The Five Fruity Senses

Tweet

A creative writing exercise run by the delightful author, Victoria Blisse at the Second Dr Scribbly writing workshop event, held at Manchester’s Chapter One Bookshop in the city centre. Victoria produced some fruit, inviting us to pick cherries, Strawberries or Clementines. I was surprised to find that I was only one of two participants going for the Clementines. We were invited to look at our fruit through each of the five senses, saving taste for last so we still had fruit for the other stages of the exercise first. 1/. Sight was first, with the obvious orange colour dominating. Roundness, slight bruising, not an aphrodisiac, or passion fruit, just an ordinary fruit, looking slightly forlorn. I decided it was going to be an orange when it grows up – except I later ate it. 2/. Feel was the second sense explored. The Clementine had a lightly rubber texture, like a very soft golf ball. The grain was quite course. 3/. The sound of fruit seems an odd thing to explore but cracking the rind, slowly peeling it, etc., creates a few audible effects. I found that it seemed to crack like footstep on fresh snow. I could imagine the Clementine being used for radio or silent movie sound effects. 4/. Smell – Though a real orange in miniature, the aroma was reminiscent of fake orangery used in chocolate and some artificial flavourings. 5/. Taste - As orangy as expected but in short bursts that vanished quickly leaving the mouth dry and yearning for more. The rind had a stronger bitterness that endured as a light fading after-taste. Victoria now asked us to write a paragraph using aspects of the five senses of the fruit each of us chose. My scribbles came out thus; Not a Clockwork Orange but a dull organic Clementine, offering short sharp bursts of taste in each micro-segment. It felt better than it tasted, like one of those meditation worry balls where the worry was squeezing too hard and getting the bursting juice in your eyes. It tears in a truly satisfying way, like a foot through frost-laced virgin snow. It looks like an under-developed under-age orange. If it was a fish you had just caught you would throw it back. The aroma evokes fake versions tried before in canned fizzy drinks made of e-numbers and additives and chemical compounds. I wish I had gone for bigger fruit, evoking the memory of Kenneth William making double entrendes from melons and coconuts – “Ooh, Matron!” The rind leaves a bitter memory of aftertaste, gone but lingering, trying not to be forgotten. It will soon vanish under fresh tastes, beer, kebab meat and hopefully a few kisses. Not a bad Clementine on an inclement day, but hardly a highlight to look forward to when my dying life flashes before my eyes. The clockwork nearly-orange winds down. Nothing remains for me to rewind. Arthur Chappell