Barnes. Pdf

Letter 8 
Jesus Pippa. Jesus. I just couldn't go on with that last letter. Jolly bits of news from each day's shooting. Couldn't go on with it, 
not after what happened. But I'm fine. Really I'm fine. 
Later. Poor old Matt. Shit, he was a good bloke. Sure he could get under your skin but so would St Francis of Assisi on a 
job like this. He'd have spent all his time looking at the bloody birds in the Jungle instead of reading his cue-cards. Sorry, love. 
Bad taste, I know. Just can't find the way to put things. Very low. Poor old Matt. I wonder how you'll hear the news and what 
you'll think. 
Jesus those fucking Indians. I think I'm going to die. I can hardly hold this biro. Sweating like a pig, comme un porco. God 
I do love you, Pippa, I just hold on to that. 
C 
[p. 212]
Letter 9 
I get out your photo with the chipmunk face and kiss it. That's all that matters, you and me and having babies. Let's do it, 
Pippa. Your mum would be pleased, wouldn't she? I said to Fish do you have kids, he said yes they're the apple of my eye. I 
put my arm round him and gave him a hug just like that. It's things like that keep everything going, isn't it? 
It's true what they say. Go into the Jungle and you really find out what people are like. Vic’s a whinger, always knew it. 
Whingeing on about the sodding film. I said don't worry you can always sell your memoirs to the paper. He didn't like that. 
Why did they do it? Why did they do it? 
love C 
P.S. Wish you'd written. Would have helped now. 
Letter 10 
It could have been me. It could just as easily have been me. Who decides? Does anyone decide? Hey you up there in the sky, is 
anyone home? 
I've been having this thought all day. I said to Old Fishy do you have kids and he said yes they're the apple of my eye and 
we just hugged each other right there in front of everyone and ever since I've been wondering what it means. The apple of my 
eye. What does it mean? You say words like that and everyone knows what they mean but when you look at them you can't 
understand them. The film's like that, the whole trip's like that. You go along thinking you know exactly what everything is, 

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J
ULIAN 
B
ARNES
: A History of the World in 10 ½
 
Chapters 
68
and then you stop and look at it and it doesn't make any sense and you think maybe it only made any sense in the first place 
because everyone was pretending it did. Does this make any sense? I mean it's like the Indians and the fake rocks that the 
chippie ran 
[p. 213]
up. They looked at them and looked at them and the more they did the less they understood. They started off knowing they 
were rocks and they ended up not knowing anything. You could see it in their faces. 
I'm going to give this to Rojas now. He walked past a few minutes ago and said that's the third letter you've written today 
why don't you put them in the same envelope and save postage? I got up and you know I swear I turned into Firmin for a 
moment and I said, `Listen, Our Lady of Communications, I shall write and you will transmit as many fucking letters per day 
as I happen to feel like writing.' Well Firmin wouldn't have said fuck of course, but his tone was there. Sort of austere and 
pissed off with anything less than perfection in the world. Oh well, better go and say sorry, otherwise he'll throw them all 
away. 
- love C 
Letter 11
Waiting for copter 
Pippa love - 
When we get out, I'm going to do the following things. Have the biggest fucking Scotch they can pour in Caracas. Have the 
biggest fucking bath they can pour in Caracas. Have the longest phone call I can have with you. I can just hear your voice 
answering the phone, as if I've been to the shop for some ciggies and I'm back late. Then I'm going to the British Embassy and 
get a copy of the Daily Telegraph and I don't care if it's weeks old and I'm going to read something I never normally look at 
like the nature notes if they have them. I want to be told that the house-martins are nesting or you might see a badger if you're 
lucky. Ordinary things that go on all the time. I'll look at the cricket scores and pretend I'm some old member in from the shires 
with a striped blazer and a pink gin in his fist. Maybe I'll 
[p. 214]
read the births column as well. To Emma and Nicholas, a daughter, Suzie, sister to Alexander and Bill. Good old Alexander 
and Bill, I'll say, now you've got little Suzie to play with. You must be gentle with her, you must protect her all your lives, 
she's your little sister, you must make her the apple of your eye. God I'm crying Pippa, the tears are just streaming down my 
face. 
love C