At First Sight

11 August 1999

I wake mildly depressed but it gets worse. There's a letter from the gang of quasi-thieves who hold my meagre stipend, the Bank of Scotland. They've bounced my mortgage for the second time. That's not one, not two, but three lots of Ł25 charges this month (for charges read "robberies"). Their modus operandi is to wait till you get into simple difficulty, then compound it. In their ads I think they call that "caring" or "planning for the future" or "like to say yes" or summat.

Unspeakable people. Total scum - not just that bank but the rest of the bastards too. Jesus had the right idea.

But it's eclipse day, and no, dear readers, one hasn't gone to Cornwall. Forty years on, and I didn't make it. (See Four in the Morning). But the dull grey weather cheers me up immensely. Imagine if it'd been sunny, and they'd all got a great view! Razorblade stuff. However, with this weather I can live with myself for not going. Laziness was the correct option.

On the telly I see a great totality, but only from an RAF plane. There's more totalities to come from eastern Europe and Asia, but the BBC doesn't bother about them. Indians, just like Prince Philip said. Likewise, CNN realises that this eclipse fails to grace the Holy Land of Capitalism, so ignores it almost completely. No wonder Americans get so paranoid, thinking Maine is the edge of the developed world.

Glancing out the window, it looks just like another dull day - cloudy and grey, as we mentioned. But no!! It isn't! A closer look shows the tree shadows drawn razorsharp on the park grass! Darkness with sharp shadows? This really is something different, something special. Yanking on trousers and ignoring toilet, I rush out into the partial eclipse. Better half a loaf than no bread.

First thing I do is glance at the sun. OK, you're not supposed to. We all know that. But I do, and there it is, three-quarters covered. Now, dear reader, I had a partial before, when I was about 14, but then I never realised how very long it would be till the next one! There's only one place to go in this excitement - the Port o Leith bar.

Jimmy the barman and Big Al are the only people there. Al has double photo film. I look through it, against all the warnings again, and lordy me - there's now just a tiny sliver of sun. It's awesome. Keenly I make a pinhole in a barmat. It doesn't work. We try Jimmy's reading glasses, but they're rectangular - Jeffrey Archer style. Back to the photofilm. O my o my.

We drink then, and watch Discovery Channel, as they follow the totality all over the place. Great coverage. Specially from Romania, where I can almost see the vampires rising hungrily from their midday coffins - then getting toasted a few seconds later, like they did in Near Dark. (Great film, btw).

Later, Big Al points out the Rainbow Warrior - the Greenpeace vessel. It's in dock. "Fancy going?" I ask. "Couple more pints," he says. I agree.

Our guide for the ship is a striking young man. "Hi! My name's Jesse," he begins.

And I'm in love. Instantly. His voice is the sweet music of rain falling on summer grass. Canadian, I would guess, but it's too early to ask. I want his sunspot.

"This ship was paid for with the restitution we got from the French Government," he continues. "They blew up one of our ships, and killed a photographer."

His soft curly light-brown hair bubbles out the back of his olive-green baseball cap. He's about 25, I would say. I want his prominence.

"There were two limpet mines. After the first one exploded, the photographer went down into the hold to rescue his equipment before abandoning ship. That 's when the second mine went off, right outside his cabin. They had to pick the bits of camera out of his remains."

Sounds hellish, poor guy, but shit happens. Jesse, however, is in the rudest of health, his pale blue eyes looking ever so slightly stoned as he gazes round his group. Pick me, Jesse!! Please pick me!! I want his totality.

Wondering what an Eco-warrior's sex-life is like, afloat on this ship most of the time.

Does Jesse shag on the high seas, or just in seedy docks, paid for like a pound of mince? Who cares? I just want to bask in Jesse's corona for ever.

A stunna. If you get my drift, baby.