Power Sabotaged : Chapter 4 : At Home With No Television And No Food

Power Sabotaged : A New Life For Sheila

Part 4 : At Home With No Television And No Food

Sheila found her way home through the darkness. Dim candlelight shone in some windows. Nearly everyone was indoors hiding from the unnerving gloom. She passed only a couple of characters whom she was unable to make out in the dim darkness. They seemed to be as frightened of her as she was of them because she heard them cross the road to get out of her way. What reliance they all had on streetlamps. Under their reassuring protection crime and the fear of crime seemed manageable, but without them all was fear and distrust. She was sure that somewhere robberies and burglaries were being committed, but thankfully after the mugging of Mrs X, the middle aged lady, there were no further incidents to spoil the remainder of her journey home.

At home she was able to light the candles she had acquired from Mrs X to give her a modicum of the light she was used to. She went into her kitchen, reaching instinctively for the kettle, before remembering it was electrical. She found her way instead to the cupboard where she kept her pots and pans. Surely she had an old kettle which could be placed on the gas hob. She understood the gas supply was still on although she had heard rumours from both Mrs X and the man, Bob, who had tried to persuade her to go home with him that a number of attempts at sabotage of the gas supply had taken place, and there was every chance the terrorists would succeed in interrupting supplies at some time. That was all the more reason to have a cup of tea now, and cook something, while she had the chance.

She had pulled half the contents of the cupboard out before she remembered that she had indeed thrown out the old kettle a couple of years before, thinking that it was a relic of a long distant past and she would never need it again. Instead she selected a saucepan, into which she ran some water. Thank God the water supply was not off. At least she could have plenty to drink, despite the food shortages to come. It occurred to her, shockingly, that if the electricity supply could be cut, and the gas supply potentially threatened, then the water supply might be threatened too. Surely they could not hit all three at the same time, she mused, reassuringly. Lighting a match, she ignited the gas ring successfully.

Instinctively she moved to sit near the TV, where she could see it clearly, before reminding herself that there was still no TV if the power was off. What was she going to do? What was there to do in the long hours of darkness, and the hours at home on her own. She had never been lonely living with the TV. It had been her partner, a continuous source of companionship and inspiration. If she had had a long term partner she doubted he would have been such a good companion as her TV, and now that comfort had been taken away from her. Absently she wondered what was happening in Coronation Street.

What would she do now, without her programmes? It came to her that she could go back to doing the things people had done before they all had TV, before they had a choice of anything up to 50, or maybe more, channels, even though she rarely watched more than a few of them.

Books! Excitedly she realised that she had once upon a time, when she had had more time away from work and been a young child and later student, been an avid reader. Then she had been full of the mystery of literature, and gained much pleasure from reading. In the years since she had gradually divested herself of the habit of reading, placing more emphasis on the need to socialise, to find a partner, to fulfil her work commitments and her career progression goals. There had also been the practicalities of life to attend to, like cooking, cleaning, improving her house. She had found that watching TV, viewing films, keeping up with the soaps, reality TV, gameshows, documentaries and the rest had filled her free time admirably, keeping her entertained, comforted and transfixed. Viewing the TV was more immediate, and required less effort than reading or any other hobbies, and she enjoyed it. Although she might very occasionally read it was generally easier just to watch the soaps or dramas, or films. They told the stories she might have liked to read, but much faster than she could ever read them. Far less time was wasted.

Sheila had recently cleared out a lot of her old books, to the charity bookshops, aiming to make space for her latest design improvements in soft furnishings. She liked buying new things from time to time, and making changes, so she had decided to clear out a lot of old ‘rubbish’ that she had thought she might never need again. Of course then she had never imagined there would ever be another power cut in England.

The old unions had been made to behave years ago, and the prospect of a real war that would affect the people of Britain at home was unthinkable. Suddenly this new calamity had come upon them from out of the blue. Why were there terrorists anyway? She had no real idea. What on earth were they attempting to achieve by blowing things up and cutting electricity supplies. It made no sense to her. Why would anyone see any sensible purpose in acts of such destruction. She could only imagine that anyone who did such things must be deluded or brainwashed. They were foreigners, probably fighting some middle eastern war of an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth, misunderstanding that politics in the developed world really wasn’t like that. What have we ever done to them, she thought, except try to give them what we had, or encourage them to behave more constructively.

When we sent our soldiers to their countries, it was usually to try to help them, certainly these days, but there were those amongst them who seemed convinced that we were there to take their countries over and impose our ways upon them. The current terrorism she assumed like everyone else was being carried out by relatively small but committed groups who childishly blamed the west for everything, and had no constructive plans for improving their own countries.

She went upstairs carefully in the dark, making sure she did not trip. She carried a candle to search for books. She found some selected few to bring downstairs. But she had read most of these in the past. She could not find many she had not already read. She realised that apart from those which she had read while travelling to work on the bus she had not been reading at home for a long time. TV had supplied all her needs. When not watching the soaps, although they were on most of the time, she had satisfied herself with the recent huge crop of reality TV shows. Instead of living her own life she had found entertainment following closely the lives of strangers who had almost become her friends, although she was not known to any of them. Young beautiful acting hopefuls, and talk a lot young ‘rent a mouth’ males who quickly revealed their hidden depths had become the focus of her life for a few weeks at a time. They were all suddenly estranged from her now, as she searched feverishly for some alternative form of entertainment.

Sheila found she could barely see well enough by candlelight. The script strained her eyes, but she could at least see with effort In a short time she began to give way to sleep. It became easier to lie back on her comfy armchair than to keep reading. Fighting sleep she found herself drawn into it. The book fell and landed on the floor.

