Many writers have shared their thoughts with the public:

"There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they'll take you." - Beatrix Potter

"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say." - Anaïs Nin

"Sharing your writing, being enlarged by others' writing, is what makes you feel famous." - Gretchen Bernabei

"Writing is not an amusing occupation. It is a combination of ditch-digging, mountain-climbing, treadmill and childbirth." - Edna Ferber

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." - Ben Franklin

"One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones to form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment." - Hart Crane

"There are three rules for writing. Unfortunately, no one can agree what they are." - W. Somerset Maugham

Seeing the Band Forty-Three Beans Before I Knew Their Name

I was out late one night on my usual expedition afield when the sound of chanting reached unto my ears. In search of its source, I eventually came unto a pub. This pub was so full I had to push like blazes to get through the doorway. Inside, everyone was shouting “For tea, three beans! For tea, three beans!’ They appeared to be involved in some form of ritual. I studied their faces, searching for a clue to the nature of this phenomenon. Some were screaming, their faces red and contorted. Others were perfectly still, staring wide-eyed into some distant place. Everyone was looking in the same direction. A stage was their focal point, and I wondered whether it was merely chosen as something to fix their eyes upon or whether it was, in some way, significant. The stage was cluttered with musical equipment, so it seemed not too unlikely to assume that musicians – now absent – had played some role in the proceedings.

After a while the chanting dissipated and there were only occasional outbursts. A womyn beside me yelled “For tea, three beans! There the grey test band, Ivevar Scene”. I had no idea what she was referring to. I felt like I was blind to something of great significance. So I asked her, “What does all this chanting mean?”

“There the grey test,” she said.

“What's the grey test?”

“For tea, three beans.”

“What is the significance of the three beans?”

“Well it sounds bet are then fought he beans.”

I could only conclude that the womyn was still in a trance. Next I questioned a man behind the bar, assuming he would be more coherent since it was his job to communicate with clientele.

“What is the grey test?” I asked.

“The beans is the grey test!”

“But what is the significance of these beans?”

“There the grey test band this whirl daz scene.”

Although my efforts, thus far, had been unavailing, I persisted with my inquiry. I approached a womyn who was on stage, packing away equipment. This time, rather than attempt to inquire directly into the nature of this bewitching phenomenon, I began with some irrelevant, idle conversation, in an attempt to ease her out of the trance. So I asked her, “What is the name of the musical group?”

“There, forty free bins,” she said.

She must have been referring to rubbish bins outside. “That's a lot of bins,” I said. “Do they belong to the council?”

“They have nothing to do with the council.”

“Oh. So tell me, my friend, what is the name of this musical group?”

“Forty free bins.”

“Are you now telling me that this is the name of the musical group? You’re contradicting yourself. Well then, what is the significance of tea with the three beans?”

“Forty free bins. It’s the name of the band.”

I wondered what type of band she was referring to – a rubber band, a head band, or perhaps a strip of something.

“What is the grey test band?” I asked.

“Forty free bins!”

“So, forty free bins are the grey test band?”

“Write on! Now you're with It Man.”

I decided I should come back on another night, earlier in the proceedings so that I might discover the secrets behind this baffling phenomenon. One my way outside, I went around to the back of the pub in search of the forty rubbish bins. What would I find in these bins? Would I meet this It Man character?

I found only a few bins and there was no sign of It Man. I lifted the lid of a bin and stuck my head in. It was very smelly. I tilted the bin to catch the light from a nearby window. That’s when I saw it – an open tin inside, full of mouldy beans. Was this the clue I had been searching for? I needed time to think. I needed those beans. I grabbed the tin and ran as fast as I could into the darkness of the night.

That night my dreams were filled with wondrous visions. Ivevar was a Utopian world. Everyone from the pub was there. They were the wisest and most perfect in all the land. It Man was a giant bean, as big as a bear, seated in front of a television, watching the test pattern.

“Beans!” I shouted as I awoke. “For tea, three beans!” I leapt out of bed and rushed to the kitchen with the tin of beans. I spread a clean tablecloth over the dining table, placed candelabra at each end, and set cutlery, crockery and wine glasses for four. I took three mouldy beans from the tin and sat each upon a seat. Then I cooked up a feast fit for Budda, consisting of fungus soup, vegetarian spring rolls, vegetarian lasagne and fruit salad. I served myself and each of the beans a generous helping of each. I ate till I was bursting. Then I sat drinking for quite a while while waiting for something to happen. The beans didn't eat anything. I hadn’t expected them to, but I did expect some sort of response or repercussion to my generous gesture. Had I made the correct assumptions? Perhaps I was meant to eat the beans. Perhaps the mould had magical properties. After much deliberation, I ate the beans. This was followed by a lengthy period in the bathroom. The beans certainly cleaned out my system but I didn’t notice any other benefits. Perhaps I was meant to eat mouldy beans every day. If I lived for months on a pauper's diet, on a mere three mouldy beans a day, the revelations of the meek might be revealed. I might start having enlightened visions if I did sustained vomiting over a prolonged period. Yet it was also possible that the tin I found was thrown away because the three special beans had already been removed. Perhaps I was eating garbage.

I thought of the giant bean in my dream that sat in front of the television. I went into the lounge room, switched on the television and turned onto the test pattern. Nothing happened. I turned down the colour…and the screen became grey! It was a thousand shades of grey! I stared into the greyness…that grey, grey, greyness. I was entranced by the intensity of that grey. Not black. Not white, but grey. Grey, grey, grey. I was It Man. I was Ivevar. All was as it was perceived to be only by those who can truly see. Grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, beans!

I was in the pub and the musical group were soon to play. I had become very much a part of the scene. I was as big as a bear in my bean costume. All of us were chanting: “For tea, three beans! For tea, three beans! There, the grey test band, Ivevar scene!”