Last night I read Paul Auster’s Red Notebook. OK well I was slightly distracted by Barcelona v Chelsea. But it was a fascinating read and well linked to what I envisage this site to be all about. 

For those of you unfortunate enough not to have read it, it is a simple collection of dated diary entries, all of which tell the tale of coincidences that (may or may not) occur in Auster’s life.

My favourite tale involved his meeting with legendary baseball player Willie Mays, and his disappointment at not getting his autograph because neither Auster nor his parents had a pencil. this made him carry a pencil around with him wherever he went in future. And, he thinks, made him become a writer.

Now, coincidence one is that a similar episode took place in my life. Not with a legend, but DJ Steve Wright when he came to Morecambe with his Posse and the Radio 1 Roadshow, always the highlight of the Summer. I cried when he had to rush off and nobody had a pen for him to sign the postcard next to Smiley Miley.

Coincidence two is that following my last post about Brigitta, a close friend of mine – whom I knew well when I found the photos, and have been in contact with ever since – expressed surprise at seeing a picture of his old coursemate on my blog, who he had spent three years studying alongside.

Ok so there are only a few thousand students at JMU and the six degrees of separation suggest that somebody must have known her. But still…

This got me wondering. If any readers have experienced similar quirks of fate since reading my blog (ie in the last week) please get in touch theartist@jonathangreenbank.com

Be seeing you.

This is Brigitta. She was born in Taiwan in 1980. Her family moved to England soon after, and her father set up a business supplying foods to ethnic restaurants. She gained experience working for him and developed an interest in Business Studies. She made her family very proud by gaining the qualifications necessary for university.

She chose Liverpool John Moores because she had grown up being forced to listen to the Beatles. She came to like the music, and loved the sound of the places they sang about.

Brigitta enjoyed uni life, especially her final year. She came out with a 2:2, and openly admits she could have done better but for a heavy social life in her final year.

Whilst I was moving into her old bedroom in the halls of accommodation, and finding her old enrolment photos under my new bed, a bed I suppose we kind of shared, she was moving back home with her parents. She hoped to one day take over the family business, and expand, then move abroad. The world was her oyster.

Brigitta fell in love, and her family pressured her into marriage once she’d fallen pregnant. She had a beautiful baby girl, who is now nearly six, and her new husband was invited to become involved in the international foods business.

But she filled with regret. What might have been, instead of what was, a doting mother to a newborn and wife to a distant, regularly stressed out middle manager. This was not what she had dreamed of. 

To help make ends meet she began working in the factory part time, whilst her daughter went to school. The credit crunch hit hard, and Brigitta had to cover more shifts for her now ailing Dad. Liverpool seemed a long way away, a long time ago.

She wanted an adventure. An avid reader, she saw parallels between herself and the narrator of The Joy Luck Club. To pass the time and boredom at work, she realised an escape route. Every so often she would sneak into the message writer’s room and play around on the computer. Who knew whom a fortune cookie message might reach. Maybe someone who could save her. Anything would be better than this.

In October 2008, our paths crossed again, when I opened a fortune cookie following a banquet at a restaurant her in Liverpool.

We need to free the fortune cookie factory one. If you can help fill in the gaps in Brigitta’s story, or would like to add your name to the petition I am sending to her father’s factory, please e-mail theartist@jonathangreenbank.com

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this.