Its no surprise to me, no surprise at all. Sir Peter Jackson’s The Adventures of Tintin has won the best animated film award at the Golden Globes ceremony in Los Angeles. Directed by Spielberg and produced by Sir Peter and his digital effects company Weta Digital  in New Zealand.  The movie the first of a trilogy introduces new fans to Captain Haddock, Snowy and boy reporter Tin Tin. It is a fantastic few hours of escapism.

At a press conference Spielberg said young film makers had no excuse not to make their own films. Everyone has a video camera in their phones these days. I heard George Miller say that several years ago at a Tropfest festival to a young hopeful asking for  guidance.

See the Golden Globes article here

Tin Tin Trailer

Some kid was giggling.
From my seat I could see him I wanted to tell him to “Shut up don’t you know this is serious” but then – it erupted all around me, Captain Haddock from the safety of the doorway issued instructions to the hapless Tin Tin as he balanced of a sharks tail and using Snowy as a hand extender retrieved keys from a sleeping sailor, and I had to just sit there while parents and kids guffawed all over the theatre.

Guns Blazing

Then silence, long breathless silence as Tin Tin, Captain Haddock and Snowy the wonder pooch made their escape.  Tin Tin guns blazing, he looked just like he did in the comics I read as a kid erstwhile, resolute, unconditional, adventurous, clever a true hero, my hero, while the timid Haddock and Snowy made for the long boats. Dunderheaded coconuts!

There is a lot of slapstick violence that the kids, and parents, appeared to relish but it was the kind of violence you get when playing cops and robbers with your mates. You know the kind where you never really see anyone die sure they might fall off the ship and they might get eaten by sharks or they might have to have a sword fight but you never see them well you know kark it or get bloodied. You know, when it used to be in your face fun not ‘IN YOUR FACE’ but it was still mighty adventurous and swashbuckling.

Blistering Barnacles

The retro mood of The Secret of the Unicorn begins with an animated credit sequence,  done in graphic silhouettes. Then moves at the speed of a child’s mind leaping from here to there and everywhere. Galvanized by an eye candied shopping list of planes, train and automobiles viewers hurtle from the markets stalls of Europe, the high seas, the deserts of Sahara and more.

Director Steven Spielberg who says he had never heard of Tin Tin until he produced Raiders of the Lost Ark, you’re joking me aren’t you, teamed up with producer, Lord of the Rings director Peter Jackson who fortunately had to produce Tin Tin. They enlisted writers Steven Moffat (Doctor Who) and Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead) & Joe Cornish (Attack the Block) who combined are no Herge, however they rolled The Unicorn, The Crab With The Golden Claws and Red Rackham’s Treasure into one The Secret of the Unicorn. It’s missing the subtleties, eccentricities and dialogue of the books and the actors, brilliant all, work with what they have got. You know what they say if it’s not on the page it’s not on the screen.

Three make one.

Visually the setting of the film and the rendition of the characters honours the true spirit of the original comic books but the John Williams sound track is as relentless as Krakatoa on Feijoa juice and exterminates (as in Dr Who and the Daleks) the deep and comforting rhythm of the narrative ebb and flow.

I’m glad it wasn’t made into live action as Spielberg originally intended and 2D would have never lived up to the legend of Herge there was only one choice and it was the right choice 3D using performance capture technology (live actors are recorded digitally, then layered with computer animation) with Peter Jackson as producer and Joe Letteri Senior VFX Supervisor. And if you think motion capture is somehow the easy way out think again.

What does this do again?

The Adventures of Tin Tin –The Secret of The Unicorn looks and feels like Tin Tin she is a credit to all who worked on her.

It was an epic mash-up, a making of something new out of something old humourous, respectful, exquisite in detail and impertinent all at the same time.

The secret you see, is that it’s the ‘new’ adventures of the old Tin Tin and needs to be read in that context.

‘The meaning of a text does not reside in the text, but is produced by the reader in relation not only to the text in question, but also the complex network of texts invoked in the reading process’, Barthes.

The Secret of The Unicorn, my first The Adventures of Tin Tin book came to me from Belgium across the sea, a present from a travelling aunt.
I can still remember that summer holiday lying under the cotton wood tree, lemonade in hand the sound of the ocean in my ears, book on the sand engrossed in the adventures of the ginger haired boy reporter and his dog Snowy.

