THE MENTAL CHECKLIST

Imagine, if you will, that it is the nineteen seventies and you have decided that you will isolate yourself from society by living out on the moors for a year.
Civilization blows, people blow, convenience and modernity blows!

You have found a "delightful" small cottage on a rise overlooking a stretch of blasted heath. There's a kitchen area cum living space downstairs, and a storage loft upstairs. The owner will let you have it for a very minimum amount of rent.
Including a kitchen table and two rickety chairs, as well as a bedframe, and a large armoire.
Just repaint them, please.

A simple, Spartan life.

You plan to write defining English-language novel of the late 20th century.
Entirely beyond the embrace of central heating and running water.
There's a wood stove in the main room, and a pump outside.
In the middle of a wind-swept frigid wasteland.

No doubt about it: You're nuts.


SUPPLIES

Thirty pounds of Douwe Egberts Coffee.
Three hundred teabags, same brand.
Twelve tins of Darjeeling tea.
Two gallons of vinegar.

Twenty bottles of whiskey.
One bottle of brandy.
One flask of rum.
No gin.

One hundred pounds of rice.
Twenty pounds of flour.
Ten pounds of sugar.
Baking soda.

Three dozen jars of sambal ulek.
A vast selection of spices.
Fifty LBS of potatoes.
Dry rice noodles.

And four hundred single-serving size cans of baked beans.

That last one is easily explained! No one else around for miles and miles, so who the heck cares?


Other things you may need are dried fish, ketchup, soy sauce, sauerkraut (see explanation above), several jars of preserves, a corollary quantity of packaged rusks, a large wheel of cheese. Wheatabix, cocoa, salt.
Plenty of dry shrimp.
A tin of fruitcake.
Baling twine.
A sweater.
Mattress.
Brushes.
Paints.

And sixty tins of strong pipe tobacco, as well as a thousand fine Dutch cigars.

That last one is easily explained! No one else around for miles and miles, so who the heck cares?


Necessary items also include two can-openers, two coffee pots, two teapots, two cups and saucers, two plates, two pots, two ladles...... well, two of all absolutely essential kitchen equipment, just in case one of them gets lost or breaks (remember, no one else for miles and miles). Including tumblers for the liquor, sauce pans, toasting forks, dinner forks, salad forks for fishing the pilchards out of their tins (dammit, nearly forgot the eighty tins of pilchards!) spoons, dinner knives, butter knives, fish knives (?), paring knives and or kitchen knives. Etcetera.

More than enough dish detergent and spray-cleanser to keep everything spotless. Plus necessary cloths, wipes, scrubbers, and sponges.

But barely enough bath soap for one grubby bachelor.

That last one is easily explained! No one else around for miles and miles, so who the heck cares?


Blankets, sheets, towels. Five pillows, and ten pillow cases.
A dictionary, a style guide, several Simenon novels.
Oil lamps, wicks, oil, and candles.
Pens, pencils, erasers.

You're all set. A friend with a truck drives you fifty miles into the bog, and helps you unload.
He'll check back on you in another two months, and he drives off while you stow everything, figure out what to put where, arrange your supplies in the appropriate places. You are energetic, and organized!

By the time the evening wind starts up you're done.
Time for some tea and a smoke.

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You forgot matches.

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NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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