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um
A journal of Rachel Harris.
An account of the life and works of her employer and fiancé, Plantagenet Evans,
photographer and genius, under whose roof I now reside.
Though naturally in my own apartment.
Today I am writing on the very banks of a stream where our relationship took a
giant step forward.
It was here he sent me, looking for water for his radiator.
It was here he crept up behind me for a huge photographic close -up.
It was here I first realised how serious he was in his intentions towards me.
I am drawn back here from time to time as a means of recollecting the powerful
emotions of that summer evening and in the hope of perhaps finding the earrings
which somehow became detached in the proceedings.
As an example of how the personality of genius can transform even a routine
assignment, I feel I should describe what happened when the local paper asked
her to take the attached photograph.
The day began like any other.
Let's have the car polished and gleaming.
Damn it, let's incite the proletariat.
Wash the wheels.
Wax everything.
There he goes, they'll say.
Immaculate Evans, oppressor of the poor.
And try to do yourself up a bit, will you? Will he look like a chauffeur if
can? What kind of garb is that for a bourgeois lackey?
Can't we have him in uniform?
Something nice and servile with buttons? Why is he not in uniform?
You made inquiries.
They're expensive.
Oh, well, I can understand that.
I'm a reasonable man.
Well, do your best, will you?
Improvise something, will you? Hey, don't eat that paper. I haven't read it
What have we got here?
Oh.
So, what's that?
Prune juice.
Prune? Oh, Rachel.
Rachel, have I weaned you gradually away from plain cotton underwear only to
find you sitting here at my bedside, my bachelor bed where I spend long hours
alone after you've got up to light the fire?
Stop taking notes, will you?
Offering me prune juice?
My mum swears by it.
I don't damn well blame her either.
You see, Willie, how constant is the battle for the artist determined to live
his life frivolously as nature intended.
Seriousness lurks round every corner. One unguarded moment round hereabouts
they'll have you in chapel or up to your clacker in prune juice.
Don't go, no, don't go in your unsuitable clothes.
You'll stay and have a bit of breakfast, won't you?
Sit, sit.
Ah, sit.
Stay, stay.
I know the wages around here are a bit short at times and a bit slow in coming,
but think positively. You've always got a home here, as long as you're useful.
I've opened your mind up to untold horizons, haven't I, eh? And here I am,
sharing my breakfast with you.
Here, get that down your underpants.
Her old mum swears by it.
And you know what a foul -mouthed old faggot she is.
No, no.
Oh, no, I don't like that expression at all.
No, that's terrible, terrible.
Can't you express some other sort of emotion?
I mean, we're not doing a constipation advert.
Hey, don't start fidgeting.
Don't fidget, man. It's not a movie camera, this, you know.
It's supposed to be a sitter, not a twitcher.
I have to try to compose you in this frame, you see, right now. I want you to
very slowly move your face just a fraction to the left, will you?
Off you go. No, no, wait!
Not like that. Slower. Just a fraction, I said. Not a... Oh, you've got a
runaway face there. Could someone catch this man's face, please, and put it back
where it belongs?
Try not to shout at them.
He's the chairman of the council.
Oh, is he?
Can't you relax, man?
I can usually.
Yes, well, I thought so. I mean, the things that get through council,
must be relaxed.
You have to have the chain.
I have to have the chain. It's an official photo.
Oh, well, there you are. You see my problem, then, don't you? Big chain,
head.
Small head?
Well, it throws the composition out of proportion completely, you see.
You think I've got a small head? Oh, yes, photographically speaking, it's
infinitesimal.
I wonder... Wait a minute.
No, no, perhaps that's going to...
Small head.
If you have to wear jewellery with a head as small as that, you'd be better
with a bangler, a couple of charm bracelets.
I never knew I had a small head.
What delicate small features.
Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Jenkin? Hey, that's a good idea. Yes, get him a
cup of tea. I'll have a cup of tea too, yes.
He'll probably be less jittery when he's had a cup of tea.
Yes. Chuck a couple of Valium in it.
Not his, mine.
We'll wait. We'll just wait till we've had our tea. All right?
Right.
Married, are you?
Thirty years.
Oh, dangerous age.
Council typist looking better by the minute, I shouldn't wonder.
Don't panic, don't panic. I haven't been spying on you. It's just that we
artists sense these things, you see.
Otherwise, how could we capture your soul in colour, in glossy matte or satin
finish on photographic paper, you see?
What I was after, really, was something suitable for the council chamber.
Yeah. Well, that's no good, is it, no?
That's more suitable for the zoo, that, no.
Never mind, don't worry. Leave it to me. I'll think of something when I've had
my tea.
Happy at home, are you? Yes. Oh.
That's good, yes.
Can't be easy working surrounded by slender young women, can it, eh?
Must take a bit of gloss off the anticipate in your pension.
