Page 35 of The Typo

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them, but the way Harry’s face lit up was all the incentive I needed to follow through on my offer.

‘Amy, my dear, I feel very privileged to be asked to be your audience. I’d be delighted.’

While he prepared dessert, I slipped across the hall and collected my violin, my heart pounding.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 7 Feb, 16:43

Subject: Combine harvester

Hey A,

Thanks for sparing me the combine harvester gags, much appreciated. And you’ll be delighted to know that the ginger biscuits are working their magic, despite the Drake Shake being at its worst. (We’re doing the reverse order of the last trip.) I managed to get some amazing video footage from the bridge of the waves that we’re cutting our way through. I’m glad I was concentrating hard on the screen of my camera rather than looking at the actual sight in front of me because I think the unadulterated view would have freaked me out. Imagine being on a log flume that’s plummeting down and down and down, until you think it’s never going to stop, and then finally it hits the water at the bottom with an almighty thwack before rising up and up and up again until you fear you might be about to pierce the sky. Rinse and repeat. I was glad of the slightly floaty, detached sensation I experienced instead, which may have had something to do with the anti-sickness pills from the doc, but it certainly got me through the long day where it seemed impossible that the sea would ever calm down. Actually, the bridge was probably the best place to be observing it from, because the captain and his team in there were supremely unbothered by the whole drama unfolding in front of them and that kind of calmness is catching. Mind you, the captain is such a chilled-out being when he’s in charge on the bridge that we could be sinking and he’d probably be making gentle cracks about it being lovely weather for a swim.

Anyway, fear not, we are now in much more placid waters, and the motley band of budding photographers have reassembled after experiencing their own seasickness sojourn, although some of them might have regretted coming back into circulation when they realised what the crew had in store for them. Have you ever heard of a polar plunge? It’s exactly what you might imagine it to be: a bunch of brave/foolhardy individuals jumping into the near freezing Antarctic waters. I missed out on the last voyage because I was busy doing admin, so I was thrilled to get an opportunity this time around.

I’ll admit I began to change my mind when I was in the queue waiting for my turn. I’m sure you’re picturing us all lined up in state-of-the-art insulated dry suits to keep out the cold. That’s what I had initially imagined when I read the itinerary before joining the ship, but no, the polar plunge calls for normal swimming togs, as if you’re going for a casual dip in the local leisure centre baths. The main safety precaution is that everyone has to wear a bungee cord around their waist so the team on the Zodiac can quickly pull you out of the water should you get into any difficulty. And of course, everyone on board had a medical before we were allowed on the ship, but I couldn’t help being somewhat concerned that the cold shock might finish me off. Who’s that guy, Wim Hof is it? who goes on about the virtues of cold-water immersion? Well, I did my best to imagine I was tough like him as I stood in my inappropriately tropical board shorts, freezing my nether regions off, and that was before I’d got anywhere near the water. Being the only staff member doing it this time round, I came in for a lot of ribbing. I’m sure you can imagine the calibre of the jokes. They also made me wait until last which really tested my resolve. I swear my feet were blue by the time I got to the diving platform, even though they’d made the generous concession of providing me with a fluffy bathrobe from one of the guest cabins to keep me from turning into an iceberg while I waited for my turn. Throughout the proceedings they had lots of loud music blasting out of the stereo to pump everyone up. It was on shuffle, but somehow when it was my turn ‘Ice Ice Baby’ started playing.

I was full of impressive intentions of doing a back flip on my way in, but when it came down to it, I did a classic bomb as I wasn’t sure my limbs were functioning enough to do anything else. For the first few seconds, I felt precisely nothing and wondered what all the fuss was about. And then the cold suddenly wiped my brain, shutting off all sensation and making my thoughts deliciously clear. When I resurfaced, I’m sure I sounded like a baby taking its first confused breath. I’d bet George I’d stay in for ten seconds, foolishly believing it would be the easiest wager in the world to win, but I lost count by six seconds, and by eight I was more than ready to get out.

I realise it sounds pretty horrendous from the way I’m describing it, but there was something incredibly life-affirming about the whole thing. All the guests were greeted with a celebratory shot of vodka when they emerged from the water, but being staff, that wasn’t available to me. But I didn’t need it as I felt high enough from the experience alone. I’m going to add it to my long list of tales from the expedition ship which I shall no doubt bore people with at dinner parties for the rest of my life.

I keep mentioning dinner parties as if they’re a regular occurrence in my life. To clarify, they’re really not, or at least not the formal kind where people arrive all dressed up and present the hosts with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine. My favourite kind of gathering is having a group of friends over, cracking open a few beers and doing a pot luck with the food. It inevitably means we end up with six different kinds of dessert and no main, or vice versa, but it’s guaranteed that everyone has a laugh, and that’s what really matters.

I don’t know why, but I feel like you would probably have stuck out the polar plunge for the whole ten seconds. A person who’s brave enough to perform on stage can take on the world. And I’m sure you’d have picked better tunes to accompany the challenge.

Somewhere on George’s memory card there is a series of photos showing the before and after effects of the plunge. I’m pretty sure I looked like a boiled lobster after I got out because of the blood rushing around my body, so maybe it’s for the best that I can’t share the snaps with you at the moment. I may conveniently ‘lose’ them once the adrenalin rush from the whole experience has faded.

