Category — chinks

waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting,waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting,waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, for a train

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The train runs half an hour late. Your stop is cancelled. The train crawls to a halt there anyway. The doors aren’t released. *#%TILT%#*

from an original tweet by @paul_clarke

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Acid rain keeps me inside the dome. Outside there is devastation and mutants prowl the denuded forest. Communications with the rest of the world stopped some time ago – can’t tell how long. I am comfortable enough. I have a table under the awning looking out onto the pavement. I sit here perpetually, it seems. Nobody asks for the bill. Nobody wants to know when I will be going. There is nowhere to go. I can’t get back to my villa. The drinks keep coming. Each one feels fresh as if it was my first. I sometimes eat and they clear the plates away.

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MENU DE SOIR, Plats chauds, Cocktails, Porto, Champagne, Plats du Jour, Sorbets, Crème glaces, desserts, croques, SALADES, patissierie, café – thé

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Fumbling to unlock my phone I stare at the icons far longer than any sane person should. The screen was about to timeout – again – as I finally focussed on the clock; clock? Clock? I have no idea what I was trying to do.

My body groaned as I moved haggardly from the dark bedroom to the shower, then back to the bedroom. Time shifted and I found myself in the kitchen, fully clothed – a good sign at least.

Recently I’ve been getting a bit more sleep than the average enlisted man under Haig during the battle of the Somme, so I should at least be thankful for small mercies.  Still, that didn’t stop me pouring boiling water into the open coffee jar I had spooned a mound of granules from thirty seconds earlier.

Shit, bugger and fuck. Well, it’s only a few quid of wasted coffee. It could have been worse; I could have poured scolding hot water down my leg – again.

I drained the jar of steaming brown sludge into the sink before filling my actual mug with water as first intended.

Startled by a piercing melody emanating from my pocket I gave a jolt, causing scolding hot water to slosh perilously close to my leg as I fumbled to silence the alarm on my phone.

Clock. Alarm clock. Why didn’t I shut that off the moment I woke up?

For the first time in a fortnight I’d managed to creep out of bed, shower and navigate the stairs without waking neither my wife nor the baby.

Now, a piercing scream fills the house, amplified by the baby monitor.  Pointless in a house this size; the sound waves from its speaker travel straight back to the little bugger’s ears, most likely scaring the crap out of him. No wonder he’s crying louder by the second.

Teething? Feeding? A filled nappy? It matters not, as I know the blame lays squarely with me.

Better luck tomorrow, maybe…

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Cooped up, stressed, tired, argumentative, sulky, whinge, smoke alarm, trumpet practice, noise, noise, noise, noise, noise.

A bike ride brings peace. A corner of the table. A quiet brunch.  A large cup of tea.  Ahhh.

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they used to be small
now they are huge with attitude
i look up
from my lowly position of parent
see the results
of that investment in fruit, vegetables, protein and love
it seems to have worked
why would i ever have thought otherwise
they can be sensible
looking up again
from that feet on the ground perspective
i smile

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Just come back from a walk in the allotments at the back of our house. It was a privilege to have been the first human there after the snow. Not quite the same as a being the first to lay eyes on Shangrila but these days we have to be grateful for any small discoveries allowed to us.

Having recently watched the BBC series frozen planet our bit of snow does seem a little pathetic but hey, I’ll take it.

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Greying sky and temperature drop. Shop girl moves pavement display inside. Few pedestrians circulate though two cyclists skid to halt by bookies. Man carries three bags for life. I feel draught and adjust shirt under coat. Baby cries outside post office. Hands in pocket dirty road home city needs a clean. Garage sells all coal. Soups stock’s out in supermarket. A nation anticipates snow.

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five boys, two phones

three watch, two play

three gifts, for birthdays

six parents, no choice

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crowded café, quiet murmur
newspapers, smartphones, bacon sandwiches
outside, bright Saturday morning
sun competes with sharp frost,
most customers sit alone
TV switches on, intrudes
nobody watches, except I watch people
and pictures on wall
murmur volume grows
competing with ignorant TV
noisy advertisments
music switches on kitchen
in preference

I notice lights, wonder if dark without
11 am in February

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I am laid back on the sofa near the fire listening to Pink Floyd. In my own little world. This music is so near to perfection that I want to write the equivalent of it in prose, or poetry. Words should be able to take me away in the same way that the music does. There is no reason why words alone can’t anaesthetise. Carry.

Our family tonight has become the ultimate technology victim. Anne is sat on the floor inserting leaflets into “Target” newspapers whilst watching some TV programme on the iPad and listening through earphones.  We are in our own zones. There is no need to talk to each other. Each other’s presence is enough. The kids are elsewhere.

No great words from  me though. Just meanderings. As the log fire dances slowly its warmth gently permeates.

Nothing that is on the TV attracts me. It strikes me that talented as some of these programme makers must be we can surely have nothing in common.

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I saw a man in an orange high viz top

He looked as if he was picking up rubbish

He picked up a cigarette stub, studied it and slipped it in his pocket

I gagged

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Jaunty jazz-filled airwaves at Café Guzel. Not many customers but it is after 9am and they should all be at work. I can see them striding purposefully by outside, well wrapped up against the zero degrees first day in February. The café is comfortable and its walls are covered in fifties and sixties movie memorabilia together with souvenir number plates from the far side of the Atlantic.

I am facing the big front windows but behind me I can hear café-like activity. Frying, clanking dishes and the banter in another language between the chef and waitress.

The music has stopped and I can now hear the traffic and what sounds like the moan of the wind outside though it may be the beginning of the next track! I have a few more minutes before I need to head off for my meeting.

Occasionally the door opens and someone else enters. Good morning…

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There was a dead fox in the road. It was perfectly formed, although obviously being dead was a slight imperfection. I only saw it for a moment as I drove past. I looked at it. The fox did not look back. I was quickly by and the dead fox disappeared into memory.

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