses. Fucking tourists! God I just want to yell at them. It's old shit! That's all you're browsing through, piles of old shit that nobody wants anymore. Even these guys don't want it any more that's why they're selling it! And you're buying it because it's from a stall on Portobello Road! And you'll take it home, and forget about it, and your kids or relatives or lawyers will clear it all out and sell it on and it'll just end up back here because nobody wants it except people here. Nobody actually wants it. It's just beachcombing without the beach, and you pay for it. God this road is always so much longer than I remember it to be. Fuck someone's driving down here now. Who in their right minds would drive down Portobello Road on a weekend? I'm on foot and I'm fucking regretting it. Yes, yes, you're not the only one in a hurry. You're just lucky enough to have a weapon. Maybe if I throw the risotto it'll still be hot enough to burn some people, or they'll be allergic to the possible shellfish and that'll clear a path. One sunny day and everyone's all 'ooh it's sunny'. Fucking hell now some twat with a camera is just standing there taking photos. He'd better not be taking one of me. Fucking tourists.

"Are you sure you gave me the right directions? I can't see anything that you described".

"Of course I did, you know you are too busy looking for them that you never actually see them. Tell me where you are now."

"I'm standing outside...a Waterstones. It's next door to a McDonalds."

"Well, of course you can't see anything that I described yet. I said keep going until you get to the flower stall. Keep walking and you'll see the flower stall, and the restaurant."

"Okay, okay, just don't go anywhere yet, I don't want to get lost again and have to pay for another phonecall."

"You know they charge these things by the minute, not by the number of calls."

"...I can't see any flower stall. Excuse me, can you tell me where the flower stall is? (muffled) I was told there was one near here, I need to know where it is, it's been given to me as a landmark. (muffled) Well, excuse me, sorry! Look, Maria, I can't handle this. I'm going to walk back and get on a bus and just go."

"What happened? Why? The flower stall should be right there. McDonalds, Waterstones, health food cafe...flower stall."

"Some guy just called me a fucking tourist because I asked where the flower stall was."

"Well, some guy is a twat then. Look, I KNOW you're almost there, just keep walking the way you're going."

"No, Maria, I've turned around. There's my bus. Look, I'll call you later. I'm so sorry."

"Wait, what?"

"Bye, Maria. Have a nice afternoon."

there once was a tree. and it was on fire. it was shaped like a tree. it had a trunk. and branches, lots of them. these branches were fractal. properly fractal, until the genes of that tree said 'that's small enough' and closed them off. one large mathematical tree. symmetrical from the ground up. one day it caught fire. and it burned. there weren't any leaves on the tree, ever. this tree didn't need to photosynthesize at all. maybe it didn't even need to grow. one day it just was. and then one day, one moment, it was in flames. the flames were red and yellow. and orange. they didn't burn hot. but they burned bright. the tree burned black. consistent, even, volcanically smooth black. the fire died down. then the tree remained. and then the tree didn't. and that's what i remember about the tree.

i hold a fist full of money drag you down reel me in
take to the road
take me with you

the bus drives a long way really slowly
it's oil tank is leaking. not a lot. but enough. it'll make its destination, but one of the passengers - a woman, in her 60s - will notice a little smoke, and a slight acrid smell through the so called "air conditioning" from time to time. most other passengers seem to think that it's the baby on the bus, and are always shooting vagely disparaging glances at the kid's father, but he's changed the nappy twice, both unnecessarily. he knows what his kid's shit stinks like. he's tempted to wave around the removed ones just to prove the point, but realises that's probably not the best idea. although he can smell something too, but just puts it down to general 'old bus' smell. ancient vinyl and plastic, so degenerated by the sun and wear and use that it's crunchy and spiky. he tried to draw the curtain across the window at one stage but ended up showering himself, and the woman sitting behind him, in dust. he apologised, and she was fine. neither were sure whether it was the curtain degenerating or just layers and layers of dust from not being used. the kid, sat next to his dad, sneezed a few times and started to cry a little thin wail. not for any particular reason, but just because he was bored, itchy, and tired of having his nappy changed. one of the teenagers sat up the back was waiting at the end of the aisle for the bottle he'd rolled down it to roll back next time they went up a hill. everyone was bored, especially the driver. the woman, in her 60s, the one who noticed the smoke and the smell and put the two together, was sitting there actively not saying anything, just waiting for something to happen to make the trip a little more interesting.

much ado with cars. conversation about luggage. much ado with said luggage. crunching of gravel. family reunion style dialoge. much sudden thunder. sudden rain. squeals as people run inside. much crunching of gravel as vehicles depart. closing of doors. rain. a dog barks off in the distance. more rain. a solitary car. gravel. unloading of luggage and payment of the driver by a male (Henry). two females (Diana and Dorothy) conversing, giggling, running across gravel to the doors. move gravel as a car departs. the two women are joined by the man. the bell is rung. silent dripping. much rain.

(no characters are introduced as such - although names may be mentioned - but a tone and mood is established)

(theme and titles here)

continued silent dripping. a cough and a sniffle from one of the females. the bell is rung again. we hear faint footsteps through the door. it opens. we hear some suitable period music playing from somewhere in the house. a vague smell of cigars and old perfume curls its way out into the open. the rain subsides somewhat. the butler (Hudson) is expecting the three, but is put out somewhat by their tardiness. when Diana sneezes the conversation halts and they are allowed into the house. they are shown to their rooms. the luggage is attended to by an unnamed (and unimportant) footman. the Diana and Dorothy share a room. Henry has one by himself - although there are two single beds within. we learn from a maid, (Josephine), who is still setting up the girls' room, that pre-lunch/dinner drinks are already being served. the butler attends, chides the maid for her lateness and invites all three down for drinks. Dorothy asks for the bathroom so that she may freshen up. the other two depart, followed by the butler.

Dorothy freshens up in the bathroom (handwashing, powdering, &c). she can hear voices through the wall. they are unidentified, but they are clearly passionate about each other (ooer)! a small knock at the door, which Dorothy opens, reveals Josephine, carrying cleaning equipment. A small conversation - the maid very apologetic, Dorothy very accommodationg. Josephine, as she begins cleaning, can clearly hear the sounds next door and is emotionally disturbed by them. Dorothy departs.

the party, if not in full swing, is at least wobbling gently. there is a distinct air of discomfort - not unexpected at a suddenly called family reunion. not everyone knows each other, either, and the new arrivals are either being pounced upon or thoroughly ignored. Henry is one of those being pounced upon - by an elderly society matron (Livinia), her flowery and brainless daughty (Sarah) and a young boy of around 17 (Lionel) who isn't saying very much. whether this is shyness or simply quiet reservation isn't immediately apparent. Diana is nowhere to be seen, although this won't become apparent until she actually arrives. A dark-features man, around 30, is smoking sullenly in the corner, his eyes darting rapidly from person to person. as Dorothy enters, a footman ((James) Smith) offers her a drink, which she declines. as she moves around the room - looking for either Diana or Henry, but not minding that she is unable to find/approach either of them - she is approached by a young girl (Victoria)who looks to be around 12 or 13, but she could easily be a very youthful looking 16 or 17. She introduces herself to Diana as the ward of...