weekend by fay weldon

Howard Jacobson: What fresh hell is this? A journey by train

Have you been on a train recently?

I don't mean Clapham Junction to East Finchley, I mean a real train. London to Manchester. Milton Keynes to Edinburgh. Reading to The Mumbles. If you haven't, try not to. Everything about them, bar the speed, is horrible. And with Virgin even the speed is horrible if the driver happens to get a sadistic kick out of tilting his passengers so that they're travelling parallel to the landscape, the way it must feel if you've been kidnapped and bundled into the boot of a car. Except that you'd rather be kidnapped and bundled into the boot of a car than go Virgin.

Been travelling a lot of late, on account of having a novel to talk about. I like talking about my work. I enjoy meeting readers. But I don't enjoy getting to them by train. In the days of compartments and corridors, trains used to be slow, but fun. You could hop on hours before they left, recce the other passengers, make friends, change your mind and jump off. Now they won't even tell you what platform the train's on it until it's about to leave or has left. They want you to panic. They want you to be uncomfortable.

And, reader, the noise. Not only of a thousand panicked people yelling down their mobile phones at once, but of the guard (now called the train manager) switching on his public-address system to tell us that there's safety information in the vestibule areas – vestibule areas, for Christ's sake! – asking us to be considerate of other passengers (which he isn't), advising of the whereabouts of the quiet coaches, which aren't quiet because he won't stop telling us about them. Then there are the blocked toilets. The toilets with too much running water. The toilets without any running water. The locks that don't work. The locks of such unnecessary techno-complexity that you will never know if they work or not. The bleeps denoting passenger trapped in toilets. The bleeps preceding the latest monologue from the train manager not just reminding us to lock the toilets, not just advising us of the whereabouts of coaches designed for peace and quiet (of which there hasn't been a moment), not just warning about short platforms and steep descents, not just telling passengers alighting at every stop to look around them and make sure they have their belongings – which isn't strictly speaking his business – but describing in fine detail every kind of ticket you can buy and might have bought, what to look for on the top right-hand corner, how to read the date and seat number, how to tell if you've got a saver or a super saver or a super super saver, how to decide whether you are therefore on the right train at the right time on the right day, and what to do if you aren't, which is to hop off it quick, otherwise you will be charged the full fare never mind whether you want a saver or a super saver or a super super saver, and don't think of arguing because this is a train, not a place of reason, not a democracy, not England, but a little corner of East Bulganistan where your life isn't worth the ticket you're mistakenly travelling on.

A nervous breakdown ahead? « Grapes of Creativity

Fay Weldon’s short story “The Weekend” (1978) is about a middle-class married couple which travels their cottage for a weekend. The excursion isn’t just merrymaking, but it includes a message of sexism and gender roles.

Martin and Martha have three children and of course, Martin is the head of the family. Martha is diligent woman; she has a job and she does the household duties too. The problem is that the couple doesn’t co-operate mentally. Martha seems to remember every single thing Martin likes and doesn’t like. “Martin can’t bear bad temper. Martin likes slim ladies”, Martha thinks.  Martha does her best to please her husband but don’t get any respect. On the contrary, Martin gives more precepts and expresses only negative feelings.

The situation doesn’t change because Martha keeps on drudging without any protestation. She had a lonely childhood and perhaps she thinks her life has improved. A husband, children, a career, parties – who wouldn’t be jealous? Maybe she’s afraid of doing anything on her own or, she thinks about her family’s vantage. It’s hard to say if Martha acts wisely. She’s between two fires and there’s no right or wrong.

Little by little, the atmosphere starts to become strained.  Does Martin go too far? Can Martha put up with him? Find out yourself.

Sources:

http://englishitis.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/weekend_text.pdf (May 22, 2011)

 http://media.photobucket.com/image/cooking%20woman/taraleesphotos/woman-cooking.jp g?

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