Waking a little later she made her way up to bed, making sure her candles and matches were never far from her. Luckily the gas was still connected. She switched off the gas fire. The central heating seemed to rely on electricity and did not seem to be on. Thankfully it was still summertime and temperatures were not low, even at night.

Her sleep had been disturbed once, to come upstairs. She found to her annoyance that sleep did not find her as easily this second time. The worries of the day were never far from her mind – the closure of shops and interruption of supplies; the lack of TV, radio, computer, and even the ability to play her own CDs and records; the mugging of the middle aged woman, and not least, the blatant sexual offer given by the man who had escorted her for a time.

She thought of his offer, a free meal and stocks of food, in return for a bit of friendship or company, a sexual encounter. The offer seemed a bit more tempting now she understood he would not have forced her into anything she was unwilling to do. The thought of the food made her salivate and motivated. She remembered she had consumed her last bit of bread, with some beans on, that evening. Again she was thankful the gas was working alright. She had been hungry still at the end of it, but mindful that her foodstocks were diminishing faster than she cared to think about. She had held back from the usual supper feasting. Perhaps she had felt particularly hungry because of the exertions of the day. When had she ever before walked all the way to Heavengate Shopping Centre in search of dwindling foodstocks? She had gained some food, but most food had already been collared.

The man had left her an open invitation. Perhaps if things got really bad she might just take him up on his offer. He wasn’t a bad looking man and there was plenty of charm in his demeanor. When had she last had a man? There had been none suitable for a long time. Men who had approached her were not clean enough, or did not have good enough jobs, to allow her to think it was right to become involved. Some had not owned cars, or did not like her favourite soaps enough to sit with her while she watched them. Most of them had been too insistent on sex in the early stages of a relationship, although there had been a few who had held back too much, and she did not think they fancied her enough. One thing, she felt, was essential in a relationship; that her partner must fancy her; he must be in love with her. She did not want someone who did not want to cuddle her and spend time with her, to share her life. She did not want someone who only wanted her for sex, occasionally. Secondly she wanted someone who she truly wanted. Some half decent guy, with whom she could still be looking around at other men, wouldn’t fit the bill. She wanted someone who could absorb her. She wanted someone who could hold her attention, make her laugh, be interested in the basic things she liked.

Of the two or three who had seemed to fit her picture of what she wanted in a man she had sampled the good life. Each of them she could say with honesty that she did love them, but she had lost them all, one after the other – to other women. One had announced he was leaving her when she tentatively mentioned marriage. One or two had become openly irritated in the end by her ‘love affair’ with the soaps. “I don’t want to spend 2 hours of my precious life every evening, watching these things,” one of her boyfriends had said.

It had been a few years now since she had been seriously involved with any guy. She had realised she wasn’t getting any younger, realised she was getting well through the time when she could, in theory, easily have kids. But she had decided not to go for just any guy. It had to be a Mr Right or it just wasn’t worth it.

The offer from the man last night set her thinking. It had been a long time since she thought much of reengagement with a man. She had grown used to taking her own pleasure in the comfort of her own surroundings. In her imagination she had enjoyed sultry affairs with many of the hunkiest soap stars and plenty of singers, actors, rock stars, the odd TV presenter, and even the occasional footballer, even though she hated football for its ability to capture the interest of many of the most attractive males away from women, where it should reside.

Feverishly she explored her fridge and cupboards. There had been no electricity for a few days now and the fridge was at room temperature, so much of the food which had been inside it would have been going off even if she had not eaten it. She found the contents disappeared quickly while the consciousness that there were no shops still selling anything edible sank in. There had been times when salad food or frozen meats had stayed in stock for weeks or months while she ate what she fancied or ate out occasionally or brought takeaway meals. Now there was no way to replace them everything seemed to disappear quickly. She had dreamed of the last of the cheese or the final yoghurt, only to find it was already gone when she looked the next day. There was still some pasta to boil, quite a few cans of tinned beans and a few of meatballs which she had had for a long time before this crisis, probably more than a year. Hungrily she found the can opener and opened the cans. At least that did not rely on electrical technology. Soon she was eating a meal she would once have thought uninteresting, but now she relished every mouthful and wished she had much more of the same than she possessed in the cupboard.

Meanwhile outside she heard voices shouting, guttural and intimidating. She went to the curtain and looked out carefully into the dark. They were kids, teens and younger, in search of food, now willing to terrorise the neighbourhood for it.

Sheila was nearly out of food! There was none to be had anywhere. She had been to the local shops just in case they had new stocks. People sat around nervously. Normal work was abandoned because of the food crisis. Electricity for TVs and computers, for shower units and water heating systems was no longer the main subject of conversation. Everyone talked about food now, and how to get it. They knew there was still some food around, there must be. The rich or the enterprising had got their hands on foodstocks as soon as it became scarce. Prices had shot up quickly and soon only the rich could get their hands on it. Neighbours found out who their real friends were as they negotiated to see who would let them have some of the precious food at an affordable price. It was strange how the market system operated even more effectively when there was a food shortage. People were realising they would have to pay far more than they were used to for food. People who rarely thought about prices were being forced to enter a significantly fluctuating market and to participate in it, or else to be without their most basic need.

Sheila thought about the man who had offered her food instead of money, and she began to accept she might have to go there sooner or later, if he still had any food for her to earn and had not found other willing women to exchange the precious food with. The man’s offer had seemed inappropriate and crude at the time, but as the need for food became more urgent she began to contemplate that she might be able even to enjoy the other side to the exchange.