I met a strange lady. She made me nervous. She was doing sums. Long complex sums. I wasn't taken in, she didn't make me breakfast, despite her airfryer. It was on a train. How could I not?
If you encounter a sybil with prophetic powers you must never let her go. Offer her kitchen appliances or fancy calculators with all formulas on them as bribes.
Have you been reading/thinking/dreaming about time travel recently? Asimov's End of Eternity perhaps? Psychohistory - prediction of the future using complex mathematics and all that.
And of course there's a lot of mathematics in astrology, for example.
I think this vignette only seems weird from the narrator's (and therefore most readers') point of view. From the old lady's point of view it's all perfectly sensible and understandable.
She also struck me as having the same sense of mischief as 80 year old me would have, if I ever made it that far.
There was a time, when I was young, when half my best writing was prompted by stuff that happened when I was on trains. I don't really know what trains are like these days, but back then they were wonderful, interesting places.
Hi Evie - no I havent actually beendoing any of that. I read terribly little I must confess - scandalously bad and poor show. The old woman exists - in as much as my description of her is vividly accurate because I did spend 40 minutes on a train staring at her, as syruptitiously as I could wondering what she was up to, and imagining a back story.
of course, she was surely NOT a time bending reality controlling mind reading dimension hopping maths wielding magician on a secret time tampering mission on the 17:06 to carlisle - but I did absolutely feel there must be hidden depths to such a woman who was indeed rattling out complex maths into a jotter with a propelling pencil whilst hugging a ninja crispi pro 7 air fryer.
The story was sort of one that unfolded itself as I went along- i resisted the urge to make her more evil and monstrous, although she did have monstery teeth. I resisted an urge to think about what her mission actually was - and to me she was like a stern grandmother, decrying the decay of polite standards but still with a good heart and a sense of mischief and chosing to make somewhat of an example of Martin Stephenson (not intentional borrowing of our local musical hero I add) for his rudeness and to bamboozle him with a display of her predictive omniscient power in the most ridiculous pointless way possible.
the twist at the end and the reveal sort of came in a flash, as did the shitting thing - shit is just one of my favourite swear words.
my trains are excellent - there are two an hour into and out of newcastle. Its a ten minute walk to the station and from the station at either end and I always get a seat. 16 miles for ten quid return...its not exactly cheap, but it is very reliable and much cheaper than the car even the lecky one. there are often fascinating conversations and weird people to observe and overhear. i get 1 hour and twenty minutes to sit and do nothing - usually listen to radio, doomscroll on stack or read a little bit of something. or play a stupid brain dissolving puzzle game on my phone and sip my coffee
You're not the only one who reads scandalously less than they feel they ought to. Although it's partly because of lack of (spare) time of course. I'm quite good at winging it to make people think I'm far more widely read than I actually am.
Your description of the old lady in this story was exquisitely done and very real, so I can understand how it was based on someone you did see on a train. Shows what a natural writer you are, though - observing people I mean. Well done you for your surreptitious spying.
Yes, I like shit as well - it's a great word. Of course we have a lot of shit round our way, given it's all rural and there's an equestrian centre up the road, and we need all that shit for fucking our fields with. One time (not at band camp), we were sitting upstairs and noticed a few passing horses taking a dump on the road outside our house, so I sprang into action with a bucket and spade and nabbed it before anyone else could. It ended up on our tomato patch if I recall.
So that's why I did so badly in math. Mathematics is magic! This was such a fun story, and the narrator sounded like a real person. I must admit that it took me a while to understand the mathematrix's last line, "Write it down. Don’t forget. Oh, and fix the bolt.” About five minutes after reading it, I figured it out and started cracking up. I think I'll be remembering this one.
Thanks Jeannine! that last comment about the bolt was the last line i added as a sudden afterthought...of course she would know what was going to happen! im glad you liked it. i actually saw this woman on my train (not sure she was a mathwitch...but she did look like this!)
If she is, she hopefully has a sense of humor... and if you described her personality accurately, I suspect she does. You'll suspect she knows if she starts waving her hands around, muttering equations, the next time she sees you. You'll KNOW she's a Substacker if she does all that, waits a beat, and then starts laughing her head off. I'm only 66, but I think (hope) I would be amused if the real, messy, strange, hippie-redneck me ended up in someone's story. But I don't live in the UK, nor do I ride trains, so I should be safe enough. And I'm safe from the donkeys, they don't have enough thumbs to post on the 'net... yet... But who wouldn't want to be immortalized in literature as a mathematrix?
If you encounter a sybil with prophetic powers you must never let her go. Offer her kitchen appliances or fancy calculators with all formulas on them as bribes.
i missed my chance. my english politeness forbad that I ask her. now I can only wonder what might have been.
“I am the son and the heir
of a shyness that is criminally vulgar”
perfect.
Have you been reading/thinking/dreaming about time travel recently? Asimov's End of Eternity perhaps? Psychohistory - prediction of the future using complex mathematics and all that.
