Any Human Heart

I have this image in my head.

It's a kind of recurring dream that I can't explain.

A boat on a river in Uruguay with a little boy fishing.

Am I the boy in the boat?

Or am I the observers on the riverbank?

Is this a vision of an individual life

traveling through time?

- Which life is truly mine? - Which life is truly mine?

Life is truly mine...

I am all these different people.

All these different people are me All these different people are me

I'd like to claim this is my first memory,

but that award goes to the site of my tutor,

Roderick Poole's circumcised penis.

Logan!

Logan!

Always swim naked when you can.

Summer or winter, you'll live forever.

Logan.

You all right, darling?

What's happening to you?

Pull yourself together.

Mr. Mountstuart, you're back with us.

How long does it take to die, darling?

Can't do it.

Why am I so glad to see you, Mr. Mountstuart?

Well, look at you. New eyes, Mountstuart.

Is he going to be all right?

Come to bed.

Thank, god!

I'm not here to negotiate.

- I'm here to tell you... - Nothing but the best...

Are you happy?

Choose to live the life.

Get out!

- Take the consequence. - She won't bite.

Stella, there's a nice man at the door.

I, Logan Mountstuart, do solemnly declare that in this,

my final year at Oxford, I will lose my virginity.

Well...

...I found her.

The one.

She works in the stables.

Met her when I had my riding lessons.

Too bad for you two of you, now I'm gonna win the bet.

I cannot, must not lose this wager to Peter Scabius

or Ben.

Never.

If Ben wins, I'll become a monk.

She's perfect, I tell you.

Got any money.

They may be my best friends, but the question

of my virginity demands total, unswerving ruthlessness.

I'll look after the pot.

Give it to Ben.

Exactly.

Thank you, Logan.

- Hello, Tess. - Mr. Scabius.

Here we are, the three musketeers.

Do come in. Kettle is boiling.

I'll make some more. Two ticks.

I'll give you a hand.

No need, Mr. Leeping. Thanks.

What do you think?

Perfect.

Lovely fresh pot.

Mr. Mountstuart.

Thanks very much.

Do have a biscuit, Mr. Scabius.

Why don't you call me Peter, eh?

Alright then,

Peter.

Haven't you two got a bearded tutorial?

I feel completely disturbed, angry.

Can't settle to anything.

It's utterly preposterous to be a virgin at my age.

Absurd.

Shameful.

I should be concentrating on my book.

I should be writing.

But the thoughts of sex keep intruding themselves.

Peter and Tess are lovers.

I can hardly write the words.

How incredibly annoying to find oneself jealous of Peter Scabius.

He spends weekends at a cottage.

He's won the bet.

It's totally and utterly unfair.

I'm consumed with the madness of sexual longing.

Fantasies about Tess's naked body.

God!

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Wasn't sure if you're a proctor.

Have to be careful.

I'm impressed.

Both, illegal and heretical.

- You'll burn in hell. - I like that.

I've never been called a heretic before,

By the way, the best way into this college is through the kitchens.

Low wall, by the bins.

Easy as you like.

You an undergraduate?

Oh, I love that expression.

Yes, at Somerville College.

My chaperone thinks I've got a grumbling appendix.

Took me to the hospital.

I see.

Have you a cigarette?

What's your name, interesting young man?

Logan Mountstuart.

Land Fothergill.

I bet you're reading English.

Yes.

I'm writing a little biography on Shelley at the moment.

But I really want to be a novelist, actually.

Of course, you do.

Do your Somerville chaperones

allow you to meet male undergraduates for coffee?

Do be careful climbing in.

I'd hate you to have a nasty accident.

Land.

Land Fothergill.

Yes, maybe she's the one.

Forget Tess.

Simple, comely Tess.

Think of Land.

Sophisticated, intellectual, provocative.

- Peter... - You won't believe

I've got this amazing absolute nightmare.

My father's found out about Tess.

- No. - Shh...

Jesus! How?

She wrote to me in the holidays.

Put her return address on the back of the envelope, Tess Scabius.

- Can you believe... - She's taking your name?

She says she's my sister.

Explains why I come to stay at weekends.

- You should have blamed me. - I did.

Immediately. But it wouldn't wash.

My father's threatened to disown me.

He's coming to see the master.

No, god!

I can't go to the village.

You've got to go and see Tess.

Explain.

Say I can't see her until the fuss dies down.

Don't cry, Tess.

Please.

I don't want to hear him, Logan.

He's terrified of his father.

Terrified.

Don't cry, Tess.

It'll all be fine.

He just can't risk anything at the moment.

Stay calm.

I had to say I was her sister,

otherwise, people will talk.

Tess, I am so sorry.

I wasn't thinking.

We... We weren't thinking.

We were all caught up in the moment.

Didn't mean nothing.

I'd better go.

It's forgotten.

Never happened.

No.

Never happened.

Perhaps Tess was expressing her frustration with Peter.

Working class girl confronting insurmountable social barriers.

But there we were.

Need and opportunity,

the ingredients of all betrayals.

But Land.

Consider Land.

No social barriers there.

Mere physical stimulation is not enough.

Bodies can meet

when minds meet as well.

No. Stop it.

No, I won't allow it.

You cannot call Virginia Woolf a lady novelist.

- She's a genius. - She writes novels.

She's female.

So if you ever get round to actually writing a novel

and you are described as Logan Mountstuart, gentleman novelist,

you won't object?

- I wouldn't object at all. - Liar.

You're going to have to grow up just a little, Logan,

if you want us to move beyond simple friendship.

Where are you going?

Come and see me when you're a real writer.

Land!

Bye!

Remember this, son.

It's just luck in the end.

It's all life is.

Am I staring into the abyss,

a life of perpetual virginity?

Hello, Logan.

I'm so sorry.

I don't know what the problem.