Tag: quintessentially English

Atonement – Ruining Lives

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

The other night we watched a quintessentially English film called “Atonement”. It was very well acted and full of luvvies. The costumes and setting were excellent. It was full of repression and class tension. The gist of it was that a posh teenage girl lied about events, a possible sexual assault. As a consequence a lower class man previously sponsored through Cambridge by the family was arrested and gaoled for the assault. The young woman of the house {the sister of the informant} and he were finally opening up about their strong feelings for each other just before the event. He, the outsider, was sent to prison in disgrace and their relationship was severed. The young woman of the house left the family. All because of the younger sister’s lies, the stretching of “truth” by the teenage girl who was too embarrassed to change her story. Before she got to atone for her sins, her older sister died in a Nazi bombing of London and he died during the BEF retreat to Dunkirk. The young informant wrote a whole novel imagining the lovers together and her atonement. It was all made up in her head, something she imagined doing but never could. It was too late. She did not atone. She imagined making up a “happiness” for them atoned for her actions. In reality it did not nor could not.

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It shows that those fond of attention with a talkative tongue can invent shit and ruin the lives of others. Talk can literally derail lives. A few words in haste can have a devastatingly destructive impact. I am fairly sure that the basic gist of the story is played out time and again. The versions and circumstance vary, but lying for attention may be a very common theme. The film suggested that the protagonist who wrote a novel about the betrayal struggled with appreciating the impact and scale of what she did. Not everyone will struggle, the more sociopathic may feel justified and never think of it again. But if we are human we all kind of know when we have betrayed, let down and not been impeccable. Our conscience may vary. We may have a few nights on the pillow before sleep when the ghosts of deeds past parade before our mind. It may be more impactful and of a greater longevity.

It is often the outsider, the person who is not present, who has their lives ruined.

If we are so lucky as to be offered a chance to atone in some way for our deeds then the universe is kind to us. Should we fail to seize such a thing then our guilt may grow and metastasise. In reality we can never change nor undo the damage we have done. Any “sorry” if heartfelt is to assuage our own feelings of misdemeanour. Karmically it is at least an acknowledgement of responsibility and perhaps of learning. If we learn from misdemeanour then it has at least served some purpose. If we are a serial offender then pain and ruin has been wasted. It is wanton destruction.

It is logical that one lie almost invariably leads to others. Unless the truth is out, the lies propagate. The karma of lies can often be the perceived need for more lying, more falsehood. The causal impact of lies and exaggerations can be manifold.

A simple act can bifurcate through space-time.

English Village Parish Meeting Dream 22-08-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Here is this morning’s dream. It is out of context. We did however watch “A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder” the other day and I once helped a NIMBY protest against an incinerator build for a Buckinghamshire village.

The dream starts on a small, grassed square outside a red brick village church / parish hall. Despite being made of very dark red brick and flint the building is centuries old. A special parish / village meeting has been called. It is very important for the village as there is some unknown sense of danger which needs discussed and a plan needs to be made. Under the thatched roof of the “bus stop” around a pub table are sat a couple of women my age. One of who is of Indian origin. They are discussing a recipe in poor French, Franglais. It is all village fete, quintessential even. I am sat on one of the park benches with the wife. Everyone is invited especially those who do not attend church. The vicar has made the church available and the town council committee has sent out invites.

Inside the church the angling club is holding a meeting. We are relatively new to the village, the first thing of interest / excitement to happen there in a very long time. It being a small village the word has gotten about. There is some expectation of me. That in some way I will play a role perhaps an important role. I have been pressed to come by some of the village “elders”. As the village gathers the hubbub increases. The young farmers from outside the village bounds are chatting excitedly. They are opposite us sat on a low wall. They have a slight schism with the influx of townies. The head of the angling society opens a window on the side of the church and tells everyone to be quiet. They have important business.  The middle finger of my right hand extends downwards in a gesture. The farmers note this. The wife is mortified but my gesture has gone down well.