And of course there's a lot of mathematics in astrology, for example.
I think this vignette only seems weird from the narrator's (and therefore most readers') point of view. From the old lady's point of view it's all perfectly sensible and understandable.
She also struck me as having the same sense of mischief as 80 year old me would have, if I ever made it that far.
There was a time, when I was young, when half my best writing was prompted by stuff that happened when I was on trains. I don't really know what trains are like these days, but back then they were wonderful, interesting places.
Hi Evie - no I havent actually beendoing any of that. I read terribly little I must confess - scandalously bad and poor show. The old woman exists - in as much as my description of her is vividly accurate because I did spend 40 minutes on a train staring at her, as syruptitiously as I could wondering what she was up to, and imagining a back story.
of course, she was surely NOT a time bending reality controlling mind reading dimension hopping maths wielding magician on a secret time tampering mission on the 17:06 to carlisle - but I did absolutely feel there must be hidden depths to such a woman who was indeed rattling out complex maths into a jotter with a propelling pencil whilst hugging a ninja crispi pro 7 air fryer.
The story was sort of one that unfolded itself as I went along- i resisted the urge to make her more evil and monstrous, although she did have monstery teeth. I resisted an urge to think about what her mission actually was - and to me she was like a stern grandmother, decrying the decay of polite standards but still with a good heart and a sense of mischief and chosing to make somewhat of an example of Martin Stephenson (not intentional borrowing of our local musical hero I add) for his rudeness and to bamboozle him with a display of her predictive omniscient power in the most ridiculous pointless way possible.
the twist at the end and the reveal sort of came in a flash, as did the shitting thing - shit is just one of my favourite swear words.
my trains are excellent - there are two an hour into and out of newcastle. Its a ten minute walk to the station and from the station at either end and I always get a seat. 16 miles for ten quid return...its not exactly cheap, but it is very reliable and much cheaper than the car even the lecky one. there are often fascinating conversations and weird people to observe and overhear. i get 1 hour and twenty minutes to sit and do nothing - usually listen to radio, doomscroll on stack or read a little bit of something. or play a stupid brain dissolving puzzle game on my phone and sip my coffee
You're not the only one who reads scandalously less than they feel they ought to. Although it's partly because of lack of (spare) time of course. I'm quite good at winging it to make people think I'm far more widely read than I actually am.
Your description of the old lady in this story was exquisitely done and very real, so I can understand how it was based on someone you did see on a train. Shows what a natural writer you are, though - observing people I mean. Well done you for your surreptitious spying.
Yes, I like shit as well - it's a great word. Of course we have a lot of shit round our way, given it's all rural and there's an equestrian centre up the road, and we need all that shit for fucking our fields with. One time (not at band camp), we were sitting upstairs and noticed a few passing horses taking a dump on the road outside our house, so I sprang into action with a bucket and spade and nabbed it before anyone else could. It ended up on our tomato patch if I recall.
i see we share the "at band camp" tourettes. heartwarming.
Yeah - let’s not go there or we’ll be in real trouble. It’s so difficult to resist! And I’ve got a couple of recorders in my cupboard.
Matron!
Kenneth Williams ‘ooh!’ face.
You should've fixed the bolt.
i know! you can lead a horse to water...
Wow! That was seriously weird! And quite original. I also failed at maths so I get the equation with magic.
thanks for reading Wendy! mission accomplished...seriously weird! always a lofty goal! 😁
Majestic. The portrait. The ending. All of it! 🤣
Thank you so much, dear Saint 🥰
Fixed the bolt. Should I have fixed the bolt!?!?!?
Also weighed mine. 209 grams.
snack more, padowan.
You did it! I can’t wait to see how you wrote her!
So that's why I did so badly in math. Mathematics is magic! This was such a fun story, and the narrator sounded like a real person. I must admit that it took me a while to understand the mathematrix's last line, "Write it down. Don’t forget. Oh, and fix the bolt.” About five minutes after reading it, I figured it out and started cracking up. I think I'll be remembering this one.
Thanks Jeannine! that last comment about the bolt was the last line i added as a sudden afterthought...of course she would know what was going to happen! im glad you liked it. i actually saw this woman on my train (not sure she was a mathwitch...but she did look like this!)
Complete with air-fryer box??? I wonder if she would be pleased by her immortalization on Substack? 😁
i hope shes not on the stack...my description of her is barely exagerated at all.
If she is, she hopefully has a sense of humor... and if you described her personality accurately, I suspect she does. You'll suspect she knows if she starts waving her hands around, muttering equations, the next time she sees you. You'll KNOW she's a Substacker if she does all that, waits a beat, and then starts laughing her head off. I'm only 66, but I think (hope) I would be amused if the real, messy, strange, hippie-redneck me ended up in someone's story. But I don't live in the UK, nor do I ride trains, so I should be safe enough. And I'm safe from the donkeys, they don't have enough thumbs to post on the 'net... yet... But who wouldn't want to be immortalized in literature as a mathematrix?
Paul Simon's Graceland?