Today The Secret of the Unicorn leapt from a darkened screen like a star burst  as I sat surrounded by the sound of wonder and the excited rustle of popcorn as some where in the audience a young-some-one-like-me became engrossed in the adventures of the ginger haired boy reporter and his dog Snowy. The legend continues. Go see it.

It was a wet Sunday, I turned south and drove towards Louvain-la-Neuve and the museum, Musee Hergé designed as a focal point for one of the best loved creators of the twentieth century.

It’s a long way. I can’t imagine why the museum is located way out here. What were they thinking I keep thinking, Hergé was born in Brussels not this university town of Louvain-la-Neuve? As the miles slip by I keep asking myself, “Why so far from his birth place? Why?” I was never able to give myself an answer so I gave up.

More than forty minutes later, at 10 in the morning, I was lost on a cross road not standing at the opening door of the museum. A stranger, with a quizzical face like a cute puppy appeared at the window of the van. There are many of these delightful creatures in Belgium! She took pity on me and guided my cantankerous motor home towards an oak-wooded museum site.

Another twenty minutes later, she directed me into a free car park jumped out of her car, wished me the best jumped back in her car did a u-turn and headed back the way she came! Finally I looked up to…

A container ship moored in time and space, a labyrinth contained in the strong clean lines reminiscent of Hergé’s drawing style, Musee Hergé.

Christian de Portzamparc, architect for the project, tells us “Louvain-la-Neuve is built on a straight-edged concrete slab with a car park underneath. It immediately seemed like a good idea to disengage the museum from the town, better to move it away a little towards the woods.”

Musee Hergé has been in the works for a long time, a collaboration of like minds dedicated to creating an exhibition space suitable for a life’s work and where fans may visit and feel just a little of Hergé.
More of a monument than a museum.

Christian de Portzamparc, “I said to myself, from this point on, that the museum was obviously a tribute to Hergé, but also as much a game played with Hergé, or a letter to Hergé.”

Once inside the magic continues, bathed in light streaming through the large bays, I encounter “four landscape objects”, which correspond Joost Swarte’s scenography and the layout.

After I paid my entry fee a jolly gallery attendant handed me a audio-aid and directed me to a lift behind the admissions desk. Another jolly attendant put me in the lift and instructed me to hit play precisely when the lift door closed. Does anyone here have issues with control? Curiosity made me do exactly that. The lift took me to the top floor where I stepped out into the labyrinth and began my journey, steadily descending through eight rooms joined by walkways to the ground floor.

Ready set go, room 1 and the display begins by presenting Hergé’s career in chronological order. The treat in this room is the original plates of stories familiar and loved with the blue lines, the rubbings and marks of a work in progress. The first plate of ‘Tintin in the Land of the Soviets’, the original cover of “Landing on the Moon’ and the wonderfully energetic sketches for ‘Tintin and Alph-Art’.

On to room 2, where we find Hergé the designer and graphic artist working on newspaper column layouts, heading design, lettering and illustration during his time with Father Wallez.

More great interior shots the Contemporist.

Walking out room 2 I stepped into the light from the dark receptacle of the mind. On a walkway between the two rooms I stood looking through the enormous glass expanse, stunned suspended, silent watching the oak trees shift gently in the breeze, movement on the floor below, ahead a door and gently shifting colours. I’m still not sure of how to describe it to you, was I in a comic book panel or trespassing in the mind of a man or was it a little of both. I don’t know but it was a grand moment in time.

Moving from the walkway into room 3 character development is the focus of this room. The evolution and inspiration of various characters including Snowys’ character from foxie to sidekick is depicted here. Mmmm, I thought to myself that’s not like any fox terrier I’ve ever seen but if Hergé said it’s a foxie I’ll accept it, maybe! Sketches of other favourites are there including Bianca Castafiore, Captain Haddock, and Professor Calculus.

Zoom out to room 4. Ok I raced through this room, I apologise to anyone who is offended, how ever it didn’t have much to keep me there to be honest. The influence of film from King Kong (which inspired the gorilla in The Black Island) to Marx Brothers in the Tintin comics is the focus of this room. The weakest of the displays, it contains a lot of still and moving visuals but the connections drawn between the source material and the final product are thin and feel rushed as does a lot of the exhibition. There is a quote in the catalogue by Hergé regarding the role of the artist as akin to scriptwriter and director rolled into one, but it is still some-what unsatisfying.

