The Fetish Room by REDMOND O’HANLON & RUDI ROTTHIER

Author:REDMOND O’HANLON & RUDI ROTTHIER
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Profile Books
Published: 2011-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

Redmond’s daughter Puffin

‘Yes there is,’ says Redmond emphatically. ‘I always go to sleep immediately after dinner. You might want to do some more work, or read or watch television.’

There is also another, unspoken, reason. He is looking after me. His concern for my comfort has been something of a leitmotif on this trip. He doesn’t lay it on too thick, but there is no budging him now. He invokes his craving for sleep.

‘You know, I’ve always depended on mechanical alarm clocks, but they just don’t meet my needs. I need an alarm clock that only goes off after fourteen or fifteen hours, whereas with mechanical ones, the limit is twelve hours. After twelve hours of sleep I’m only just getting into the swing of oblivion. Since you sleep less, you must have the bigger room.’

Another problem arises, though. In Redmond’s annex there is a little window that overlooks the pond and the ponies. But the window is locked. The combination of small room and lack of ventilation troubles him. Once again, I offer to swap. ‘We could leave the dividing door open and open the window on your side.’ That window overlooks the car park, not the pond and the ponies.

I go to the receptionist and ask for the key to open the other window. My request rattles her; she progresses from a bit of a state to full-blown panic. She comes in person, gesticulating nervously, to establish that the window is indeed locked. After scouring the drawers industriously for keys, she rings for help. ‘I’ll bring the key to you as soon as possible.’ A quarter of an hour later she comes back to explain matters. ‘I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to unlock the window. I can’t find the key, but even if I could, I wouldn’t be allowed to give it to you.’

Why not?

‘The windows on that side mustn’t be opened, because that would endanger the ponies.’

The ponies?

‘Yes. They might stick their heads through the windows and get stuck. We can’t take the risk.’

What if we just open the window very slightly – a mere crack – so that not even the tiniest pony could possibly stick its nose through it?

‘It’s not allowed. And it’s impossible, because I haven’t got the key.’ It seems we must wrestle not only with a closed window, but also with faulty logic. It is impossible and it is not allowed. Or the other way round.

We just leave the dividing door open.

‘Later,’ says Redmond, ‘we must find out how many ponies get injured every year by sticking their heads through windows. Now there’s a useful object for study.’

Next door to the Gorley Tea Rooms is a pub, the Royal Oak, where I order curry (which according to Redmond has now displaced fish and chips as the national dish) while he opts for a faggot (a word, he tells me, one has to be careful with). There is also live music on the menu, provided by a local band called Axel and the Whales.

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