Category — prose

It’s January, 2011. The land is barren, mostly frozen, and there is no sun. The thermometer has barely risen above zero all winter and we still have a couple of miserable months to go. January, together with its soul mate February, is the least interesting month of the year.

There are only two sensible things to do. One is to hibernate and the other is to leave for warmer climes. I have absolutely no sense of loyalty to the British post Christmas winter. If it was a pretty, white, frozen landscape that might be different but it ain’t.

This afternoon the fire is lit which helps. Fire has an offsetting effect on January and February. Central heating doesn’t do it. You need flames and direct heat. You need crackle and flicker and colour. It’s all part of hibernation really – the falling asleep on the settee in front of the fire.

January is an austere month. A time of admonishment. It used to be of necessity, to conserve supplies until fresh growth. Nowadays the necessity comes from overindulgence during the mid winter holiday. The bleak mid winter holiday.

The austerity accompanies those who cannot flee. They are trapped. The notion of going somewhere warm for the remainder of the winter seems to clash with the idea that belts need tightening and livers restoring. So most of us tighten and restore and bend our heads to the wind glancing up only occasionally to keep our bearings.

Thank goodness for the fire.

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Muttering under his breath, Jack shoved away his plate, the food untouched, “For Christ’’s sake, Charlie, not again, didn’t you learn the last time?” His chair scraping the tiled floor of the dining hall, he scrambled to his feet. He’d catch his eye, he might stop him making a fool of himself even now.

“MARSHALL!” A parade-ground voice bellowed at him from somewhere to his left, its echo reverberating around the hall. “Sit down when the governor’s speaking, you ignorant shit.”

Looking even more harassed than usual, the governor glanced at Jack over the top of his half-moon glasses and, recognising his orderly, gave him a quick smile. “Yes, Mr Marshall, let’s do as the Chief says, shall we, there’s a good chap.” Then, returning to his prepared speech, he tried to look stern. “Now, men,” he said, “I’m taking this spate of [Read more →]

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I love relaxing Sunday mornings in Autumn. Classic FM on the radio, Anne pottering away in the kitchen whilst I sit on the pew at the table streaming consciousness.

The light in the back garden has a special quality this morning as the sun does its best to poke through. Half an hour ago the allotments were covered in semi translucent mists but these seem to be lifting and being replaced by a silvery glow. There are still plenty of apples on the trees in the garden. We have picked enough for our short term needs and are leaving the rest to the wildlife. It only seems fair.

A shiver of contentment ripples down my back. I have had a cup of tea, bacon sandwich with organic white bread [Read more →]

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Well it was calm. John was quietly getting on with some baking – mud pie I believe. I had sat down to reflect in his company. Something was quietly simmering on the stove top. Outside the warm autumn day was also comfortable, a gentle breeze drying the grass in preparation for another mow. The shaking of bowls, humming to himself and occasional bang with wooden spoon was very relaxing.

Then the tornado breezed in. It began with the sound of a key trying to fit into the front door lock. It couldn’t. My key was already in there. I didn’t have time to react before the inevitable ring on the doorbell. I opened the front door to a cuddle and was greeted with requests for lunch at McDonalds. Ok Waitrose then. Huh! One packet of Cheezy Wotsits later and the individual tornado concerned breezed back out and left us to recover serenity.

Regaining focus, John continued with his preparations and all was well.

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I am mentally exhausted. We took Tom to Warwick University today. It was high octane stuff. Everyone was on edge. It’s a big thing for all of us. Anne and I were thrilled that he was going. We know it is the right thing and that he will have a fantastic time. We are proud of him but you could feel the tension, the electricity in the house. Even Tom, though he probably wouldn’t admit, it was hyper.

It was all about the need to get there for 11am. That’s when everyone was going to arrive. None of this “look around the University”. “Just drop me off and let me get on with it”. I am pleased to say that the nearer we got to our destination the more our son became our son.

When we got there we were a team. Tom and Anne got out of the car when we were in the traffic queue and went to suss out the scene. Two major trips from car to room had him installed. The Tesco shopping trolley was invaluable.

An hour walking round the campus with other parents and offspring was rewarding. He was one of us. Tref and Anne’s son. He put up with Tref the Paparazzo and paid attention to his younger brother John.

We picked up his Students Union card, listened to the Endsleigh insurance sales pitch, waited whilst he spoke with various official and unofficial organisations and marvelled at the Warwick University campus.