Room 5. Blast off! Was Tintin the first man on the moon? Hergé, deeply inquisitive, interviewed many experts on the technical and scientific aspects of his imaginings. By focusing, for example on Destination Moon and artefacts such as the shark submarine and rocket models this room dubbed and decorated as the Calculus’ lab, endeavours to show the relationship between Tintin science and fiction.

Cast off to room 6 and travel as Hergé did by proxy to the lands of the great ancient civilizations that influenced Tintin. I warn you don’t leave without checking out the great 3D display using 3D glasses that are fabulous in them selves’ I love those glasses.

Down into room 7 where we get a glimpse and it is only a glimpse of Hergé’s Studio where he collaborated in later life with many other talented artists. There are model sheets and other bits and pieces of interest but I would have liked to see a production pipeline of the studio operation.

Last but not least room 8. Here speak others of Hergé. There is no shortage of praise for the man down here. The legendary, celebrated and illustrious tell of how they were influenced by Hergé. Here be portraits of some of his fans and the man himself some good some not. Don’t get me wrong I’m all for the Dali llama but the picture of him reading from Tintin in Tibet is naff, naff, naff. Sorry naff!

Exit stage right to the restaurant and the gift shop.

My final 2c. About 80% of Hergé’s original work is available to the gallery. At the time I was there were around 300 items on display including 150 original plates the intention is to rotate these approximately every four months.

I like the museum. It achieves what it sets out to do. It is not a research centre for students doing a Doctorate in Tintin it is a monument to a man and his work. It is early days yet and there will be much tweaking over the months and years but over all I think it works.
Christian de Portzamparc, architect for the project, Fanny and Nick Rodwell, Joost Swarte scenography, and Walter de Toffol, building contractor have over thirteen years worked towards a common purpose and it shows. They have aright to be proud.

The Tintin story is far from over so get ready, buckle up there is more Hergé mania on the way folks with Spielberg’s Tintin movie hitting the screens next year with Daniel Craig and Jamie Bell the man and his work will be big news then again,still.

GETTING THERE FROM AUSTRALIA:

How I did it.

Booked Korean Air, Sydney to Paris. AUD$1777 through
Escape Travel, Broadway, Sydney, Australia.

Europcar AUD388.05 (5 days)

Musée Hergé
Opening hours:
From Tuesday to Sunday: from 10:00 to 18:00
Monday,you know it: closed
Admission
General: 9.50 €, AUD16.50
Families and students: 7.00 € AUD 12.15
Between (7 and 14): 5.00 €; AUD 8.70

Belgian Tourist Office
Comic Strip Year Brussels

Originally published 2009

We were hard wired for it, I think, when we were wild, hairy  creatures of the jungle, the plains and mountains hunting woolly mammoths, fighting tigers and to the death, we got our rush.

Our ‘rush’, it connects us to our primal selves it makes us feel alive. Which is why we continue to charge the adrenalin batteries on a regular basis with all manner of terrifying entertainment.

There is no Nightmare on Elm Street or Chainsaw Massacre in my library and never a Twilight will you see. What you will find are Nazi zombies, freaky critters, witches, vampires all a bloodcurdling kind of fun.

Halloween is made for vampires and zombies work extremely well on Halloween. Watch some classics and some of the greatest horror actors of all time including Bela Lugosi the very first Drac and the best would have to be Christopher Lee’s Drac nasty and dangerous he hit his peak in Dracula: Prince of Darkness in 1966 and Dracula has Risen from the Grave in 1968.

I like a spot of humour preferably black humour, must be the Irish in me, with my horror. Humour improves horror its like salt in cooking it brings out the flavour. Classic horror humour! Try the original Fright Night from 1985 or for total hilarity go for Shaun Of the Dead. Too sophisticated for that, consider yourself a connoisseur of cult, try some of the old Hammer films with Vincent Price, Boris Karloff and Peter Lorre are a blast, nobody does character better than Peter Lorre. Then there is a unknown gem Crucible of Horror by Viktors Ritelis.

But for a more contemporary blast try my favourites you’ll never be the same again. Just ask my students they have been scared for life by my film classes.
Yes I know I look so innocent!

If you want to get some inside information on the horror genre try checking out this documentary The Masters of Horror narrated by Bruce Campbell  featuring “warped twisted monkeys” John Carpenter, Wes Craven,  Dario Argento, Guillermo  Del Torro, Rick Baker and others.

A bloodcurdling kind of fun.

