Norman Goes On Holiday
CHARACTERISTIC SIGNS
Create a character with a star sign of your choice.
Fill in the pro-forma below as briefly and accurately as possible.
ZODIAC SIGN Sagittarius
NAME Norman Archer AGE 36 SEX Male
MARITAL STATUS Divorced
FAMILY Only child, parents deceased
APPEARANCE Thin, of average height, black unkempt hair
JOB None at present
HOBBIES Travel, especially in the wilds
PERSONALITY TRAITS (related to star sign) No more than 20
words. Loves the wild outdoors, is clumsy verbally and physically, loves to gamble but not financially, often irresponsible.
Place the character in a situation or setting using the information created.
You may use the lst or 3rd person and may write a short story, monologue or play script. If writing in the lst person you may use the diary form.
The character shall be characteristic of their star sign and behave accordingly, but if you wish to turn it on its head you may do so.
CHARACTERISTIC SIGNS
Create a character with a star sign of your choice.
Fill in the pro-forma below as briefly and accurately as possible.
ZODIAC SIGN Sagittarius
NAME Norman Archer AGE 36 SEX Male
MARITAL STATUS Divorced
FAMILY Only child, parents deceased
APPEARANCE Thin, of average height, black unkempt hair
JOB None at present
HOBBIES Travel, especially in the wilds
PERSONALITY TRAITS (related to star sign) No more than 20
words. Loves the wild outdoors, is clumsy verbally and physically, loves to gamble but not financially, often irresponsible.
Place the character in a situation or setting using the information created.
You may use the lst or 3rd person and may write a short story, monologue or play script. If writing in the lst person you may use the diary form.
The character shall be characteristic of their star sign and behave accordingly, but if you wish to turn it on its head you may do so.
Tuesday 16 December 2003
Day 1
Well, this is it. I have done it. I told them what they could do with their bloody job. This is day one of my new life. Roy told me I was a fool, that I couldn't throw up a good job and survive, that I would be crawling back within a week asking, nay begging, to be taken on again. Well I'll show them.
First though, I've decided I need a break from the humdrum. So, here I am sitting at a plain pinewood table. When I say plain I mean, nothing fancy. It does have rather a patterned top if you count the circles from the hundreds of coffee mugs that have stood on it, the wax dottles from a good number of candles and the burn marks where someone had the habit of putting the frying pan down straight from the stove. There are also a quantity of ink stains and a little impromptu poetry which is hardly Edgar Allen Poe. I mean, even I can think of a number of rhymes for hunt without resorting to that one, and I am not known for my verbal dexterity.
Anyway, enough of that, here I am on day one of my adventure. I am sitting at the aforementioned table surveying my home for the next fortnight; fourteen days away from the world and off in the wild. The wild in this case being the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, though I’m not on the trail of the lonesome pine and it's unlikely that Laurel or Hardy will put in an appearance. There might be the odd bear hunter or someone after grouse or quail or cottontail and, of course, it's always open season for skunk and coyote. In fact, if I met one of them critters I'd shoot on sight except that I haven't brought a gun. That old fellow in Roanoke where I picked up supplies was a bit over the top about me not having a gun, called me an irresponsible something or other. I won't elaborate. I shall wander around in this amazing wilderness and enjoy the fresh air and the scenery. I shall get some much-needed exercise; starting with chopping some wood for the stove. They call it splitting kindling in these here parts, I believe.
Well, that got me warmed up. Using wood for fuel warms you twice they say and it's certainly true. I've cut enough fuel from the log pile to keep me going for a couple of days and I've been down to the stream and filled the water butt. The stove is burning well and there's a fine savoury smell from my corned beef hash and beans. That, added to the fine aroma of coffee is making me quite hungry so this diary of mine can go to hell until tomorrow.
Wednesday 17 December 2003
Day 2
I have decided to abandon my watch and let my days follow the natural course of light and dark so I woke this morning at God knows what hour, with the sun streaming in through windows which Jack Frost must have laboured over for most of the night, so beautiful and painstaking is their artistry. But God, it's cold. The stove has, of course, gone out and I really have no idea how to keep it alive all night without having to get up at all hours to feed it. This is no place for a leisurely preparation for the day. It's into as many clothes as you can stuff on and rush around getting the stove lit so that you can crack the ice off the water butt and put some water on for coffee and some hope of eventually washing. I have decided not to shave. I shall see what fourteen days of growth looks like and consider whether I should adopt some form of facial hair for my future life.
