Henri's demise

Life is what happens to you while you're busy making plans. Learnt that maxim soon after arriving in Edinburgh.

After last letter about dilemma over sentence lengths, emailed new reader-in-residence, Wilfred, to arrange meeting. To my delight, received phone call half an hour later saying he detected some urgency in message and could come to flat to meet me that afternoon. Impressed by such personal touch although little internal voice asking if conducting such meetings in students' homes was professional and if Institute would approve. When spoke to Wilfred, he detected my concern and reassured me that reason for suggesting he came to me was his belief that seeing students in their home environment helpful in determining how best to support them. My first reaction was that when he saw flat he'd call in Public Health. He worked that out too, and told me it wasn't about looking for mess or dirty litter trays.

Nevertheless, after agreeing to meet at 4 pm, rushed round cleaning up scraps of uneaten fish, fur on sofa. Became increasingly angry with Neville who, despite numerous promises, still hasn't sorted out kitchen floorboards. Latest excuse is that he's been conducting seances during the night, to see if he can contact Granny Elena, and feels convinced that any disturbance of kitchen floor might frighten away the spirits. Hmm....

Wilfred arrived on the dot at 4 pm. Took him into sitting room and fetched glass of milk. Told me a bit about himself. He is a Tibetan yak, born ten miles from Ladakh, and recently escaped the country because of inherent danger. Whenever he is struggling to adapt to new culture, he looks at the yak wool shawl he took with him, to remind himself that this could have been his fate. He is devout Buddhist, and brought as gift, a prayer bell.












He went on to talk about why he'd been appointed as reader-in-residence, what he could offer students, then doorbell rang. Ignored it, but then it rang again constantly so went to answer. It was Henri. Explained was in important meeting and asked why he hadn't texted me to check it was convenient to come round but he pushed past me, went into sitting room and began crying. Howled for almost a minute before noticing Wilfred's presence.




Turns out he had been about to give a cookery demonstration on choice recipes from his book Guineapigging Out when he got stage fright and couldn't move. Partly due, he explained, to spotting eminent chefs in the audience, including Gordon Ramsay, Delia Smith, The Hairy Bikers. After a few moments, someone came to his rescue and talked about how privileged they felt to have him show how to cook his favourite recipes. Unfortunately this didn't help at all, and he half waddled, half fell off the platform. Demonstration organiser furious, telling him that there had been talent scouts in the audience, interested in offering him a TV show at prime viewing time, the selling point being that he is a guinea pig. His last memory, before fainting, was of Delia Smith being asked to take over, as audience threatening violence and asking for their money back. Someone found my business card in his shoulder bag, bunged him into a taxi and told the driver to take him here.




Despite annoyance at important meeting with reader-in-residence being sabotaged, felt enormous compassion for Henri. Wilfred counselled him about Buddhist concept of acceptance of failure and of not overvaluing success, and suggested several techniques for him to practise. Wilfred and I rescheduled meeting, he left and I asked Henri to stay for tea. Saussure cooked delicious meal, and I made effort to deploy listening skills and avoid making platitudinous comments.

Let Henri stay overnight as in no fit state to go home. Exhausted when finally crawled into basket. Very draining dealing with someone else's distress.

Purrs Bakhtin