1. Dumplings (2004) Hong Kong Drama/Horror
   Director Fruit Chan. Language: Chinese
   Cinema photographer Australian born Christopher Doyle Aunt Mei, a retired/disgraced doctor makes the most delicious youth rejuvenating dumplings and she lives in Hong Kong. She makes trips across the border and carries food warmers with the secret ingredient back. What could they contain? You will be horrified, you will. Horror in the full meaning of the word cleverly directed and beautifully shot, in spite of your suspicion and fears you cannot turn away from the screen. Disturbing and provoking you will not recover quickly from this encounter. DumplingTrailer
2. Tetsuo Iron Man, (1989)  Japan  SciFi/ Horror/ Cyberpunk
   Director: Shin’ya Tsukamoto. Language: Japanese
   Audiovisually relentless, reminiscent of H.R. Giger, the “metal fetishist”, an odd man with an insane compulsion to stick scrap metal into his body, is hit and killed by a Japanese “salaryman”, out for a drive with his girlfriend. Later, the salaryman finds he is being taken over by a disease that is turning his body into scrap metal, and that the “metal fetishist”, is not in fact dead but masterminding the “salaryman’s”,  mutation.  Tetsuo Iron Man Trailer
3. Tetsuo II – Body Hammer (1992) Japan SciFi/ Horror/ Cyberpunk
   Director: Shin’ya Tsukamoto. Language: Japanese
   Sequel to “Tetsou” this time has the Iron Man transforming into cyberkinetic gun when a gang of vicious skinheads kidnap his son. When the skinheads capture him, they begin to experiment on him…speeding up the mutative process. Body Hammer Trailer
4. Audition (1999) Japan Drama/ Horror/ Mystery
   Director: Takashi Miike, Language: Japanese
   Shigeharu Aoyama has lived as a widower for a long time and decides it’s time to marry again. He decides to hold a cattle callto find a wife. It’s a known fact if you do something freaky you’ll get freaky back — staying single may have been a better option. If needles and piano wire freak you out this isn’t for you. Audition Trailer
5. Alien (1979)  USA SciFi/Horror
   Director Ridley Scott Language: English
   Cinematography by Derek Vanlint
   Absolutely irrepressible warrior woman Ripley takes on the-all-time-handsdown-scary-never-to-be-another-one-as scary Alien mofo on a remote mining planet and wins kinda! Alien Trailer 
6. Suspiria (1977) Italy Horror
   Director: Dario Argento, Language: Italian
   A real nightmare, John Carpenter , Wes Craven and many others have been influenced by Dario Argento. A young American ballerina enters a prestigious European ballet school but gradually comes to realize that the staff of the school are actually a coven of dastardly evil witches bent on demonic disarray and destruction. Suspiria Trailer
7. Let the Right One In (2008) Sweden Drama/Fantasy /Horror
   Director: Tomas Alfredson,
   Pre-teen Oskar is the constant target of the town  bullies.  He spends all his spare time dreaming of revenge and collecting cuttings of news items about a series of unexplained gruesome murders in his town. Things improve for him when he meets Eli who helps him to stand up to his tormenters. An extraordinary film with some very powerful themes, read the book it’s even more extraordinary. Let the Right One In Trailer
8. Dead Snow (2008) Norway Comedy/ Horror
   Director: Tommy Wirkola,
   A group of Norwegian friends get the scariest history lesson of their lives during a weekend getaway to the snowy town of Øksfjord, where the party is interrupted by throngs of Nazi zombies who once occupied the area. Armed with a machine-gun-equipped snowmobile, the gang fights for survival in director Tommy Wirkola’s quirky horror, shot on location in the mountains of Norway. The film had its U.S. premiere at the 2009 Sundance Film Festival. Dead Snow Trailer
9. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994) Drama/Horror
   Director: Kenneth Branagh
   Branagh’s take on Shelley’s 1818 novel is very true to its literary roots.  Frankenstein is not portrayed as a bogon monster but as an intelligent, articulate, cunning and  revengeful son. Mary Shelley Trailer
10. Sleepy Hollow (1999): Director Tim Burton Horror/Mystery
    Visually stunning — the cinematography is hauntingly beautiful. In spite of some digressions from the original, Burton remains true to the book’s essence. (Koala bear stamp to Christopher Walken, who makes the headless horseman look intriguing rather than scary). Sleepy Hollow Trailer

WTF  happens in the bathroom, Nigel?

Everything in there is drenched. All the toilet paper is wet, if I leave clothes, towels hairdriers there when I come back to get them they are wet.
Not damp Nigel  WET.  Sit on the dunny and you get rained on.

