playing by ear

Roger Radcliffe, 26, jazz musician, east end of London born and raised, staff at the Dalmatian Plantation  [RP Blog for Being Disney] More links in the About and Nav pages

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

♥  214 likes

rogradcliffe: pain in the arse to find a sitter for seven kids, but totally worth it for a night out like old itmes Location tagged as Edinburgh, Scotland

tjparker: omg mr. radcliffe your wife is hot hotbrad1: HI FROM SWYNLAKE :D THE DALMATIANS MISS YOU janeporter1213: so cute!! thegoldendaddy: ❤️❤️❤️

[moredarkthanshark]

I start in the middle of a sentence and move in both directions at once.

John Coltrane (via moredarkthanshark)

[avengedinchains]

[flynnriders]

Roger & Anita

[julieandthemothman1]

roger is one of my main childhood crushes

[truly-aninspiration-blog]

11:15 To Edinburgh || Dearcliffe

@dalmatianplantationsensation

Summary: Anita sees Roger off to his next great adventure. 

Keep reading

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Everything Has Changed || Dearcliffe

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

truly-aninspiration‌:

Yes, Anita loved Brighton. But how much of it was true, genuine, almost childlike love– for the summers she spent there and her family too– and how much of it was simply fantasy? Simply…Anita up to her old habits, sitting in the nooks of windows and dreaming of beautiful worlds far away, like the books she read or the things that she painted? Because she had the most vivid fantasy. She could paint her and Roger on the beach and she’d know the colours of it. She knew the dress she’d wear and the colour of Roger’s vest. And oh, the sunset. All the reds, the oranges, the purples.

But that wasn’t real. And so was she just in love with a made-up story? It wouldn’t be real, anyway, if she went off to Brighton and Roger was in Edinburgh.

She could romanticize Edinburgh too. She could come up with those colours, given enough time…even if, yes, that childlike love might ache in her chest, for what she left behind and all that extra distance from the people she loved.

She’d have Roger though. In the stories, it was enough.

She looked up at him and wanted to believe it was enough. Then again, the other voice in her head said taht if it was enough, Roger would still be with her if she were in Brighton and he in Edinburgh. It was like he said– there were holidays and things. They’d been separated before and they always found their way back.

(Would it be different though? Now that Anita had grown used to the smell of him on her pillows? Wouldn’t the bed feel extra big, sleeping alone?)

Maybe that’s what Roger wanted. (Or was Roger just trying to be…kind? To get out of her way? Roger always got out of her way and directly in the way of himself, no matter how many times she told him not to.)

Anita bit at her lip and looked at him. “Is…would you be alright with that, really? Us being separated? You…wouldn’t mind doing a sort of long distance thing?”

Roger wanted to stay with Anita for as long as he possibly could – as long as his life allotted him to, as long as they were both living and breathing. They’d only just begun, hadn’t they? After so many years of not saying what they wanted to say and not feeling what they wanted to feel, fate had finally aligned them –

And Roger did not want it to end. He wanted to be with Anita, always, and he wanted to wake up next to her as he had gotten used to doing and he wanted to find her shirts with his in the laundry and he wanted to pour enough water for a second cup of tea.

But there was Edinburgh, the letter in his hand weighing him down like an anchor. There was Brighton, and the marvelous opportunity that Anita had before her.

(He feared that she would grow tired of him being so far; he feared that she would find someone else – maybe not someone better, but someone who was there, who could be there -- )

Those were selfish fears. He had to trust in them – he did trust in them.

He reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’d be alright with doing long distance,” he said. “I’ll have breaks, yeah? It’ll be like when you were off at Cambridge. I’ll write you – every week – even though I’ll text you every day. And we’ll have Christmas together – and Easter and a few weeks in summer and whatever long weekend we can spare.”

(The snaking voice of doubt told him that he’d stop writing those letters, that she’d stop answering them, that -- )

No – he listened to the other voice. He pictured meeting at King’s Cross during the holidays, of Anita running into his arms. He pictured holiday shopping in London, going through Harrod’s just because they could. He pictured picking Anita up from the station in Edinburgh and showing her to all the places he’d discovered; he pictured being the one arriving in Brighton and looking for Anita’s bright hair.

They could do this.

“We can do it,” he said. “I know it’s not ideal, but – if anyone can do it, it’s us, yeah? We know how to do it.”

[dankmemeuniversity]

[manymusescherry]

@besidesycu

[hughgrantinpaddington2]

I wanna be more than that.

