The Artist looked up at The Model and smiled.
"Time for lunch."
"Shall I...?" asked The Model, pointing at the pile of clothes on the chair.
"Yes. I think that might be best," said The Artist.
The Model groaned.
"Stiff neck?" asked The Artist, calling through from the kitchen.
"Just a bit," said The Model.
"Harder than it looks, isn't it?" said The Artist, walking back through with a plate of sandwiches. "This is your first time?"
"Have I been doing it wrong?
"Oh no no no no no. Not at all."
The Model groped for the neck of the pullover and eventually found it. The Artist smiled and tapped on one of the stools. The Model walked across and sat down.
"It's important to have a proper lunch. It's going to be a long afternoon."
The Artist sat, took a sandwich and bit slowly into it. The Model smiled politely and also took one.
"Tell me," said The Artist. "What else do you do?"
Tuesday 9 November 2010
Monday 1 November 2010
The Basin
Mikey Monroe grew up in Western Issenland in a city full of hills.
The nearest shops were just a mile away (as the crow flies) but it would take him at least an hour and a half to do his shopping. He would have to go uphill, downhill, uphill, downhill and uphill on the way there, and downhill, uphill, downhill, uphill and downhill on the way back.
Mikey did develop fantastically-toned calf muscles, but this was little consolation; as far as he was concerned, hills were the bane of his life.
_________________________________________________________________
On 22nd February 2011, Michael James Monroe was elected President of Western Issenland.
As was the custom, upon his election, the President would have a brand new city built for him, at the heart of which would be his Presidential Palace, surrounded by twenty square miles of newly-erected government offices and housing.
Each of the previous Presidents had commissioned a city which reflected his or her personality and pre-occupations: Jeremy Jackson's city had been entirely solar-powered, Katherine Kindle's had been designed in the shape of a tree to match her party's logo and Lawrence Llewellyn's had been decked out entirely in his favourite colour, purple.
Michael thought long and hard about what sort of city he would like to commission, but there was one idea to which he kept on returning and which he ultimately decided to carry out. He would build a city without a single hill, no slope of any kind, flat enough to play snooker on if its residents so wished. It would be extraordinarily convenient, thought Michael, a real crowd-pleaser.
_________________________________________________________________
The site which the committee had chosen for the Presidential city was, unfortunately, on the edge of the Matafor range of mountains. The committee asked Michael if he would like to choose a more convenient location, but he declined.
"No no," he said. "This will be just fine. We can flatten it out." And so the builders set to work, dismantling the mountains, tearing up the earth and the rock and pushing it all out towards the perimeter of the city.
After forty-eight days of solid endeavour, the site was ready, completely flat, rimmed by a complete circle of hills, constructed out of the earth that had been displaced.
The palace was built, and the offices and all the new houses. This is perfect, thought Michael, as he moved into his new home. There would be room for seventeen thousand residents in the city of no hills.
_________________________________________________________________
On 12th October 2012, an enormous storm devastated Monroeville. The rains came down and filled up the basin of the city.
Desmond and Doris Faraday were amongst those who tried to drive out to escape the flooding, but the roads were clogged up with traffic and it was not possible to get away. They abandoned their car and tried to climb out over the hills at the edge of the city, but the rain had made the inclines thick and muddy and impossible to climb. As hordes of people clambered desperately over each other up to the top of the hill, the rain washed many of them back down into the city, flushing them into the twenty square mile basin which the city had become.
The last time Doris saw Desmond he too was being swept away, driven back by the water to the base of the hill.
_________________________________________________________________
President Monroe's helicopter rose up out of and away from the city. As the rain continued to fall, he tried not to look out of the window.
The nearest shops were just a mile away (as the crow flies) but it would take him at least an hour and a half to do his shopping. He would have to go uphill, downhill, uphill, downhill and uphill on the way there, and downhill, uphill, downhill, uphill and downhill on the way back.
Mikey did develop fantastically-toned calf muscles, but this was little consolation; as far as he was concerned, hills were the bane of his life.
_________________________________________________________________
On 22nd February 2011, Michael James Monroe was elected President of Western Issenland.
As was the custom, upon his election, the President would have a brand new city built for him, at the heart of which would be his Presidential Palace, surrounded by twenty square miles of newly-erected government offices and housing.
Each of the previous Presidents had commissioned a city which reflected his or her personality and pre-occupations: Jeremy Jackson's city had been entirely solar-powered, Katherine Kindle's had been designed in the shape of a tree to match her party's logo and Lawrence Llewellyn's had been decked out entirely in his favourite colour, purple.
Michael thought long and hard about what sort of city he would like to commission, but there was one idea to which he kept on returning and which he ultimately decided to carry out. He would build a city without a single hill, no slope of any kind, flat enough to play snooker on if its residents so wished. It would be extraordinarily convenient, thought Michael, a real crowd-pleaser.
_________________________________________________________________
The site which the committee had chosen for the Presidential city was, unfortunately, on the edge of the Matafor range of mountains. The committee asked Michael if he would like to choose a more convenient location, but he declined.
"No no," he said. "This will be just fine. We can flatten it out." And so the builders set to work, dismantling the mountains, tearing up the earth and the rock and pushing it all out towards the perimeter of the city.
After forty-eight days of solid endeavour, the site was ready, completely flat, rimmed by a complete circle of hills, constructed out of the earth that had been displaced.
The palace was built, and the offices and all the new houses. This is perfect, thought Michael, as he moved into his new home. There would be room for seventeen thousand residents in the city of no hills.
_________________________________________________________________
On 12th October 2012, an enormous storm devastated Monroeville. The rains came down and filled up the basin of the city.
Desmond and Doris Faraday were amongst those who tried to drive out to escape the flooding, but the roads were clogged up with traffic and it was not possible to get away. They abandoned their car and tried to climb out over the hills at the edge of the city, but the rain had made the inclines thick and muddy and impossible to climb. As hordes of people clambered desperately over each other up to the top of the hill, the rain washed many of them back down into the city, flushing them into the twenty square mile basin which the city had become.
The last time Doris saw Desmond he too was being swept away, driven back by the water to the base of the hill.
_________________________________________________________________
President Monroe's helicopter rose up out of and away from the city. As the rain continued to fall, he tried not to look out of the window.
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