It is now late afternoon and I have had the most amazing day. I have climbed and scrambled all over this wonderful mountainside. I sat for an hour by a mountain stream and watched nature move around me. I even saw a number of those critters that your all-American boy would love to take pot shots at and carry home in triumph for the cooking pot and the trophy room. One of them there skunks wandered by and ignored me. He strolled on with his nose in the air as if offended by my scent invading his sweet countryside. I am so affected by my day that I feel like writing poetry and I don't mean a little ditty for the dining table. The colours here are so much brighter than I have ever found in England. I have always gone along with the thought that the Americans are brash and self-opinionated but they really do have a beautiful country and at this moment I am grateful that none of them are here to spoil my enjoyment of it. Never again will I sneer when some American brags of the wonders of his homeland.
Still, to more mundane things, this evening the restaurant is serving hamburgers in the English style, since I'm cooking them. I brought some fresh mince, sorry, ground beef and have made my own patties to broil; see, I'm getting more native every day. I need to use this fresh stuff up before the meat goes off and the bread goes stale. The temperature at night is cold enough to freeze anything but it gets quite warm in the day at the moment and my fresh food won't last for too many days. After that it’s tinned stuff all the way. I have no intention of sneaking out to Roanoke for fresh stuff every five minutes.
Hamburgers in the English style are a little gritty for my taste and are rather painful too. The fact is, I was a bit stupid and picked up the griddle without using a cloth. So, tonight's menu ended up with burgers picked up off the floor and burnt fingers to suck for dessert, Will I ever learn?
Tomorrow I'm going to head north of the cabin for a few miles. This means heading along the ridge of the mountains. Not a great deal of climbing but plenty to see, I hope.
Day 1
Well, this is it. I have done it. I told them what they could do with their bloody job. This is day one of my new life. Roy told me I was a fool, that I couldn't throw up a good job and survive, that I would be crawling back within a week asking, nay begging, to be taken on again. Well I'll show them.
First though, I've decided I need a break from the humdrum. So, here I am sitting at a plain pinewood table. When I say plain I mean, nothing fancy. It does have rather a patterned top if you count the circles from the hundreds of coffee mugs that have stood on it, the wax dottles from a good number of candles and the burn marks where someone had the habit of putting the frying pan down straight from the stove. There are also a quantity of ink stains and a little impromptu poetry which is hardly Edgar Allen Poe. I mean, even I can think of a number of rhymes for hunt without resorting to that one, and I am not known for my verbal dexterity.
Anyway, enough of that, here I am on day one of my adventure. I am sitting at the aforementioned table surveying my home for the next fortnight; fourteen days away from the world and off in the wild. The wild in this case being the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, though I’m not on the trail of the lonesome pine and it's unlikely that Laurel or Hardy will put in an appearance. There might be the odd bear hunter or someone after grouse or quail or cottontail and, of course, it's always open season for skunk and coyote. In fact, if I met one of them critters I'd shoot on sight except that I haven't brought a gun. That old fellow in Roanoke where I picked up supplies was a bit over the top about me not having a gun, called me an irresponsible something or other. I won't elaborate. I shall wander around in this amazing wilderness and enjoy the fresh air and the scenery. I shall get some much-needed exercise; starting with chopping some wood for the stove. They call it splitting kindling in these here parts, I believe.
Well, that got me warmed up. Using wood for fuel warms you twice they say and it's certainly true. I've cut enough fuel from the log pile to keep me going for a couple of days and I've been down to the stream and filled the water butt. The stove is burning well and there's a fine savoury smell from my corned beef hash and beans. That, added to the fine aroma of coffee is making me quite hungry so this diary of mine can go to hell until tomorrow.
Wednesday 17 December 2003
Day 2
I have decided to abandon my watch and let my days follow the natural course of light and dark so I woke this morning at God knows what hour, with the sun streaming in through windows which Jack Frost must have laboured over for most of the night, so beautiful and painstaking is their artistry. But God, it's cold. The stove has, of course, gone out and I really have no idea how to keep it alive all night without having to get up at all hours to feed it. This is no place for a leisurely preparation for the day. It's into as many clothes as you can stuff on and rush around getting the stove lit so that you can crack the ice off the water butt and put some water on for coffee and some hope of eventually washing. I have decided not to shave. I shall see what fourteen days of growth looks like and consider whether I should adopt some form of facial hair for my future life.