Well, you have to observe a very strict...
code of behaviour.
Oh, well, naturally. Most fitting, yes.
One little slip up there and that's one little extra you can't bob on the rates,
isn't it?
Nature beats her paths relentlessly through all our defences. I'm surprised
can concentrate on council business at all in that atmosphere of sexual
The main area of temptation lies in the low -slung, frilly blouses of Mrs Megan
Lloyd -Williams.
She's on loan to me from the sanitation department.
Sanitation department, eh? No chance of a dirty weekend there, then.
Nevertheless, they are thorns in my flesh.
I get hot under the collar.
Yes, and all the time you're wishing it was her collar you were getting hot
under. Yes.
Still, temperature, mind you, temperature might be the key to this
Overheated are the gilded palaces of local government. In order to reproduce
temperature which will cope with the practices of chastity, what you really
is the Trigvor Swedish Wonder wood -burning stove.
Much more controllable, temperature -wise.
I happen to be the sole agent for them. I've got one in the kitchen with her.
Oh, I couldn't consider any new apparatus, not without a voting poll,
Councillor. Urge them. In the name of municipal decorum, not only will it
your temperature, but one wag of your damper, and you'll create enough smoke
never to see the pendulous charms of Mrs Meg and Lloyd Williams.
Eh? A damp stove smoking the place out.
There you are, you see. Just what the council needs for clouding the issue.
I knew already it was going to be a bad day.
And then to prove it, I had another visit from my sick gender husband,
rescuing me from a fate worse than gossip.
Just a minute.
I'll be with you in a moment.
Oh, Rachel.
Come home, love.
I am home.
Being married in a proper manner.
You could have our barrel.
I have my own apartment.
That's an advantageous rent, being family.
Almost advantageous.
Your husband's tight with money.
Yes, bless him.
And many other good points, too.
Get yourself something similar. I don't want anything similar.
For a husband, you do.
I can?
Someone to give you absolutely no cause for alarm.
His index link, too.
I am, it's true.
Very comforting.
Very comforting.
But what about excitement?
Magic?
Poetry? Romance?
Oh, not in the Borough Surveyor's department, love.
A book of ruin is brought back.
Fatal? One whiff of magic, they'd have you down for early retirement.
Oh. Oh, come on, Rachel, love. Give up this wild free life.
It's my life and nobody else's.
We wouldn't want to restrict you, would we? Oh, no, no.
All we ask is don't bring yourself to the attention of the Finance and General
Purposes Committee, especially at budget allocation time. Oh,
what is that? What is that beautiful perfume?
Oh, it's like crabapple blossom in fresh mown hay.
It's so sweet.
No,
it's not that.
Oh, oh.
Oh, Bronwyn, it is you.
Oh, felicitations.
Oh, what could be more fragrant?
A nerving way out of raising his hat.
There's no good comes of hat raising like that.
Raised our Bron's temperature, though, hasn't it? Look at her flushing. I know,
love. Coming at you like that.
But it's no basis for marriage.
Where's the security?
Right.
What I have here is a passing poodle.
Oh, that's lovely.
I've left Willie dealing with exactly what it was passing.
Whose is it, I wonder?
Whose is it? Well, it's Willie's now, I suppose, if he wants it.
Who am I to interfere with the contents of his shovel?
I am more interested in this little photogenic creature.
Blasphemy. Stop. Oh, I can't do with animals. Oh, Crow, but you have the soul
a tin of corned beef.
I have a bit in the building society, though. Ah, now I'd like to talk to you
about that. Oh, accounts of which tend, however, to be grossly exaggerated.
Big mouth.
On the other hand, you would be well advised to take advantage of certain
investment opportunities that have arisen in the photographic world.
He's married, he gets all the advice indeed.
Oh, a lump sum?
A lump sum is waiting for the shrewd investor.
Promotional calendars. Now, a glossy print of this attractive little
for instance, would have a ready market.
A dog photo?
Oh, yes.
Especially if clamped to the bosom of some radiant female shown off to her
advantage. So don't clamp into that bosom. Let him finish, will you?
Hi, Mr Evans. We were out on assignment. We've got that picture to take for the
local paper.
Don't interrupt your employer, Rachel.
What kind of way is that to seek advancement?
Excuse me. Oh, that's better, yes. That's good from you. How well displayed
her best advantage?
Oh, completely.
Hey!
I've seen those calendars. It had you entirely in the news.
How dare you, sir? How dare you impugn the reputation of this establishment?
would not be in the nude, as you so crudely put it.
She'd be wearing the poodleman. Oh!
Oh, that's masterful.
Well,
you wanted them out of the way, didn't you?
Oh, how thoughtfully is an occasion.
Motor mechanic wins talent contest.
They just want a simple photo.
Assume, mouse girl, there's no simple photos.
There are in the local paper.