I cleaned it all up on the weekend wiped all the walls and the ceiling. Lovingly dried it off.

Tonight I go to the toilet and get rained on, again, the toilet paper is wet and I look at the floor and there’s a tiny little river of water, cascading between the tiles and the wall with a few struggling ant boatmen, rafting towards the drain on the sodden shells of cockroaches.
I clean the bathroom up, again cursing. Finally the smell of his burning dinner gets him downstairs. How to deal with this?
I opt for the, I am stupid and you are the cleffa one approach.

Nigel, I said, have you noticed if there is a leak or something when you have a shower…..in the ceiling maybe?

No… nuffin like that. Why?

Oh, it’s just I get rained on in there and the toilet paper is wet, everything is slimy and there is water banked up around the wall.

GUFFAW! Nothing to worry about, it just me I like a sauna and there isn’t one around so I turn the hot water on full and just let it steam up the room. Sauna is good for your skin. He says rocking on his size 994B feet his eyes twinkling with the realisation of his own cleverness.

Oh well, like I told you the other day about the power bill Nigel, blah, blah, expensive blah, hot, etc water, etc and, jeez….  MAAATE everything is fookin drenched.

Yeah, he larfs, even my clothes are soaked when I finish its just condensation, it’s ok. No need to worry. There’s no leak or anyfing like that.

Yeah! Well Nigel here’s the thing mate, I’m tired of having a piss in the rain it’s most fuckin uncomfortable and the FTP is cold and wet on my fanny and it’s pissing me orf.

AW well I suppose I could not have so much steam.
Aw well do you really think so Nigel, because that would be really fucking good if you could manage that mate because I’m sick of being watered like a bloody African Violet.

Tracy was sipping one of those weak-soy-milk-caps with a dash of cold, the kind where coffee wasn’t a requirement to earn the name cappuccino. Her chair rocked back and forwards as she interrogated a bowl of muesli. Sultanas unable to submit a convincing argument to their usefulness were extradited to the far side of the bowl.

Kitsu watched in fascination, her macchiato’s, one for each hand, waited quietly on the table.

The waiter approached.

Deliciously scrambled eggs with wilted spinach was placed in front of her, wood, warm and worn from use appeared, and hovered over her eggs. The eyes of the waiter met Kitsu’s a covert operation was underway. The passion-ometer processed data, moving it quickly back and forth across the boulevard of unspoken desire.

A backup file was created.

Smell, dark, musky, pepper freshly cracked.  The waiter moved gracefully back behind the command position where decorative jars of yellow and red preserves mingled with untidy glasses of dead biros, blue. He hit the browse button.  A size ten challenged couple filled groaning chairs in the corner. A scan was initiated but a firewall had been installed.

The man was wearing a grey fisherman’s vest, the kind with pockets so big you could lose your passport in them forever. A leather shoulder strap strained diagonally across his chest and at the end of it a Nikon.  She was trying to wear white, with a money belt. By definition he was a tourist. So was she.  A plate of cheese and ham croissants with nowhere else to go sat helplessly in front of each of them. She licked grease, from her shiny rotunderingers.

Tracy looked across at them. “ Americans,” she said. Kitsu glanced over at the translucent skin and chests struggling to breath. “Naw, Ger-mainz.”
Tracy’s eyes scrolled down.  She shrugged, maneuvered continuously, miserably on her butt cheeks.
“What’s your problem, wanna go?”
“That’s it I don’t think I can go hunting today.”
“ Oh no… don’t do this. You always do this. Come on let’s go. Today is our lucky day. You’ll see, lets hit the road.”

Tracy hesitated, eyes in a funk and then,

“This is stupid, its’ some wacked out story you and your grandfather came up with while you were on magic mushies or something. I dunno, but there’s no freakin shape shifting silver fox.” She flopped back in her chair, “I’m just to old for this shitake, Kitsu!”
“You don’t look old…you’re older than me but you look…you look.”  Kitsu scanned the other woman’s face. The heavy kingfisher blue eye shadow, the black kohl, and then the two tone lips outlined in some shade of mocha-cha-cha-poo-poo to make them look huge…. really huge. It was a spinning-rainbow-wheel-of-death moment.

The scan terminated she couldn’t find the go back button. She had to go on.

“You look awesome. I can’t wear makeup the way you do.” Kitsu hit pause, searching desperately for the right words but terrified of being involved they had left for the coast. “Maybe I should have a resurfacing job done too. How much was it, again?” she said arching to see her reflection in the café window and prodding her cheekbones.

