Logging out: a new town, job, home and life, again
Logging out: a new town, job, home and life, again
The clock tower chimed three, and the full moon illuminated the courtyard.
“Go on, what am I?” said the guy with a lampshade on his head.
“A lamp?” I said…
“Nope, try again…”
“An undead spooky ghost lamp?”
“nope…” he said...
“Give me a clue…”
“You are walking around in a woodland and you might find me growing from the ground…”
That morning we climbed up to the top of the red peaty hill behind the house.
At the top, we found heaps of funny looking mushrooms bursting from the squishy ground. Some were big and red and silly, others small and button like; staunchly huddled in little groups.
“Ha look at this one” said Hamish.
This is Hamish. He grew up here. I know him from University in Scotland. His family are letting me stay in their beautiful cottage for the winter. The idea is that I apply my new carpentry skills and take care of the home in exchange.
A few miles away is a sauna workshop nestled in the hills. I start work there on Monday.
As we climbed and strolled and laughed at these fields, full of funky fungal fellas, Hamish told me about a TV show called ‘How to, With John Wilson’, apparently it’s produced by Nathan Fielder and all about a guy called John, who just walks around and asks people questions and then listens to their stories. And then maybe asks some more questions. And thats the show.
Hamish said that it’s good because it shows that people are fascinating and everyone is the centre of their own universe, and if you make an effort and talk to people, you can get an interesting peek into their world.
“Come tonight! We are having a halloween party!” said Daniel, my friend from the canals of London, who moved here, to Machynlleth, to study at the Centre for Alternative Technology, around a year ago.
I drove into town and parked near Daniel’s house.
As I walked to Daniel’s, I passed the Owain Glyndwr Parliament House. Which was where this guy called Owain held parliament after being publicly declared Prince of Wales by the people in 1404. Apparently he started the Welsh revolt against Henry IV, and tried to establish an independent Welsh nation.
I heard thumping music, so I went toward the entrance. There was a group of gruff looking people, smoking outside the entrance. I wondered what they would say to me: new person in this small town curiously following the music.
A year or so ago, when I lived on the canal boat in London I had a toilet with very little capacity, so I made a practice of going to the fanciest canal-side restaurants I could possibly find in order to spend a penny… or a pound. It was a game of: blend in, get in, do the biz, and get out, without raising any suspicion or having to buy any food.
My entry performance was key; puff up my shoulders, increase my pace a little bit; act like I’m looking for someone, and then beeline it to the toilet like a man who was in no business of being interrupted. Also - dressing right was key, I would generally put a blazer and tie on for it.
And so standing in the cold, on that street, wearing my halloween costume: a sauna cap… I remembered my training; I puffed the shoulders up and walked into that ancient parliament house like I was Owain himself.
The group turned to look at me… then, with warm faces smiled and said hey.
Phew. I walked in, and as I did, the bassy thumps were mixed with course, harsh vocals, the result of which was an edgy musical cocktail. Everyone was wearing whacky costumes and sitting on the floor listening to this punk singer howl… The singer had long, dark hair, a big billowing dress and on her head: curly black sheep horns. She wailed and shouted and then jumped up and shouted something else and then everyone was up and then she shouted some more and then frantically inflated a balloon and drew a face on it and called it Bee, and hurled it around and sung out its experience; of flying around and being bopped by everyone.
I bopped around a bit, then put my coat on, got back on the cold street and continued on - toward Daniels. I must have walked for two minutes before I was confronted by some particularly anomalous sounds emanating from a dingy pub called, “Skinners”.
I strolled in and everyone had long hair, Black Flag and Sabbath T-Shirts, and sideburns, and nodded their heads and swayed side to side as the Red Bastards shouted and screamed and thrashed at guitars and CRIED AND HOWLED: “I WILL RIP YOUR SKULL” or something really rather unsavoury, like that.
I left after a bit and finally arrived at Daniel’s house.
He lives in a cooperative house with five others. As far as I understand it, housing cooperatives are legal entities - like companies - that purchase a property and take out a mortgage. Then people who live in the cooperative own shares of the cooperative company and they pay fees to it, which it uses to pay the mortgage off. It means people have more control of their living situation and, as a group, can afford to buy a house without the risking personal liability.
Or something like that.
I entered through a back gate. In the centre of a moonlit courtyard stood a fire pit with a roaring fire. People in all manner of wild and whacky costume congregated, in the warm firelight, their faces looked kind, and their conversation sounded soft.
I said an awkward hello, and made my way through the courtyard, then into a big lounge area, through a room with big speakers and DJ decks, to the living room and stood next to a tall person with a mullet, sideburns and flashy silver skin tight disco leggings and said “pretty spooky around here” and he said “I think you will find that that’s called social anxiety” and we laughed.
He pointed to a big round table with a 5 gallon plastic tub full of liquid on it and said, “I made some cider, feel free to have a glass.”
I filled a glass and sipped on home made cider and made my way around the party talking to these people; my new neighbours.
A girl with a home made zip-tie Jesus style halo headband came up and introduced herself. Her name was Sophia. She asked me who I was and what I was doing here. I said, “I’m here to build saunas.” “Oh! With Heartwood?” - everyone seemed to know Heartwood, the company I will soon be working with - “yes!” I said.
She was roughly my age, and used to work in an office, and then bought a tiny small holding, and some cattle and goats, and now she runs a dairy farm called Dyfi Dairy. (Dyfi is the local river running through the valley, it’s pronounced Devi). She said “it’s ethical dairy farming”, and I said “what does that mean”. And she said, “We treat our cows like pets, and don’t kill any of them, and they share milk with us.”
She sells her milk, yoghurt and cheese at the weekly market on Wednesdays, in town.
The night continued on and got more and more magnificently bizarre; I find that often the mark of a good night, or rather - a good crowd, is being able to walk up to any random stranger, begin some improv sketch, smile as they catch on right away, and then keep the bit going for the entirety of your interaction…
Sometimes by the end of the night, despite knowing basically nothing about someone - not even their name - you do know that they are a friend.
On Monday, I start my new job…
On Tuesday I’m joining weekly life drawing at the local museum.
On Wednesday I’m volunteering at the local radio station, Radio Dyfi.
And every other evening this week I’ll be making lanterns for this weekends lantern procession.
Ill keep you updated.
To Hamish, Emma and family. Thank you. This home has a soul and it is inspiring me. I will take good care of it. And in the spring, when I move on, it will brim with warm life and colour; setting an example for the budding flowers.
To my friends,
All my love,
Sebastian