A Cure for Cancer

'I'd like that, Mitzi, but I have to remain impartial at the moment. You've used up so much of my time, do you see. You know how it is.'

She tripped to the side, pulled her tight, white skirt over her creamy thighs and straddled the gleaming brass rail.

With a wave she disappeared.

'Now you, bishop.'

'A boat, at very least...'

'Come along, now.'

The bishop moved reluctantly and looked down at the sparkling water. 'When I asked you for a lift...'

'Don't make me feel guilty.'

'I shouldn't think it would take me...'

'Bishop.' 'A bag of provender. A Bounty bar?'

'Not even a coffee cream.'

'I don't like coffee creams.' Blowing like a great white whale, Bishop Beesley heaved himself over the rail. Somewhere a building toppled and crashed.

Jerry walked up and pushed him on his way. With a yell the bishop whirled his corpulent arms and fell on the water. He lay there, bobbing up and down in the yacht's wake, his arms and legs waving gently, his red mouth opening and closing, his bulging eyes staring at Jerry in pained outrage. Mitzi appeared, shaking water from her hair, and began to tow the bishop shore-wards.

'Bye, bye, bishop. It's like a game of dominoes in many ways.'

The bishop honked pathetically.

Jerry climbed up the companionway to the bridge and checked his charts and instruments, plotting his course.

Within half an hour they were bound for Sumatra where the organization had an emergency Reclamation Centre, and Greater America had disappeared below the horizon.

Three: Second Operation COMING EVENTS The Dream

Four years ago I dreamed that I stood in a room behind, and to the left of, a young man I did not know. He was younger than me. On the left, but in front of us, stood my brother, and beside him stood an old man whom I did not recognize. On our right, two large cream-painted doors were closing. I thought that my brother and this other man were in some way assessing this younger man, who I felt was either my husband or my intended husband. Since then, I have without any doubt met this young man. The dream is troubling me, as I fail to understand its meaning. Never before have I dreamed so clearly of something so far in the future.

The Meaning

We may accept the above as a good example of what is called precognitive dreaming. Instances of dreaming ahead of time crop up fairly often and some of them get on to this page. As to what the brother and the old man are doing, that comes under a different head altogether. The earliest objects of a girl child's physical affection are her father and her brother. Any later male attachment is a result of these early, though unlocalized, sex objects. The question the reader is asking in her dream is how far the later object of affection stands up to the early ideal of childhood. The result rests with the dreamer's own nature. The old man is a father symbol; the closing doors represent the flight of time.

Dream Meanings, Prediction, March 1969

Lights

OUTER SPACE: IN THE BEGINNING, A BIG BANG?

Fantastic things are being discovered in outer space. Some astronomers believe they have located cosmic bodies of cataclysmic force that might indicate a primeval Big Bang. And a hiss located in outer space may be an echo of this explosive Creation, coming from thousands of millions of light years ago. Next week, in an exciting new series, we explore the new ideas which may lead to a complete overhaul of our thinking about the universe and our place in it.

Observer Colour Magazine, 26 January 1969

I UpOs are unfriendly, up to no good, and some of them are truly dangerous

A quick trip to the cellar, then Jerry moved easy in soft browns and yellows and a gold silk tie, out into the mellow sunlight of an early autumn in Ladbroke Grove, on his way to Chelsea.

Kings Road was a healthy step away.

He strolled along, savouring the day, swinging his sonic cane and listening to the music in the handle, turned down Elgin Crescent, shaded by old oaks, and trod the length of Clarendon Road until he came to Holland Park Avenue with its tall trees and its huge, hollow, empty houses.

Pulled by two Shetland ponies, a red and green baker's cart moved slowly through the falling leaves. The lean driver stretched on his seat in the soft warmth of the day, listening to the lazy drone of distant aircraft. Jerry stopped and bought a bun.

'It's a mild sort of day,' said the baker.

'Not bad.' Jerry bit his bun. 'How's the wife?'

'Not so dusty.'

'Finished your round?'

'For what it's worth. Very little bread, of course. Just the eclairs and custard tarts and stuff.'

'I suppose it's for the best.'

'Wouldn't have it otherwise.'

Jerry headed for the park. His cane played The Fool on the Hill.

A few children ran about in Holland Park as he passed through. An old man fed the peacocks and pigeons and guinea fowl from a big tub of peanuts at his belt. Jerry paused by Holland House and looked at its white facade, but the Elizabethan mansion was silent so he kept going until he reached the cricket pitch and the burnt-out skeleton of the Commonwealth Institute that faced Kensington High Street where the traffic moved slowly.

He had a feeling in his bones.

On the corner of Earls Court Road, he climbed into his parked Maybach Zeppelin convertible, pushed back the top to let the breeze get to his hair, drove rapidly towards Chelsea and stopped outside The Purple Parrot where he had arranged to meet Spiro Koutrouboussis to discuss the past, present and future over lunch.

The lobby of the club was hung with gilded cages full of mynah birds, canaries and cockatoos who called to each other in several languages and dialects. The receptionist, dressed in elaborate quills, looked like a Polynesian chief in ceremonial robes. She smiled at him. 'Your table's ready, Mr Cornelius. Your friend's in the Linnet Room.'

Spiro Koutrouboussis sat by himself on a stool by the bar, staring pensively at a cage of sulky wrens. A thrush perched on his curly black hair, a Marguerita lay between his well-scrubbed hands. 'Ah, Cornelius.'

'Sorry if I'm late. I had rather a rough time in the States.'

'I told you so.'

Jerry sniffed.

That Karen von Krupp — she trapped you. I knew she would. You never listen...'

The thrush began to sing. Koutrouboussis brushed at it absently but it dug its claws in.

'It was an experience.' Jerry ordered a Pernod. 'Nothing like experience.'

The time lost!'

That's something you can never do anything about. Come now, Koutrouboussis. Let's see a smile, eh?'

'Cornelius. We are in danger. Our whole project is in danger — your project, after all. If you have double-crossed...'

Jerry reached for the menu on the bar. 'What have we got?'

The duck's very good today,' said Koutrouboussis. 'So I'm told. Or the Chicken Apollinaire.'

Too heavy for me. I'll start with pat& de Me, I think.' Jerry stroked the tip of his nose. 'I miss the food. Still...'

'Is Karen von Krupp out of the picture now?'

'I should imagine so.'

'Well, I suppose you were successful, essentially. But there's still Beesley. Particularly under the circumstances.'