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

Everything Has Changed || Dearcliffe

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

truly-aninspiration‌:

We should talk.

No. Anita didn’t want to. She was too confused and conflicted. They should take one day, Anita wanted to wager, one day and one evening to be happy for him. Because she was happy for him. The feeling was big and unwieldly and bright. It was so bright that it burned too, if such a thing was possible. It burned and it hurt, but it was happiness, and nothing should get in the way of that. 

Except there were so many things that were, weren’t there? And Anita wanted to blame herself again because it felt easier to do that than to go all over this again… for nothing could be done about what was said or not said but there was still a chance if only Anita would stop wanting what she wanted. 

(Brighton was what she wanted. She wanted a little flat downtown. She wanted to go to the theatre every day to work and she wanted to meet Roger after in one of the little pubs or cafes where she’d listen to him play. They could go down to the beach at night, they could walk with their feet bare in the sand. Kiss on the boardwalk. Make wishes on all those stars. Maybe the ocean would inspire Roger to make music.) 

It was either Anita change her dream or… well, or Roger lost his. And so why not put it off for one more day?

The look on Roger’s face told her that was not possible. Her chest got tight with her nerves. But Anita smiled and nodded and leaned int to kiss him again. It was light, but her hand clutched at the front of his shirt for a second, like she was already desperate not to let go. 

She did though, uncurling her fingers. “Thank you, that’d be– lovely. I’ll get out the biscuit tin.” 

So they moved into the kitchen. Roger went to the stove with the kettle and Anita popped onto her tiptoes to fetch the biscuits. 

Another few moments and they’d settled on the couch. Anita wrapped her hands around her mug of tea and settled back onto the cushions. She’d pulled her feet up onto the couch too, and they were tucked under her.

She didn’t want to talk. She really didn’t want to talk…

“I– The job at the theatre is mine if I want it,” she finally blurted. Might as well get that out of the way. She watched the steam drift up from her tea. She thought of the mist on the beach in the morning…she thought of herself there, alone, without Roger.

“But I don’t– there are jobs up in Edinburgh,” she said and looked up. “I’m sure. I haven’t looked, so– I’m sure there are plenty of jobs.” 

The kettle was on the stove. It took awhile for the water to heat and Roger remembered being little and sitting and watching and waiting for the kettle to whistle. He had liked when it whistled, even if the sound was loud and jarring and sometimes woke up old George from his nap. He had been impatient in his younger years and would sit in the kitchen, munching on biscuits before tea was even done. But his mother told him to be patient, told him that there were quiet moments in the in-between that he ought to appreciate.

“Also,” she had added. “You’ll spoil your supper if you eat the whole tin.”

So, Roger waited now, each second the water took to boil a second longer that they had to bring up the elephant in the room. The steam started to rise. Anita fetched the biscuit tin. The kettle whistled. Roger got the mugs and brewed the tea and soon they were on the couch, trying to make those quiet waiting moments last all the longer.

Anita spoke first.

The job at the theatre is mine if I want it.

And then she went on to talk about Edinburgh and Roger imagined her working at the theatre at the school he was going to and his heart swelled a bit, because he thought about popping in to see her between classes and then going out for whatever tea spot they would find and claim for their own. And he thought of autumn, and how it’d be colder and they’d wrap themselves in sweaters and scarves and –

But Edinburgh was far away from what Anita knew. Far from her mother.

“I don’t want you to give up that theatre job because of me,” he said. “Not that I’m sure you wouldn’t snatch up something easily in Edinburgh – I just … “

Now he imagined being in Edinburgh and being alone. Or worse – being there with Anita, only she hated it, only she was quiet about hating it and just slowly grew to resent Roger and –

“I know how much you love Brighton,” he said, slowly. “And I know that Edinburgh has – well, your mum’s in Brighton. I don’t want you to leave all that behind just because of…me.” He shifted a little. “The program’s two years. We could – I could visit during breaks, yeah? That’s another possibility.”

[dailyladylyrics]

but time makes you bolder, children get older and i’m getting older too

landslide // fleetwood mac

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

Everything Has Changed || Dearcliffe

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

truly-aninspiration‌:

In the days after the very dramatic outside-of-Remy’s fight, Anita received an email from her mother, who had thanked her for her hospitality, commended her on the life she’d built in Swynlake, and then ended with this:

I have also spoken with my friend, Mr. Surrey (a Cambridge graduate himself!), at the Brighton Theatre National. He would be happy to have a phone call with you whenever you are ready. Do consider reaching out.