Tracy squirmed and moved towards the edge of the chair growling “You, don’t, understand. It’s a war, I’ve fought with every piece of cosmetic surgery available but…” She squirmed-uncomfortable-distressed.
“What? Come on, get on with it the hounds are waiting.”
Tracy had nothing left “I burnt myself bleaching my pubic hair to match my-” Her scrawny hand tugged at her blonde pageboy.
Kitsu’s cups crashed landed in their saucers. The waiter bounded to her side. She waved him away.  “Why?”
“I found my first grey pubic hair last week. So I – ”
“Wait, no details. What were you thinking? You were thinking weren‘t you?”
“What if Johnny saw I was grey. Down there.”
Kitsu was trying to hold on to her composure but it was trying to catch up to the words on their way to the coast. Grey pewbs, huh! This was an eventuality she had never spent time wondering about but now that Tracy mentioned it, well, it was obvious. KERCHING, KAPOW, KAZOOM!  Hair goes grey, even that hair! Wow the final frontier breached, or in this case bleached. Who woulda thunk it? Who woulda spent that much time worrying about it? She thought but managed to say, “Why would he care. Seven years, you’ve been together!”
“Eight. It worries me.”
“Come on. It happens, get over it, move on nobody will ever see, well nobody except you and Johnny.”
“You don’t get it I don’t want him to see, I don’t want him to know.”
“Jeez, fr…. he sees you plasticize, rasterise, and redraw but you’re worried about his reaction to a grey hair? And, I thought you were a bottle blond…considered the alternatives, a Brazilian, or a merkin I saw a show on the discovery channel about them the other day!”
“Merkin?”
“A muffy wig, come in all colours. You could get it in his favourite colour .”
“A Brazilian would hurt.”
“Less blisters.”
“You’re not getting it. It is so stressful trying to stay looking good for him, he is so young.”
Kitsu straightened her discarded cups and coffee-stained saucers, “He’s not that young he is over thirty.”
“I’m over fifty.”
Kitsu groaned. “ Aren’t we all? He doesn’t give a dam. He is still with you isn‘t he? It‘s obviously for love because you aint got any money, honey. “
Tracy was on the verge of tears but years of training prevented her from ruining her makeup. She pouted instead. “I ‘m tired, it’s such hard work. You go chase that stupid fox I’m not going. I’ve reached my use by date. It’s all right for you. Look at you, your still foxy, with your impossibly high cheekbones, a wash and wear body and NO wrinkles, how did you do that? Not age!”
“I don’t think about it, maybe I’m like the silver fox I magically improve with age.” Kitsu looked at her reflection in the café window, huh she thought curious.
Tracy groaned, “It’s just a fox there is nothing magical or mystical about it.”
“Says you the weaver of spells and potions.”
“I’m still not sitting on a horse for three hours.”
“Fine, you can sit in the hunt bar drinking g and t’s and ask your Tarot cards if Johnny cares whether you bleach muffy or not until I get back. I‘m not going without your scrawny old butt.” Tracy ran out of the Green Iguana.

Kitsu paid the bill and trotted after her to the car.

The car a Cherokee jeep, was more than ready to go, it had been waiting for nearly two hours. It was over it, it wanted to get out of there.  It wanted to feel the wind in its’ grill, the open road under its’ steel belted radials. It car-growled.

At the hunt club Tracy sat in the armchairs nearest to the window. A bar steward approached, he took their order of Bombay Gin with tonic and a slice of lime, not lemon and stored it in his mind next to the mental note that said pick up the dry cleaning and a carton of milk on the way home. By the time he got to the bar the note about lime not lemon had been lost and was going to cause a problem later on with Tracy.

