All In My HeadA Story by alanwgraham A mind blowing visit to a festival. Note - this is fiction! The big shake! It was a special birthday treat from Sue - she knew how much I enjoyed the ‘Reveal’ festival. Unfortunately there was a mix up with the booking and we ended up with only one Saturday ticket. Sue offered to let the ‘birthday boy’ use the single ticket and said she would enjoy going off for a day’s walk. As the saying goes, ‘when the wife’s away the boy gets to play.’ The festival is set in the grounds of Kelburn castle which sprawls up a wooded hillside overlooking the Firth of Clyde. ‘Reveal’ is a throwback to the hippy days of my youth and every detail is just perfect. The castle itself is a gaudy decorated artwork set in extensive grounds with tranquil open spaces and meandering woodland walks. A number of intimate stages host a great line up of eclectic bands playing music to suit all tastes and there is a ‘feast’ of eating places and most importantly a ‘ferment’ of local ales. However, what’s perhaps best about ‘Reveal’ are the festivalgoers themselves -‘alternative’ folk from all walks of life who ‘let it all hang out’ for a long weekend. It’s bliss - man!
After settling back into the groove with the aid of a beer and starting to feel that I’d never been away from the place I bumped into Mel. We’d had a fling a few years ago and after a hug we wandered across to listen to a band of a genre I hadn’t even heard of, but as they say, ‘good music is good music.’ Both being on our own we arranged to meet up later. Trying to decide my next move I examined the festival program and thought the walk up the glen would be relaxing and a fine way to pass the next few hours. To add to the interest the program map showed art installations set in the glen.
I wandered up past the Looking Glass stage where some midlife crisis groovers were still shuffling to the echoes of the Magic Mysteries. Their set had ended ten minutes before. Managing to segue past them safely I spotted the woodland bar and ordered a pint of their lager. I took it back to the bench looking over the Glen to the psychedelic castle. A middle aged guy looking a bit spaced out sat opposite. I raised my glass, ‘cheers!’ ‘Cheers! He grimaced in return. ‘I’m planning to do the walk up the glen and look at these art installations. Have you seen them?’ He nodded but with a weird, far off look on his face. He seemed to have difficulty in forming words - like he was trying to explain something in a language he couldn’t speak. I found it strangely unsettling. Then he made a final effort - ‘it’s like being … blind and then you can see … but much more … much, much more.’ He finally gave up and shook his head so hard I thought it might tumble into the sawdust. Suddenly he burst into tears. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! ….’ He repeated over and over. ‘That bad?’ My feeble response. ‘Nuts!’ I thought to myself and downed my pint
rapidly. I left him rambling and set off on my own ramble up the glen for a bit
of culture. ‘Ars longa, vita brevis’, suddenly flashed into my head. My Latin
wasn’t too good but, ‘big arse and vital brief’ seemed a reasonable
translation.
Round the first corner I came on a post crammed with direction arrows pointing every which way - Woodland heads … Wisdom of the trees … Lemonade stall … After the ice … Binocular museum … Mirror Mirror … The Gong. Consulting my map I could see the ‘Woodland Heads’ would be just ahead (so to speak!). Turning the corner on the steep path I could make the rather disconcerting life sized wooden carved heads placed among the well-spaced trees. Finely carved with painted features, each seemed to have its own androgynous personality. En mass they gave the feeling of a newly discovered south sea tribe. Easter Island came to mind. Enigmatic! ‘This is exciting!’ I muttered disparagingly. ‘What did you expect, dimwit?’ A voice seemed to come from behind a tree. I jumped and then realised there must be some practical joker hiding. Taking a few steps along the path to look for the culprit I was suddenly aware that the eyes of all the heads were following me. My heart missed a beat. Then I thought, ‘don’t be stupid Jim. They can do anything these days.’
