"I've been to paradise - but I've never been to me."

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So sang Charlene.

And I wondered if I had ever been to me. Is there a ‘me’ somewhere hidden under all the stuff that has been layered upon me? Under all the socialization, the ‘educating’, the moulding etc etc.?

Or is it like an onion? You peel off layer after layer, only to find when you get to the middle – there is no onion left?

Perhaps the only ‘me’ is all those layers. Strip them away, and what have you got left?

I hope it isn’t like this though. But if I am not the layers… what is this ‘something else’ that is the real me?

I think I really know the answer.


It is bloody freezing here. I went to feed the swans and the ducks and the birds and things – Friday, that was. They live on the canal at Spike Island. I understand that this was the first canal to be built in England. It fell into disrepair of course, but they have cleaned it up, and there is a sort of marina there. The canal connects, via a lock, to the river Mersey and thence to the sea. So the boats are sea-going vessels.

I would like a sea going boat. I believe I have an affinity with the sea. Perhaps – if you believe in reincarnation – I was a seafarer in a previous life. Or, if you don’t believe in reincarnation, something may have been carried over in my genes from a distant ancestor who was, perhaps, a pirate.

I haven’t heard from Anastasia. I sent her a Christmas card but I didn’t get one back. Sometimes it is difficult to understand people – don’t you think? I often think about those long legs of hers.

Depression is a much over-used word. Could I perhaps say I am ‘clinically fed-up’? Or ‘clinically pissed-off’. I don’t think either of those diagnoses are in the DSM – perhaps they should be. Or how about suffering from ‘Ups and Downs Syndrome’?

I went to a funeral just before Christmas. His name was John and he did a lot of painting and decorating for us at Wynorin. So much so, that he became a friend.

Being a Roman Catholic, he had Requiem Mass. I just stood up and sat down as instructed. It was John I went for – not a religious ceremony. Nevertheless, one wonders where John is now. It is not a silly question. The priest seemed pretty certain. But then, he’s in the trade – so to speak.

We’re back to the onion again. I mean all the ‘layers’ that I knew as ‘John’ are all gone. But is there a bit in the middle that goes on somewhere? And if so, where does it go? And is that bit the John I knew?

Anyway, I can’t sit here talking to you all night. In fact, it is only six in the evening in America, but in Australia it is 11am tomorrow – which is not here yet, as far as me and America are concerned. So what time is it really?

By the way: one last word on canals. On the Illinois Canal they put the towpath on the right bank. In England – just to be different – we put the towpath on the left bank. Which is why, when the motorcar was invented in England by Maurice Cowley, he chose to drive it on the left hand side of the road. The rest of the world – when they caught up – decided (just to be awkward) to drive on the right.