Thursday, September the 22nd, 2005

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A Thrilling Yarn

I was invited to tour the sheds, so I wore a pair of gloves.

Have you got that so far? Sheds, gloves.

The snow was thick so we were preceded by a snowplough the engine of which ran on a fuel of uncertain origin.

Sheds, gloves, snow, fuel. Make a note.

When I say that the origin or provenance of the fuel was uncertain, I mean that I did not know of it, not that it was unclear to those people who know their snowploughs and other vehicles. Of course they knew where their fuel came from. I did not need to know.

Sheds, gloves, snow, fuel, snowploughs, other vehicles. Are you beginning to see where this leads?

As soon as we got inside the first shed on the tour I removed my gloves and put them on a shelf above a gas heater. How they managed to pipe gas out here was something else I did not know. We were meant to have a picnic in this first shed but no one had remembered to bring the hamper.

Sheds, gloves, snow, fuel, snowploughs, other vehicles, shelf, gas, picnic, hamper.

Bursting with inhuman courage I volunteered to return to the biddyhouse alone, to fetch the hamper. Various half-hearted attempts were made to dissuade me, but I waved them aside with my now ungloved hands. It has to be said that my waves were theatrical, even melodramatic, but I enjoyed the sensation. I could feel my blood pumping through my veins.

Sheds, gloves, snow, fuel, snowploughs, other vehicles, shelf, gas, picnic, hamper, biddyhouse, waves, blood. Stop me when you've cottoned on.

I left my gloves on the shelf above the gas heater and went out into the snow. Without a compass, I strode off in what proved to be completely the wrong direction. Instead of reaching the biddyhouse where I would find the hamper and heave it on to my shoulder and take it back to shed number one for the picnic, I found myself lost, and not only lost, but encircled by wolves. The wolves each had a dusting of fresh snow on their backs. I took this to mean that they had been standing around for a while, waiting for me.

Sheds, gloves, snow, fuel, snowploughs, other vehicles, shelf, gas, picnic, hamper, biddyhouse, waves, blood, compass, wolves.

I counted seventeen snow-covered wolves. They remained perfectly still, looking at me. Nursery rhymes are a godsend in such circumstances, at least that has been my experience. I began with Ring a ring a roses and then did Little Jack Horner. Not a single wolf moved a muscle. It then dawned on me that they were all blind. Blind wolves in the snow! And me lost, and without my gloves, and ignorant of fuel sources! And further than ever from the picnic hamper! What a predicament! Or was it? You be the judge. Now listen, just once more…

Sheds, gloves, snow, fuel, snowploughs, other vehicles, shelf, gas, picnic, hamper, biddyhouse, waves, blood, compass, wolves, roses, muscles, dawn, blind.

All should now be clear, as clear as the sky was on that cold bright morning in September, forty miles north of Helsinki, the capital city of Finland, founded as long ago as 1550 as a rival to the Hanseatic city of Tallinn.