‘Don’t worry,’ the voice came again, ‘no one believes at first. Ask one of us a personal question and then you’ll see.’ I thought briefly, ‘what was the name of my first girlfriend?’ ‘That’s easy,’ the head with the blue eyes answered, ‘Jennifer.’ I gasped. ‘And I can tell you what happened on the beach after dark.’ ‘Stop right there,’ - I laughed but looked around guiltily. Now a head over to the left spoke. ‘Ask me about that night you were driving to Perth in the rain.’ My mind was blank. ‘Driving to Perth?’ ‘Don’t you remember the old man crossing the road?’ Then it all came flooding back like raw sewage. Sick to my stomach with my heart thumping guiltily I continued speedily up the path before there were any more questions. After walking a short way I sat down on the grassy bank beside the path to recover. My heart had just about returned to normal. The whole episode had seemed surreal -‘talking heads?’ - just a clever trick, and as for that stupid question - maybe I’d remembered a dream or a film. ‘Call that art - more like bollocks!’ I swore under my breath. I checked the map and found that ‘The Wisdom of the Tree's’ installation was close. More ‘arty-farty claptrap,’ I thought. I soon reached some open woodland and I must say I was impressed by the long white banners hanging from the branches and wafting in the breeze. I could make out writing along each banner and I was intrigued. Just in front of me an attractive young blond wearing a miniskirt and high heels was lost in the dangling aphorisms. ‘Wonderful thoughts!’ she exclaimed and I agreed. ‘Yes, wonderful legs,' slipped out as my thoughts were not focused on the banners! I dragged my eyes away and read the nearest. I am neither especially clever nor especially gifted. I am only very, very curious. A Einstein ‘Who’s he fooling? Who’s even heard of the prat? If two wrongs don’t make a right, try three! L J Peter ‘Ha ha -that’s the one for me. I’m all for some sin.' Then I remembered that 'threesome' and laughed. The only person you have to compare yourself with is you in the past. S Freud 'Whaaat? What a fraud - he's a psycho . What does it mean anyway?' Be careful what you pretend to be because you ARE what you pretend to be. Kurt Vonnegut. 'That guy must have had his head up his a***!'
You shouldn’t write if you can’t write. E Hemingway ‘Bit obvious aint it! She obviously couldn’t write could she?’ Minds are like parachutes, they only function when open. T Dewar 'Uh? How can minds be like parachutes? Dickhead!' ‘I’ve had enough of this claptrap - one more then I’m off.’ The one overhead seemed to draw me. ‘When the going gets tough, give the f*** up.’ ‘At last some sense - I wish I’d a fiver for every time I’ve said that. Who said that?' - I screwed my eyes to read - ‘Jim Dick (head).’ It suddenly dawned - it was MY name. What the hell’s going on here? I felt a - shiver. The only option was to press on. Once you’re in the Glen there’s no going back and I didn’t want to see these talking heads again - they might ask about that night with Dolly, or Marlyn, or the others - it was fun but it’s my business - and they didn’t press charges! Another five minutes uphill I was puffing and glad when I reached a blue frame tent beside the path. A sign said ‘BINOCULAR MUSEUM.’ An inebriated old man lay on the grass, practically buried under empty beer cans and muttering gibberish. Beside the tent a smartly uniformed and bespectacled matron wearing jackboots and whose ample bosom fondled a pair of 7x50’s waved me into the tent. I felt I had to obey and I must say it felt good (confidentially I confess that I’ve paid money for this sort of thing before). I was surprised to find the interior of the tent
empty apart from a wooden chair and before I had to chance to speak she had
pushed me onto the chair and bound my arms and legs (firmly) to the metal frame. ‘Listen to me, Jim. I’m Helga.’ ‘How the hell does she know my name?’ ‘You have a once in lifetime chance here Jim - I’m going to let you look through these glasses.’ ‘I’m not going to see far inside this tent darling.’ Helga slapped me hard and with my chops stinging she strapped her binoc’s to my eyes. At first I could only make out the tent wall with a single beetle moving remorselessly on its life’s journey but then I started to feel giddy and felt like I was spiraling down into a maelstrom. Slowly the image cleared and I could see an old man wrapped up in a blanket sitting in a doorway with a paper cup. When a shopper went past he mumbled ‘any change pal’ without looking up. I thought, ‘get up and find a job you scrounger.’ Then he looked up. ‘God, he’s looks rough! Something made me focus on his face. I felt a shiver that grew until it consumed my whole body. He held out his hand to me. ‘Help me - please.’ Then I knew - I could see the tattoo on his (MY!) arm ‘SUE and JIM’ entwined in a heart with the date 1987. ‘Oh my God!’ I felt Helga shaking me and I gradually came back to myself. ‘Another look?’ She dangled the binoculars. ‘No, No!’ I shouted at her. ‘Was that really true?’ ‘It would have been if you hadn’t had this glimpse. Now your future is for you to fashion.’ On these profound words she pulled loose my ties and I staggered outside to collapse traumatized beside the drunkard.