“They were English.”
Tracy looked confused. “What were English?”
“The fat white couple.” Kitsu prodded against the deliberate silence, “What, what is it?”
“So you think I’ve got a scrawny old butt.’
Kitsu groaned. “Jeez give it a break I was just trying to lighten things up.”
“Yeah that’s working.”
Kitsu crossed her now jodhpur clad legs. “That’s obvious.”
Tracy could feel some bodies eyes all over her as they approached she looked up it was Todd Hunter .“You‘re not dressed yet?”
“She’s suffering from olditis can’t climb on a horse.”
“Well then maybe it should be off to bed with a warm milk and brandy for you instead of that gin and tonic. Rest those old bones of yours.  Come on it’s a good fox sighting day.”
Tracy snapped, “Their two words I never want to hear again OLD and FOX. I’m sick of hearing about that stupid shape shifting fox. ”
Todd Hunter gave Kitsu a, I see what you mean look. His feet shuffled, “ Come on, the fox promised Jack she’d..”
Suddenly he went all misty his eyes turned to a distant vista. “I remember..” Tracy groaned and mouthed invisible words. Todd stared at her. She stared back. He continued, lost in entrancing thoughts spoken out loud. “Jack enticed her to his side with gifts of warm milk and honey… many tried but his hand was the only one she ate from.  At night, out of sight of prying eyes she would slip to his side and together they would sit in the moonlight. As she intrigued him with her adventures among the stars his fingers patiently worked the honey into the milk.

Then, hungry and impatient she would nudge his hand from the bowl. He would surrender to her as her soft pink tongue lapped and curled gently around his fingers seeking the milk and honey.”  Todd Hunter paused lost in thought. “She had answers to questions he didn’t even know he needed the answers to. I have a few questions too.”
“Listen, she doesn’t exist. And if it does it’s probably got arthritis, osteoporosis and heart disease.” Tracy hailed the waiter.
“And wrinkles?” said Kitsu
“You’re making fun of me?”
“Just trying to get you to lighten up old girl”
‘You’re so childish. I’m sick of hunting that silver fox, if she exists she must be the most ancient creature alive and deserves a break.”
“She could be.  Old Jack thought she was a celestial fox from the stars and…”
“Yadda, yadda, yadda I know. When a fox turns fifty it has mystical power and can become a woman or a man yadda yadda yadda.” The sound of the pack woofing in the background interrupted her.

Kitsu sprung to Todd Hunter’s side. “We’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“Frack you’re always so freaken enthusiastic.”  Gin and Tonic spilled out the corners of her gortex lips. “I’ll be here.”

Kitsu padded softly after Todd Hunter. Her senses were roused. She was ready to ride.

The call of the hunting horn and they were off. Kitsu’s huge mare leapt to the front of the field. A mile away with the hounds just ahead of her they came to a jump and the mare lifted easily into the air without loosing a beat. They were moving quickly. The hounds had headed off to the north.  Kitsu was close to them, her mare never lost the lead.

The morning was gathering speed, racing towards a long cold vodka martini when Kitsu saw the quick flash of fox fur. The mare turned and followed it into a wooded area, twisting and turning through the trees towards the creek. The horse dropped her nose at the waters edge and wet her lips.  Kitsu pulled a small parcel from inside her jacket, unwrapped three smackos, dismounted and climbed onto a boulder to wait.

The fox moved quickly into a low-slung tangle of scrub. She was on the trail. It was the fox trail, with many secret tentacle trails. This time of the year the wattle along the creek is out I’ll go there she thought and turned south to the creek.
The air updated the progress of the dogs to her.  A lizard scuttled out of her way. She smiled, fox smile silky. She moved quickly, too quickly for the branches to get out of her way and they snapped back in annoyance, depositing clouds of golden pollen upon her back their voices crackling in air above her. She heard the creek whispering up ahead and her feet hastened to the sound. Passing her on the trail was a smell, dark, deep, and a tantalizing smell. A smell familiar, yet not familiar.  There was something else… but the smell called and she abandoned caution to hurry to it. She was a few velvet feet steps away from the creek now and the water became anxious it’s summons, strong and insistent – it had news for her. Hurry! Her nose investigated the air, strong and delicious smells resembling meat. Ah, hurry fox, hurry…there, see!

Meat, but not meat coming from the top of that big boulder.

She padded towards the boulder circling it carefully in one direction then in the other her nose keeping an eye on the origin of the smell. Her feet keeping an eye on the path she stopped and rested on three feet, one paw played with the air then rested on dark river stones. Then leapt silently to the source of the smell. Her cells scintillated. She nearly fell off the boulder with shock.

The red fox had come to the conclusion some time ago that things were not always what they seemed to be and this only confirmed it. It was agreed that the smackos should be shared and when they were finished the red fox licked the salty flavour from her fingers.

What a curiously human looking fox, the fox thought!

The morning had been long. The afternoon hot, the drive back with a gin soaked Tracy, tedious. Tracy’s self-righteous “I told you, you’d never catch that fox, there is no fox, sorry, “SILVER FOX”, your Grandfathers  fho-x stories are boring,” eventually sending herself to sleep.