And this was her mother’s way of offering Anita a job.

And yet the offer tasted sour, for after her temper had simmered and her sadness had filled its void instead, Anita and Roger had decided to wait and see what the two of them would do. Anita could not reach out to Mr. Surrey, not yet. There could be no job offer, not yet. And over the next few days, Anita went back and forth over this, feeling like her opportunity was slipping from under her grasp because of her promise to Roger, and yet so grateful that she was in this period of standstill– because if they froze themselves in this moment, it meant the moment didn’t ever have to end, and Roger and Anita didn’t have to change.

Because Anita didn’t want Roger-and-Anita to change. It had felt like they’d just begun properly, after all those years of fooling around and pretending they were not meant to be. But Roger was her soulmate. She loved him more than she could bear most days. How could she ever live without him? How could they part ways when there was so much more they had to do?

And so, selfishly, part of Anita hoped that Rog wouldnt’ get it. She only ever thought it when she was alone and banished those thoughts otherwise when Roger stayed over and she spent the night warm in his arms. But the thought otherwise crept in and crept in, always returning, and with it Anita’s guilt.

When the text came– it barrelled straight into her. She was so shocked that for a second she had no idea what she felt at all. And then she smiled, the happiness and pride in Roger bursting through her too. It was so bright and powerful it was painful– and in the next second, she started to cry.

But no worries, for Anita Dearly knew how to compose herself. She’d sucked in all that emotion and by the time Roger arrived at her flat, her cheeks were not red and the tears were gone. The lump in her throat, however, was not.

She kissed him softly, letting it linger a few seconds longer than they normally would: there in the doorway where things were still neither this or that way, but in between.

Then the kiss ended, and their lives restarted. Anita slipped her hand into Roger’s and gave it a squeeze. “Well come in then! I’m so proud of you!” she told him, tugging him into her flat. “Bloody hell, we need to go out tonight, don’t we? Get Paul and Perdy and head down to the Deer, yeah, like old times? Won’t be exactly the same, I suppose, the Deer’s not the Spot, but, well, maybe a few drinks in and we won’t even notice!” she jabbered on, all smiles and happiness because yes, that’s what she needed to be, smiles and pride and compliments.

Roger knew that it was his fault that they were not going to be celebrating just quite yet. Oh, they could. He knew very well they could go right onto the Deer and have a round or two and talk about the future as if there was no looming crowd on the horizon. Sure, maybe Perdita or Paul would say something to tug them away, but when given the choice, Roger and Anita were quite adapt at pretending that there was nothing pressing at hand.

And that was what got them to this point. Which Roger was acutely aware of, because even though Anita was smiling and there was not a hint of worry in her voice, Roger knew. He couldn’t wait in this blissful state of in-betweenness forever. Sooner or later, the future would come and kick them both, whether they were ready for it or not. Even if they tried to ignore it, even if they didn’t think it would happen – it would come.

Their hands were still entwined, and Roger lifted her fingers to his lips, gently kissing them, then sighed.

“I’d love to, you know – but…we should talk.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I don’t want to do what I did last time and not talk about it.” He looked at her, searching her face for some sort of sign, some sort of okay that it was alright to move forward (some sort of sign that it was going to be fine and that they were going to be together, always, but that hurt like a wound slashed across his heart (and honestly, Roger would know about that, wouldn’t he?)).

“So, uh. Do you want me to put a kettle on? These things should be talked over tea, yeah?” He smiled a little, reaching a hand to wrap around her waist and draw her closer for a moment, dipping to kiss her forehead, and savoring each little intimate moment as if Anita were going to be ripped from his arms while he turned away.

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

Inquiries # [Open Texts]

FROM: [email protected]

Dear Roger,

My goodness. So, he was in love with another woman? What was the manner of break up, if you know? And Perdita is Perdita Faye, correct? The mother of his children?

Best,

Annette

From: [email protected]

Yeah, Perdita's the mum. Well Paul went on a trip with Perdita after her mum passed and I think he realised that he was still in love with her during that time. He broke up with Attina right after he came back.

He'd only been dating Attina for a few months, really. I think he'd hoped she could be the one for him, but he realised otherwise.

Cheers,

Roger

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

Inquiries # [Open Texts]

From: [email protected]

Hi -

I'm Paul's best mate, Roger, and would be more than happy to answer questions.