Only the artistic challenge to capture the rich variety of humankind.
How much they pay for this job?
The usual.
Not much rich variety there, then, is there?
Here we are, 23.
Hold it, Willie.
The chauffeur opened the door for her.
Style girl is everything.
But it won't open, will it? He's fixed it, hasn't he?
Willie? Of course, Willie. Who else have we got?
Willie, yes.
Turn your arm and do anything, can't you?
Uniform's coming on well, too.
Lovely when we get the court and trousers.
places in Wales, it does my old heart good to see.
I suppose you wouldn't fancy appearing on a promotional calendar, would you?
No, I wouldn't. No, I thought not. Never mind. To each his own job.
Bring the stuff.
So off he goes.
Up the path.
The mechanic's not at home, but his mother is.
The kind of brassy, blonde creature who can't resist playing up to men.
And, of course, he loves it.
Be quiet, will you?
Naturally, I'm proud of him. He's my only one.
Even then, they leave stretch marks.
But I've managed to keep my figure.
Oh, you have kept it, yes. Well, not that it did me any good, mind.
My husband abandoned me. He went off with a wild look in his eye. Oh, dear.
So, I'm mostly alone.
Especially Tuesdays and Thursdays and Sundays till 7 .30. Oh.
Now, haven't I seen you before somewhere on the cover of some well -thumbed
magazine? Do a bit of modelling, dear.
Oh, no, I couldn't show myself off like that.
Oh, let's not be too hasty. I mean, those eyes, they're just the right shape
looking well in a swimsuit.
At present, I am without a swimsuit. Well, there you are. You see, the
permutations are endless.
That's it. Go on, grab his leg.
She has to have a touch.
This is Mr.
Tomlin.
Great one she is for body contact.
I used to have a Welsh terrier just the same as her.
Mr. Tomlin services my TV.
Oh, I wouldn't be at all surprised, yes.
It was Mr. Tomlin who persuaded me to rent rather than buy.
Aye, she has the best set in the valley. Yes, I'd noticed.
In my darkest hour, Mr. Tomlin was a tower of strength.
We'll have to come out when we call you.
Mr. Evans has come to take a photo.
For the paper.
The paper?
It's from the paper?
Only the local one. Still, you never know how far it might go. Look, I can't
afford to be in the papers.
I'm only here in a technical capacity.
What are new parts needed like?
Oh, yes, 24 -hour service, no doubt.
Right, out in all weather. Yes, well, there's always a place for the skilled
artisan. Oh, he's seen me through some bad patches.
Only when a new fault's been recorded at this address, mate.
Oh, cause me dimpling in that cheeky little way he has.
I hardly know the woman.
One moment, dear lady. My man will open the door for you.
Oh, that'll be nice.
It'll be a miracle.
All right,
all right.
We are all of us martyrs to the contrariness of everyday things, aren't
Rachel? She's had to climb in and out a few times.
I beg your pardon?
I was referring to the car.
Stuck, is it?
It would certainly appear to give that impression, yes.
It's over the top, I'm afraid.
Oh.
Is my foot near the floor?
Yes, we hope so, sincerely.
There can't be much more of you left.
You had the leg over there. Well, it'll make a change, won't it?
They're all a little tangled.
Uncommonly warm for the time of day, isn't it?
I'll go and fetch my son.
Hurry back.
She's throwing us out the tube.
You could have appealed her leg before wicket.
Whizzy?
Willie?
My card.
Plantagenet Evans.
Photographic artist.
Antiques and bygones.
Bought, sold and exchanged.
Wears a lot of unnecessary heart.
You there.
The one with the boot marked face.
The oily person.
Welsh legs?
Oh, and look at that chest. The characteristic contours of a mountain
Go forever, they will, on these little short legs, you know.
Short? Oh, don't worry about it. They'll last you. Use sparingly.
Medium, more like.
Not short.
Oh, as you wish.
Well, now, colourful old character, perhaps you could conduct us on your
to short legs.
to the proprietor of this mechanical establishment.
I am the proprietor. Oh, congratulations.
I've rarely seen a more effective disguise.
I think he's lying.
But he wasn't lying.
And thus he quickly became the target for the hard sell.
He didn't know it yet, but he was on the brink of his first advertising
campaign.
There you go, pointing at me.
Why should I need a series of photos?
Well, to be the very centre and heart of your advertising.
What advertising?
Oh, have you no pride, man? Have you no ambition to bring this shoddy
establishment to the notice of the world? Your own calendar.
We got a calendar.
There's one in the workshop.
Yes, but you're not on it, are you? It's a girl with... Never mind what she's
with. But they'll never want to swap it for a photo of me. Oh, nonsense. Here we
are, then. Nonsense.
Where's he gone now? Where's he gone? Oh, I've lost him now. He slipped
my fingers like a pint of sump oil.