It is now late afternoon and I have had the most amazing day. I have climbed and scrambled all over this wonderful mountainside. I sat for an hour by a mountain stream and watched nature move around me. I even saw a number of those critters that your all-American boy would love to take pot shots at and carry home in triumph for the cooking pot and the trophy room. One of them there skunks wandered by and ignored me. He strolled on with his nose in the air as if offended by my scent invading his sweet countryside. I am so affected by my day that I feel like writing poetry and I don't mean a little ditty for the dining table. The colours here are so much brighter than I have ever found in England. I have always gone along with the thought that the Americans are brash and self-opinionated but they really do have a beautiful country and at this moment I am grateful that none of them are here to spoil my enjoyment of it. Never again will I sneer when some American brags of the wonders of his homeland.
Still, to more mundane things, this evening the restaurant is serving hamburgers in the English style, since I'm cooking them. I brought some fresh mince, sorry, ground beef and have made my own patties to broil; see, I'm getting more native every day. I need to use this fresh stuff up before the meat goes off and the bread goes stale. The temperature at night is cold enough to freeze anything but it gets quite warm in the day at the moment and my fresh food won't last for too many days. After that it’s tinned stuff all the way. I have no intention of sneaking out to Roanoke for fresh stuff every five minutes.
Hamburgers in the English style are a little gritty for my taste and are rather painful too. The fact is, I was a bit stupid and picked up the griddle without using a cloth. So, tonight's menu ended up with burgers picked up off the floor and burnt fingers to suck for dessert, Will I ever learn?
Tomorrow I'm going to head north of the cabin for a few miles. This means heading along the ridge of the mountains. Not a great deal of climbing but plenty to see, I hope.
Thursday 18 December 2003
Day 3
Got quite into the routine for starting the day now, becoming acclimatised I hope. Had another wonderful day just wandering about and getting the feel of the place. I haven't got lost once yet which is some going considering the only paths are deer trails. I've not seen a soul all day, I'm happy to say. This country is really something. That old timer in Roanoke thought I was some kind of novice at this and that my bones would be found sometime in the spring. I lost count of the days I spent wandering in the wilds of the Lake District, the Dales and the Moors as a young man. The summers I spent in every wild spot abroad I could find or afford. I think I've been on every continent except the Poles and I can't remember ever staying in a posh hotel or visiting a museum or site of historical interest. Give me nature, red in tooth and claw, every time.
I think the weather might turn tomorrow. I was followed home by some rather threatening clouds. I just hope that I shan't be stuck inside when there is so much to get out and savour. Talking of savouring, my stomach says its supper time.
Day 3
Got quite into the routine for starting the day now, becoming acclimatised I hope. Had another wonderful day just wandering about and getting the feel of the place. I haven't got lost once yet which is some going considering the only paths are deer trails. I've not seen a soul all day, I'm happy to say. This country is really something. That old timer in Roanoke thought I was some kind of novice at this and that my bones would be found sometime in the spring. I lost count of the days I spent wandering in the wilds of the Lake District, the Dales and the Moors as a young man. The summers I spent in every wild spot abroad I could find or afford. I think I've been on every continent except the Poles and I can't remember ever staying in a posh hotel or visiting a museum or site of historical interest. Give me nature, red in tooth and claw, every time.
I think the weather might turn tomorrow. I was followed home by some rather threatening clouds. I just hope that I shan't be stuck inside when there is so much to get out and savour. Talking of savouring, my stomach says its supper time.
Friday 19 December 2003
Day 4
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Woke rather later than usual this morning. The reason for that is very simple. There is little sunlight. The clouds that I saw yesterday must have moved faster than I thought. It seems to have snowed most of the night and is still doing so. It's very cold in here and though I have got the stove going it's not going to burn for long as I neglected to replenish my stocks of firewood last night. There is no way I'm going to be able to get any at this moment. I will just have to go back to bed and read until the snow eases and I can dig my way out to the log pile.
God knows what time it is in this grey world but the stove has been out for hours and it's freezing in here. The cabin has begun to make some rather strange sounds. There have always been various creaks and groans with the winds and temperature changes; the place is built of natural materials. I'm getting a little concerned that the weight of snow on the roof is building. I just hope that these old timbers can take it. The wind still seems to rage around the cabin as if the weather is like the old wolf and wants to huff and puff its way in. This little piggy is starting to worry.
Saturday, I think.
Ow! Lord, what a mess. Oh God, it hurts! The roof came down. I think it must have been late last night or early this morning. A great cracking noise woke me and I flew out of bed as the world fell on me. I don't remember much for a while after that. Ooh! There's a big roof beam or something on my back and I can't move. I've raked away what snow I can but it's all around me and I've basically just created a snow cave above me. It must have stopped snowing and I think I can see daylight. Ouch! Careful Norman, don't do too much of that. Damn it, I can't move. Whatever it is it's across my body just below my waist and I can't move my legs. God, I can't feel them either.