My stupor was harried by nightmare futures. When I finally came to my senses Helga was still there, her nestling 7x50’s still beckoning more hapless wanderers into her grasp. I suddenly realised that her words had indeed given some hope for the future and with that thought in my head I set off up the path with a spring in my step. I soon reached the small wooden bridge that crossed the Glen. A small sign at the end of the bridge read, ‘Mystic Mirrors -100 yards.’ After walking for a few minutes I stopped in a sunlit glade where another sign read, ‘To see ourselves as others see us.’ At first all I could see were the surrounding trees but then I was startled to see myself looking back. ‘What the f...! Of course you dimwit, a mirror!’ Then I found two more reflections of myself lurking in the greenery - one a side view and one a three quarters view. Clever but creepy! I was just admiring my fetching profile when my familiar
image changed to show a haggard and aging guy raddled by overindulgence. The
chilling thing was I knew the image was undeniably me. How foolishly we delude
ourselves. Then the mirror showed me with a few of my friends. As usual I was
pontificating 'a la Trump' on the issues of the day with no one else getting a word in. I told
them I had to leave and in the mirror I could see their visible relief and
the brief exchange. ‘Pompous a*s!’ ‘Good riddance.’ ‘What a fool - he doesn’t
have a clue!’and, 'windbag.' I felt as if I’d been punched - we don’t normally have the chance ‘to see ourselves as others see us.’ I think Robert Burns said that - clever man.
I’d had enough. I’d had enough shocks to last a lifetime. It was time to get out of this glen before something even worse befell me. Unfortunately I was so crushed by now I didn’t even see the final cataclysm coming. I didn’t
see the sign. I didn’t see the tripwire across the path. I tripped. Suddenly, the gong to
end all gongs gonged and my head felt like one of these tacky Christmas souvenirs that you shake and the snow flakes swirl inside. Time lost all meaning. I had the weird feeling that I had started the day as a completed jigsaw but it had been shaken to bits and was being reassembled by an imbecile. It became obvious to me that some of the bits were missing and many were in the wrong place.
Eventually the gong’s reverberations fell away and there was silence. I collapsed to the ground and lay numbed until a young man helped me up. ‘You should go to the first aid tent,’ he suggested. I managed an incoherent grunt and staggered off towards the Looking Glass stage from where I had set out. Somehow I made it back, ordered a beer and slumped down on the bench. Without warning I started weeping. One of the festival guides spotted me and came across to check me out. ‘Are you ok mate? Have you been smoking something?’ ‘I wish I had. I’ve been up the Glen and seen all the art installations.’ Even thinking about it made me burst into tears again.’ The guide just laughed. ‘Sir, you have been smoking something - we haven’t had the art show up there for years!’ I looked at him in shock. Then the truth dawned - it had all been in my head!
© 2019 alanwgrahamFeatured Review
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alanwgrahamScotland, United KingdomAboutMarried with three kids, I retired early from teaching physics but have always enjoyed mountains. In my forties I experienced a manic episode which kick-started a creative urge. I've written a novel .. more..Writing
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