Cheers,

Roger

FROM: [email protected]

Dear Mr. Roger,

Thank you for your response. How long have you known Mr. Patts? Can you talk a little about Miss Triton and Mr. Patts' relationship?

Best,

Annette Grant

From: [email protected]

Yeah sure -

We've been mates since we were in primary, long time. Almost twenty years really. When they were datin' it was alright. Paul's always mad for the girls he dates. But I think he always was still in love with Perdita, so the breakup wasn't the best. It was real bad, I heard. She screamed at him to get out. It was pretty vicious, actually.

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

Inquiries # [Open Texts]

EMAIL BLAST SENT TO THE SWYNLAKE POPULACE: To whom it may concern,

Many of you have probably heard of the impending trial Triton v Patts. My name is Annette Grant, I'm a reporter at the Swynlake Squire. I am looking for anyone who may have information, or even just an opinion, on the upcoming trial. If you have information or opinions, please reply to this email and indicate if you are available for follow up questions.

Thank you,

Annette Grant

From: [email protected]

Hi -

I'm Paul's best mate, Roger, and would be more than happy to answer questions.

Cheers,

Roger

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

Are You A Big Jazz Boy Or A Little Jazz Boy?

Everyone is the Jazz Boy! But what is your size? Are you a Big Jazz Boy or a Little Jazz Boy? Take this quiz to find out!

Great quiz! I got Big Jazz Boy -- not that anyone is surprised 

Are You A Big Jazz Boy Or A Little Jazz Boy?

You are a Big Jazz Boy Nice job! You are a tremendous Big Jazz Boy. You blast huge on the bugles and it never ends for you. You are in love with the Jazz! When the drums are tap-tap-tapping, and the upright bass is shrieking “Larbo-larbo-larbo!” and the sweet saxophone sonorously croons “Skerlack! Skerlack! Skerlack!” Those are the moments when you feel huge! Oh, my sweet, tremendous boy, you are bursting at the seams with Trumpet Jelly. You are filled to the brim with that Trumpet Jelly always. Your saxophone is LOUD and it scares the animals in their cages. When God falls asleep, you wake him up with your Big Jazz Boy bugle blasts from below. I am so grateful to know this about you!

[dalmatianplantationsensation]

Everything Has Changed || Dearcliffe

Roger Radcliffe had a letter from the Edinburgh College of Art. It was a thick letter and Roger knew what that meant and the thought of that both thrilled him and terrified him and finally after avoiding the envelope for the better part of the day as he ran around chasing the dogs and wrangling them for their baths, he closed the porch door and sat down on the dining table and held the letter.

His name was printed on it, all official: ROGER JOHNATHAN RADCLIFFE

He took a deep breath and opened it

Dear Mr. Radcliffe, began the letter. We are pleased to inform you…

The university had accepted him. They accepted him and he could afford it. He could – there was – he was going to university. His mother’s dream for herself, for him later on. A distant dream that Roger never thought he’d even want, not till this past year or so, not till the lessons he was giving had become more important to him than he’d ever thought –

Then there was the other thing. The thing that he and Anita had decided after their argument outside the restaurant, which was, namely, not to decide. Not till they got all the information. Because Roger thought he wouldn’t get in. Because Roger didn’t want to make that decision. Because if he didn’t have to utter anything painful, he’d prefer that that was the case. Because, then he’d follow Anita to Brighton and he knew he’d do alright for himself there and he could give up his dreams of uni in peace.

But here was uni, in an envelope, in his hand, closer than ever.

He pulled out his phone and shot Anita a text – he was supposed to come over anyway, but he wanted to tell her before. He said he would.

Got the uni letter. I got in!

The exclamation point felt like it was mocking them. He swallowed.

If anything, the latest Swynlake adventure or whatever the bloody hell you wanted to call it (god it had been awful) had brought them oddly together – something about that forbidden romance (and the hot sex). And in the last few months, with the thought of the future shelved for now, they had enjoyed themselves. As he walked over, Roger realised that this would be the last time it would be like this.

The sun was setting and Roger realised that this conversation would change everything; that more likely than not, it would change things for the worse. It was warm, still, the late August air heavy. He drew a deep breath, wanting to shorten his steps, wanting to preserve this in-between sort of time –

But he reached her door. He gave it a buzz. He smiled.

“You look lovely,” he said. He said that always, for it was always true, and he leaned to kiss her.

@truly-aninspiration