Or in his case, half pint.
Oh, this is the talented young vocalist, is it?
I found him having a sandwich. I'm entitled to a sandwich. Oh, God.
Yes.
Very musical, I can tell, yes.
I do apologise for his condition. I found him spraying in the yard. Yeah,
sandwiched by the look of it.
No, no, madam. No, no, that's entirely inadequate.
Entirely inadequate. Allow me. Where's the bucket?
Here's one.
How are you, girl?
Like I've been for ages.
Nearly, but not quite married.
Stick at it.
Right, come on. I'm not swimming screens.
Shut your wiper.
There. There we go. Now, how old are you, lad? Seventeen.
Oh, seventeen.
The madcap years of youth.
What a golden time for pernicious habits.
I hope you're up to a few, are you?
He's always been a good boy. Oh, the mothers are the last to know. Twas ever
thus. Now, listen to me, boy. There are a lot of wicked women in this world. You
take the advice of your Uncle Tomlin. Always rent rather than buy.
What have you done to his nose?
Done to his nose?
Yes, what have you done to his nose? Well, that's all right. Just brought it
to a high gloss, madam. Don't get excited.
He's altered your nose.
He's altered your nose. He has altered my nose. Don't argue with me.
That was not the nose you left our house with this morning.
It is my own nose, honest.
Oh, I shall go and get the manager.
I hold you responsible for this. Oh, dear, I just picked up a sponge and now
under suspicion.
You have a go, will you?
I never liked her. She's got shifty legs.
Prone to sudden attacks, your mam, is she? My mam?
No. Well, a bit emotional, is she? She hates the wealth channel and toothpaste
on bathroom mirrors.
Oh, well, that's a classical pattern.
She thinks I'm too young to get married.
Do you think I'm too young to get married?
Don't ask him. He's the last one you should ask.
Is that what you really want, to rush into things? I do, I really do. I want
rush into things. Yes, I thought you might. The thing is, you see, the
is for people who are unattractive to women.
Am I attractive to women?
Well, cleaned up, new suit, bit of deodorant around the sticky parts.
On balance, on balance, I would have to say no.
It's true. I'm not attractive to women. You mustn't think like that. Not at your
age. You could be attractive to women.
Stop depressing him.
On the other hand, a good expensive studio portrait taken in a flattering
is a milestone on the road to success with the female classes. I mean, look,
you've got your whole life ahead of you, haven't you? Such as it is.
Somewhere there's a little girl waiting, a little ugly girl, who is on the
threshold of blossoming into a big ugly woman.
He comes up smiling.
He's got a nice face, really.
Nobody to run over his face.
A mother notices these things.
Oh, that's not him.
That's not my Clovis.
Well, who the Clovis is he then?
I never said I was her Clovis. She caught me in the middle of a sandwich,
grabbed my arm, she did.
Oh, he was standing where my Clovis was meant to be standing?
Well, I naturally assumed he was my Clovis.
Anyone can make a mistake here.
Ah, here's my Clovis now.
At least I'm almost... Oh, sure it is.
Ma 'am?
Ah, you see?
Yes, well, as I've got another one to clean now, why am I always wiping
mechanics? This gentleman has come to take your photo.
For the papers. The papers?
On account of his singing.
His singing?
The first Friday one.
Where did he do this singing?
Where we were away. Among the English.
Oh, among the English.
No wonder.
Among the English.
Hey, are they asking? an encore, I may tell you. Oh, well, they wouldn't know
any better, would they?
Hold that, will you? Come on, camera. Where's the camera?
She's such a brassy blonde creature.
Do you really find her attractive?
No, no, no, no. It's just her manner, really. That's all. She has a rather
engaging personality.
Oh, especially from the back.
Wide -angle lens for that one. Right, come on.
Come on, let's go and photograph you. How do I look? Oh.
You're glossed all over like French polish. Come on.
Yes.
No, no.
No, there's no life in it. Can't you animate him a bit?
As a subject, his face is a paradox.
I've never seen anything so shiny look so dull.
Come on, Clovey.
Put it all together.
Put your leg up or something.
Oh. Us more like it.
Both put your legs up.
Oh, that's great.
Beautiful.
Did you hear that, fellas?
Himba there in a terribly grand heart. Put your photo in the paper just for
singing.
Take a portal. Make a nice group.
Excuse me, would you mind just standing over there?
Just for a minute, that's it.
No, then.
Oh,
yes. This calendar's going to sell.
Legs on wheels, I'm going to call it.
That should put Pirelli's nose out of joint.
Oh, yes, look at that. That's definitely January. Look at that.
Definitely a promise of spring in that pose.
Spring? I bet she's broken a few of them in her time. What kind of woman, I ask
you, would appear in an attitude of such a flagrant nature?
Have you seen February?
Look at that. No, you don't.
Please.
Thank you.
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