Outlaws crop up when you least expect them to. Here are positive signs for continuing with this ficto-documentary writing, and the reader can choose for themselves what to believe or disbelieve. Over this last weekend I keep missing a series of phone calls, probably about seven in all, from a man who I have never met before, but for whom I have received a message that he wishes to talk to me. I shall call him Wallace. This is not his real name, and the truth is that he wishes me to conceal it for reasons that will become clear as this story unfolds. I keep missing the calls from Wallace because it happens that between last Friday and Sunday evening since I am travelling from England to Scotland and then back again. I also call back Wallace on his number on occasions but there is always no answer. However, messages are left by both of us, and we finally get to talk on Monday morning.
Wallace speaks in a cheery and direct northern accent and I immediately warm to his voice. After brief introductions between us and to explain the main reason for our talking, I say to him, “Life is precious”.
“Occupy Death”, I say to Wallace near the end of our conversation. He laughs and says that he likes the idea. But I am troubled in my heart of course in case we don’t get to speak again.