Arse wakes repeatedly in the early hours of morning. Not exactly jet-lag or problems adjusting to time zones but the kind of lag that happens when you come down from Heaven onto Earth – the lag that some people call Melancholy. She is constantly awake in the pre-dawn cold. She is constantly thinking about writing a letter to ____________. She is constantly nervous with butterflies in her stomach.

Often on these mornings, in the far far distance she hears the ringing of car alarms in the city beyond – a soft sound that soon she grows to love as others might love the sound of ‘oceans’ © or of ‘wind machines’ ©.

Arse starts work on a questionnaire – not so much market research as personal attempt to keep track of her feelings about life on earth.

Her key questions:

Where do dreams come from?

Why are people scared of the dark?

Can you love a place and hate it at the same time?

*

At work Arse were mostly on checkouts – a fallen goddess sat beneath the vast sky of fluorescent striplights with a name badge on her pinkish nylon coverall. Time passed slowly, or not at all.

On Mondays Arse got switched to the loading bay and she and ‘the daft lads what worked there’ helped customers stack up their vans and cars with all boxes of pornographic stuff. She liked that Monday work more – it was physical and, if not exactly farming, at least semi-out-of-doors.

Life in the shop (HOUSE OF TOSS) was different to what she was used to – no more Olympian Brand Food, no more sweet gentle music from the harp of Vesuvius or Volpone or Varese or whoever and no more getting fucked up the rectum.

Some days indeed, when business was really slow, Arse and the daft lads would open up them sealed packages of PLAYDOUGH™. stare at the picture-spreads in BREAST IMPLANT MONTHLY and then, feeling strong (or in any case enormously desensitised) descend to the top shelf and the dubious pleasures of WOMB RAIDERS II.

It was in HOUSE OF TOSS that Arse learned the true meaning of human love, the ways of money, tax, healthcare schemes and National Insurance. And, when she had learned those things, she left.

*

The months after TOSS passed quickly and our heroine sought other employment of a full or part time nature more fitting to her personage.

She went for jobs at Asda, at Kall-Kwik and at Bullet-Proof Versace. She didn’t get any of them and soon she ended up working at a bar called TITS & ASS and there was a lot of very many predictable jokes from the customers concerning her name along lines of “You’ve got a nice arse, Arse . . .” and “Arse, don’t get all arsey on me . . .” etc

*

Arse suffers months of confusion, working in the bar.