It's very cold and it's darker too. I must have blacked out again. My fingers are blue. If I don't get more shelter than this snow cave then I've had it. I'm still in my sleeping bag for the bottom half of me so that's not too bad. Somewhere around me are a couple of blankets if they fell off the bed with me. Ow! Oh God, that hurts! Ah! Here's one blanket if I can just ooh! Pull it out ow…
I've got the blanket over me like a tent which is a little better than just having the packed snow above me. Now take stock. Can't move. Can't reach food. Got plenty of water if I suck snow. One out of three is not good. Got to stay calm and think. What are the chances of someone wandering by? About the same as City's chances of winning the cup. Oh shit! Those two little words. What are the most commonly recorded final words spoken by pilots on the flight recorders of crashed aeroplanes. Oh shit…
What day is it? Don't know. So cold, can't think. Can't be dying, no life flashing before my eyes, just cold. Doesn't hurt now. I think it’s getting warmer. So sleepy m…
Day 4
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Woke rather later than usual this morning. The reason for that is very simple. There is little sunlight. The clouds that I saw yesterday must have moved faster than I thought. It seems to have snowed most of the night and is still doing so. It's very cold in here and though I have got the stove going it's not going to burn for long as I neglected to replenish my stocks of firewood last night. There is no way I'm going to be able to get any at this moment. I will just have to go back to bed and read until the snow eases and I can dig my way out to the log pile.
God knows what time it is in this grey world but the stove has been out for hours and it's freezing in here. The cabin has begun to make some rather strange sounds. There have always been various creaks and groans with the winds and temperature changes; the place is built of natural materials. I'm getting a little concerned that the weight of snow on the roof is building. I just hope that these old timbers can take it. The wind still seems to rage around the cabin as if the weather is like the old wolf and wants to huff and puff its way in. This little piggy is starting to worry.
Saturday, I think.
Ow! Lord, what a mess. Oh God, it hurts! The roof came down. I think it must have been late last night or early this morning. A great cracking noise woke me and I flew out of bed as the world fell on me. I don't remember much for a while after that. Ooh! There's a big roof beam or something on my back and I can't move. I've raked away what snow I can but it's all around me and I've basically just created a snow cave above me. It must have stopped snowing and I think I can see daylight. Ouch! Careful Norman, don't do too much of that. Damn it, I can't move. Whatever it is it's across my body just below my waist and I can't move my legs. God, I can't feel them either.
It's very cold and it's darker too. I must have blacked out again. My fingers are blue. If I don't get more shelter than this snow cave then I've had it. I'm still in my sleeping bag for the bottom half of me so that's not too bad. Somewhere around me are a couple of blankets if they fell off the bed with me. Ow! Oh God, that hurts! Ah! Here's one blanket if I can just ooh! Pull it out ow…
I've got the blanket over me like a tent which is a little better than just having the packed snow above me. Now take stock. Can't move. Can't reach food. Got plenty of water if I suck snow. One out of three is not good. Got to stay calm and think. What are the chances of someone wandering by? About the same as City's chances of winning the cup. Oh shit! Those two little words. What are the most commonly recorded final words spoken by pilots on the flight recorders of crashed aeroplanes. Oh shit…
What day is it? Don't know. So cold, can't think. Can't be dying, no life flashing before my eyes, just cold. Doesn't hurt now. I think it’s getting warmer. So sleepy m…
The above is a transcript of a tape-recorded diary found on the body of Norman Archer of Hull, England. According to the deceased’s personal belongings, Mr Archer was 36 years old, a Caucasian male, date of birth 12.21.67. His body was found in the wreckage of a cabin in the mountains where he was reported to be staying for a fortnight.
The deceased was found on the morning of Friday 23 December 2003 by a local man, Seth Palmer, who was after cottontail for the pot. The Medical Examiner called to the scene thought the man had been dead four or five days, making estimated date of death as on or around Sunday 21 December 2003. Provisional cause of death, serious internal injuries and hyperthermia.
The deceased was found on the morning of Friday 23 December 2003 by a local man, Seth Palmer, who was after cottontail for the pot. The Medical Examiner called to the scene thought the man had been dead four or five days, making estimated date of death as on or around Sunday 21 December 2003. Provisional cause of death, serious internal injuries and hyperthermia.