Kitsu stood in the warm embrace of the shower.
The late afternoon sun trickled in through the window striking her body. She closed her eyes and caressed her sore shoulders. The moment wanted to be enjoyed – she obliged it. The water delighted, ran the length of her body soaking up knowledge of her as it went remembering the colour, the curves and the soft touch of her skin. She picked up the shampoo to rid her hair of dust, horse and fox. She got the shampoo all worked up then let the water flush it out of her copper locks.

Her eyes rode the filtered afternoon sunlight to the park.   She thought about the morning the heat, the hunt, the smell of fox.

Something stirred, she looked down and there caught in the sunlight curled up snug, was the silver fox its soft pink tongue winking at her.  Kitsu laughed.  She reached down and stroked the soft fur now wet and heavy from the shower. She teased the strands, a soft pink tongue curled around her fingers as she separated the silver from the red hair   “At last fox we meet.”
The fox laughed. Kitsu laughed. The water laughed.
A measure of creamy liquid spurted into her palm. She cradled the silver red locks in one hand while applying the herbal shampoo with the other. The fox’s coat shimmered, its pearly pink tongue winked.
Still laughing Kitsu rinsed the soft red-silver fur then grabbed the conditioner, massaging the tantalizing scent of twelve woodland herbs through the gold.
She turned off the water. Turned the blow drier to gentle heat and tousled the silken coat, warming and drying the rare creature. Fox smiles. Kitsu padded to the her room pulled a shirt on it felt odd, confining she stared at it. “Huh!” she crooned. She ripped it off and grabbed armfuls of clothes moved quickly to the window and threw them out into the street below.

She was throwing shoes out when the phone rang it was Tracy, the gin had worn off.
“Listen I just wanted to say, well you know. I’m sorry.  All those things I said about gramps… you know I didn’t mean it. I am sorry. I loved the old guy too.” Fox ears twitched.” You are listening aren’t you Kitsu. I mean, well you know. I’m a little stressed with things and all.”
“Yep I know.”
“It’s just that I worry so much. I know these things don’t mean anything to you but… But I’ve got nothing, just Johnny. If he leaves I have nothing.”
Kitsu yelped excitedly. “I’ve found the silver fox!”
“Kitsu you need to get out come over to my place we’ll have coffee.”
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“ Don’t be ridiculous. You have a walk in wardrobe full.”
“I threw it all out.”
“You threw it out?“
“Yes all of it. Out the window.  I’m going to buy new things tomorrow!”
“Kitsu!”
Kitsu scanned her body, stretching her arms, her toes, twisting to see her back as she walked to the window and peered over the railing to see her clothes strewn around.
“I most certainly did.” She glanced across to the park where several dark shapes bounded into the undergrowth. They looked a lot like foxes. Foxes in the city! City foxes! She thought out loud.
“You’re obsessed,” groaned Tracy. “Your mind is going, you need to get onto some HRT. How much soy are you eating?”
“Fried?” Kitsu hung up and padded around the apartment exploring, it all looked different.
Soon, Tracy knocked at the door “Kitsu, Kitsu let me in. I’ve collected your clothes of the street. I’ve brought you some tofu. Kitsu! The concierge is going to send someone out on to the awning get the rest. ”
Kitsu eyed the door, the open window and the park outside. She didn’t really care about the clothes. She didn’t really care about eating HRT or tofu. All she really cared about was the smackos in the fridge. They were getting dangerously low and she didn’t know who was eating them but it wasn’t the dog that she didn’t have.
She didn’t feel like talking to Tracy at all, Tracy was going to annoy her she could tell. She padded softly to the kitchen and set a bowl of milk and honey on the bench.
The door barked urgently again, some one was on the other side causing it grief but it stood its ground. Its job was to admit and repel and today it was drunk with power and wasn’t letting anyone in and nothing was going to change its mind. Especially a bleating blonde.

Kitsu’s ears were twitching uncontrollably. She followed them to the balcony. It was late a few God sunrays were waiting to be deleted. The soft silver hairs on her ears flinched. She heard the call.  Then down in the park just to the left of the magnolia tree she saw him, a male fox. He had been waiting for her for a long time. He was younger than her but he was more than ready for her. She had been on this earth for more than a thousand years, and she had been notoriously hard to catch. There were things, things he wanted to know he called her again. Effortlessly she leapt to the railing.

He called again.

Laughing, Kitsu sprang into the great everything and noticed for the first time, the soft silver down on her paws.