Edge Effect

I was round at my friend's trying to help her with her new venture (setting up a B&B). I say friend, but I never really know what to call her. She is awful, exasperating, at times uncouth, verging on alcoholic, smokes like a lum (which I discovered today is another word for chimney, particularly the ventilating shaft of a mine), self-centred in many ways, and has pursued a bizarre and inappropriate relationship with a man 22 years her junior for several years, despite its traumatic and crazy side-effects, and she does nothing but waste my time.

Yet for some reason I stay in touch, and now and then lend assistance to whatever scheme she is currently cooking up. I can only conclude that I have something of Diane Arbus about me. I watched "Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus" recently. She photographed those on the edge of society, the people who are different and extreme. There is something much more interesting about people who don't conform, who are not part of our modern monoculture. For all her craziness, L is clever and funny, and as Jules says in Pulp Fiction, "personality goes a long way".

Nature likes edges. Where different things meet, stuff happens. I borrowed my crazy friend's boyfriend's dog, a sturdy little Cairn Terrier with a bobbly manic metronome tail, and went for a tramp round the fields, as the moon rose and the day faded. The wheat is still quite green, and I loved that little Mungo was quite happy to follow me through it even though with his little stumpy legs he had no clue where I was leading him or why. I lifted him up at one point so he could see the moon and the lay of the land, but he seemed happy to just be out snuffling. Must be strange to live through your nose.

I liked the riot of disorder that these daisies were enjoying next to the careful, sensible wheat. You can't plan the really interesting stuff in life. And no, we can't eat the daisies, but I'm glad they're there.