One of the famers, whose family have lived in the village long, says to me, eye to eye, that the head of the angling society is a “right wanker” in a slight west country accent. The famers start calling out “come on you toss pot we have got things to do, hurry up so that we can get started.” This has broken the ice in the assembling villagers. The man closes the window. We can hear chat inside and know that the meeting has been called to a close. The head of the society was once a big cheese in the village but his stock has fallen of late. Before the doors to the church are opened everyone starts to make their way into the hall.

The dream ends.

Bridge – Posh House – Special Needs -Cooking – Dead Drop – Filing Cabinet Dream 02-02-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

The first part of the dream was had between 6 and 6:31 AM this morning. I then went back into the dream.

The dream opens with me driving down a bitumen private country road on an estate towards a bridge over a fair sized river, tens of metres across. There has been recent flooding. I drive onto the bridge and see that the far side of it has been eroded. Nevertheless, I can drive off the bridge and continue on. I am less sure about the return journey. I pull up on to a large, gravelled parking area in front of a large house / mansion. It is quintessentially English and similar to that of one of my prior tutees. The sense is that I have come here on a similar purpose of teaching.

I knock and enter and am welcomed by a man of similar age to me dressed in tweeds. He ushers me in and inquires about the journey. I mention the bridge. He says that the lads are working on a lash up. He shows me into a lounge like area and we are joined by his wife a younger woman with dark hair. It is obvious that they are both upper class, she in particular. Their accents are clipped.

We make our way out. At the side of hallway there is a white computer screen upon which are cartoons portraying the weather of the day in some detail. I comment that it is a nice simple touch. They look at each other in a light hearted conspiratorial manner.

We go to inspect the bridge. I can see that it will be difficult to get my car back on the bridge. In the dream I know that it will be easy for me to pick it up by hand and place it onto the bridge, even though it is a normal sized normal car.

The lads are sailing a barge downstream towards the bridge. It has a military style pontoon bridge on it. They anchor and secure the pontoon in place. I get onto the pontoon with them and lift a car which is already on the pontoon off onto dry land. I can and do drive my car over the pontoon and park up the other side.

I am now sat at table with the woman and her two sons We are in the orangery and the youngest son is serving us a curry from a deep sided old style metal mass catering serving tray. It has handles which are lose and held to the tray with rivets. The meal is good. He asks if I need some more spices to thicken the sauce. He offers me a small plate upon which are turmeric, cumin and garam masala. I say that the curry is just fine as it is, lovely. The mother is delighted. She is wearing blue jeans and an expensive pink jumper.  I say that I like things simple. They all look at each other. I say, “you lot as a family have got something weird going on about simple.” They all smile.

The older brother is doing very well in school but the younger one is seen as a bit odd. He has some special needs. I say to them that when I was a little older than the younger lad, I used to do a lot of the cooking for the family. The younger teenager says that he does too. There is a peculiar instant sense of bonding between us.

I wake up and go to the loo. The wife says that I have been kicking about.

I try to return to the dream.

I am back at table in the orangery. The woman is sat where she was previously but her jeans are unzipped to reveal light pastel blue underwear. I am not sure what this means. What has transpired, what she wants. It then dawns on me that she is indicating that both the boys came out of her.

The younger boy then takes me by the hand and leads me out of the orangery and into a walled garden. The walls are made of very red bricks and the garden is where chef grows his herbs and vegetables. The younger lad is a friend of the chef.

He takes me behind a small green house and eases a stone out of the wall. It is like a cold war dead drop. In the cavity there is a white piece of paper which at first looks to have nothing on it. The lad puts the brick back and unfolds the paper upon which is a map of sorts sketched by hand.

The lad leads me from the walled garden into the basement kitchen and thence to a basement room. He turns on the fluorescent light overhead. The stark lighting reveals a number of filing cabinets. He shows me one in olive-khaki green. The drawers have handwritten labels which have yellowed with age. The writing has been done with a fountain pen is a sloped script which I know to be that of a female. There is a locking bar down the face of the cabinet. At the bottom the padlock has been removed by the lad. He shows me it. Implicit is that the key is in his trouser pocket. There is a sense that this archive dates back to the second world war and that nobody knows what to do with it nor can they decipher it. It has been in the safe keeping of his family.

The dream ends.