So that’s how the trip is going so far. I’m sending good vibes for your audition and would love to hear about it when you’re happy to share more with me. As to your other question, I am an only child. Whenever I’ve revealed that in the past, people have often seemed surprised. I guess there are sometimes negative stereotypes attached to only children being selfish or something. But I hope it’s made me more self-reliant and content in my own company. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy the company of others, but there is a big difference between being alone, and being lonely, don’t you think?

Typing this has certainly helped me to get the circulation going in my fingers again. Sending good wishes and more from chilly Antarctica to hopefully slightly less chilly Scotland where, if you’ve got any sense, you’ll be steering clear of all forms of freezing water.

C x

ChapterNineteen

I’d designated my Thursday off work as Busking Day, and thankfully the run up to it was so busy that I didn’t have much time to dwell on my nerves. After reading and re-reading the latest rules about public entertainment on the Edinburgh City Council’s website I’d established that it was surprisingly simple to turn up, claim a pitch and start playing. Surprisingly simple from the logistics point of view of course, but much less easy for a violinist with a history of crippling stage fright and self-doubt.

To help make sure I was as prepared as possible, I scouted out my location on no fewer than three separate occasions, visiting it at different times of day to check that there was the right mix of passing traffic without the potential to attract too large an audience. It would be cheating to deliberately choose a position where nobody would turn up, but equally I didn’t want too many people hanging around and increasing my anxiety. Setting up in Princes Street Gardens in February wasn’t exactly guaranteed to help me rake in the cash, but while I wanted to support my chosen charity (it had a particular focus on tackling climate change and protecting those species most vulnerable to it – I thought the penguins would approve) my primary aim was to get back in the violin saddle in public. Performing for my neighbour was nowhere in the same league, and that had been nerve-wracking enough, although I did end up playing far more than just the one piece I’d initially suggested. Harry had proved to be a supportive audience, gamely clapping along to the folk music and pretending not to notice when I had to stop part way through a Mozart piece and start again having lost my place.

Eliza and Fraser had perhaps been more representative of the type of audience I expected to gather. Eliza had immediately removed herself from the living room after shooting an expressive glance of utter disapproval at the racket I was making, while Fraser had been wrapped up in his own little world, washing his paws with great thoroughness, and then falling promptly asleep, ears pointedly buried beneath a cushion.

An equal amount of care went into selecting my busking repertoire. I picked out old favourites, a mixture of well-known classics and traditional folk tunes, hoping that there would be something among the eclectic mix which would please tourists and locals alike. Rather than subject Harry and my other neighbours to endless repeats of ‘Flower of Scotland’, I took my violin into work and rehearsed in the Cellar Bar, something which was made much easier by the fact that Ian had swanned off for a stint as a guest performer on a Caribbean cruise. When he’d called another all staff meeting to announce he was taking the trip, there had been a collective gasp of shock. I suspected many of us were more surprised that the boss had got the gig, rather than by his decision to abandon us in the middle of the consultation period.

Malcolm had been especially outraged when I rang him to share the news.

‘I don’t know how he can look at himself in the mirror in the morning. I can’t believe he’s disappearing off on a Caribbean jolly while I’m counting every penny and wondering how I’m going to be able to afford to keep the heating on.’

I’d listened sympathetically, making murmurs of agreement wherever required. I hadn’t liked to say that I was actually delighted Ian had left the country. Yes, as Malcolm pointed out, the optics were terrible, but it was very handy having the boss out of the way so I could press ahead with welcoming punters into the Cellar Bar for the first time without his interference. I’d taken advantage of Ian’s giddy distraction immediately following the staff meeting to get him to sign the insurance documents and other paperwork for the new venue so it was all legit. He’d been so swept up in the excitement about treading the boards again, that I was sure he’d not listened to a word I’d said or even read what he was signing. I knew I was pushing my luck, but at least the project was officially approved by the boss. Kind of.

When Busking Day arrived, I was exhausted and longing for a lie in. The cowardly part of me had half hoped for rain, as that would have given me a legitimate excuse to wriggle out of my promise to myself, but when I looked out of my window first thing, the sky was bright with not a cloud on the horizon. The weather app on my phone warned me that it was still pretty chilly outside, despite the sunshine, but I’d take it. Perhaps spring was finally on the way. That had to be a good omen.

I forced myself to swallow some breakfast, which lay heavily in my stomach as I looked through my music one last time. I’d made the probably foolish decision to play everything by heart. From a practical point of view, it meant I wouldn’t have to worry about music blowing off the stand or my iPad dying, but I didn’t completely trust myself to remember all the notes. A lot had happened since the good old days when playing from memory was a given, and I would easily retain a piece, even a long one, after playing it through only a couple of times. I told myself that the focused practice I’d done over the last few days was enough to absorb the music into my fingers, but the irritating negative niggle at the back of my mind still made me worry that it might all disappear under pressure. I couldn’t put it off any longer.I only have to do it for half an hour, I reassured myself as I got ready, pulling on two sets of leggings and a pair of jogging bottoms underneath waterproof trousers, just in case. I had fewer layers on my top half because I needed to retain some movement to actually play the violin, but I knew I was going to rustle with every stroke of the bow regardless. I donned my fingerless gloves, then pulled an oversized pair of men’s gloves on top, with a heat pad tucked between the two layers for the walk to my spot. If my fingers froze mid-performance, it wouldn’t be because they were cold.

Harry was hovering on the landing as I left my flat, apparently absorbed in inspecting the peeling paint on his front door, although as excuses went, it was a pretty poor one.

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