Back at his room we said goodbye. Hugs and handshakes. Everyone was happy. The future is his.

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The birds were in full voice that night, as if it was the first spring.

I drove back through the greenery of the Lincolnshire countryside with the windows of the Jeep wide open.

Coming up to 9pm it was still daylight and the hedgerows were alive with noise.

Breathing in deeply I could smell new growth and it made me glad to be alive.

The reddening sky to the West bode well for the next day and there was hardly any traffic on the road which made for comfortable driving.

As I approached the outskirts of Lincoln a gentle dusk fell over the city and the lights added a pleasant warmth to the scene.

I turned in to the drive and went in to a bottle of Pauillac that I had opened to breathe before setting off on my journey.

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Dramatic headlines I’m sure you will agree and not one you would expect to see in the peaceful environs of the City of Lincoln’s uphill area. This shocking event did indeed take place one Sunday as the massed bands of the District Scout Groups led a column of well drilled St Georges Day marchers around the Cathedral, across the square and into the castle.

One might associate a Boy Scout, and perhaps the occasional Girl Guide or Brownie with someone who runs amok in the woods, lighting campfires and generally getting dirty in the most ill disciplined of fashions. The modern movement however is one that has benefited from decades of progress in training on “how to handle the yoof”.

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She breezed in at the beginning of one Autumn Term. We had spent the summer lazing in our back gardens, trying to find some respite from the harsh sun that scorched Lincolnshire’s open plains. The county had a big sky with very little to fill it apart from the Cathedral and that didn’t throw enough shade.

In the summer months the Bishop himself could be found  hugging the walls of this edifice, slowly edging along with  the shadows as the sun moved around. Periodically he would escape to refill his chalice from the font. His vestments were a serious impediment to health during these times. Hot and airless. The mitre clung to his damp forehead and the sweat ran into his eyes stinging and making him blink.

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click here for Part 2

I’ve been potting some chilli plants. Got the seeds a few weeks ago in Focus Do It All and sowed them in a tray in the conservatory. As if by magic the seedlings started to come through and got to a point where I deemed it appropriate to move them into pots. In all I have 20 or so, some of which I have moved outside and one that I took In to the office. When I am not in my room I jack the aircon temperature up as high as it will go. He he he. Looking forward to plenty of burn later in the year when I get harvesting.

I’m not really a gardener. I live just down the road from Tesco. However it is sometimes nice to do gardening type stuff. Usually it is a rush of blood that gets things into the ground but after that the weeds take control. Pesky things :). I did plant a lot of peas one year and managed to get a couple of portions out of it all. Shame really because [Read more →]

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click here for part1

I’m back in my usual seat in the corner of the kitchen. It’s a pew we bought from Anne’s church, St Peter in Eastgate, for £130. I’m told that the going rate at auction is £30 but what the heck. It’s charidee. £130 is what the new flexible seating costs per seat.

The church’s loss is my gain. As seats go it is absolutely rock solid. Bedded in by thousands of bottoms, mostly now dead and buried. There is something poetic about having it in the kitchen with me, a confirmed atheist, sat on it writing. I also eat on it of course. The kids fight to sit on it when we are eating.

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My homepage is Google. It all started there. Don‘t ask me how because I never know where it is going to take me. Normally I just sit there and let it take over. Sometimes I just visit the same old sites. Every day. No imagination but I don’t really care. It’s a comfort factor. A bit like sitting in the same armchair day in day out. Same pair of familiar slippers maybe.

Anyway on this day I decided to do it differently. Like driving to work in a different way to the way you normally go. When I drive to work I’m usually on autopilot anyway. I don’t notice the route. I set off and I get there. Sometimes I [Read more →]

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The drunk on the train kept touching the man sat opposite, making his point. Probably not earth shattering stuff but I couldn’t hear because I was thankfully sat in the other half of the carriage.

It was an uncomfortable scene – the other passenger mostly stared straight ahead, hoping to ignore the drunk and not to be drawn into conversation. In vain for the poor unfortunate.

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They stood there, 10 travellers on the platform waiting for the night train. It was cold but not as cold as it had been. We were coming out of winter and into spring so despite the late hour there was the slightest hint of freshness in the air.

The connection wasn’t a good one so we all had to hang around, having mostly got off the express, I guess. The onward journey was only a short one, maybe thirty minutes. It wasn’t as if we had the whole night ahead of us which somewhat reduced the dramatic effect.

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At 1 o’clock the ground was already bustling with people as the mascot reported for duty. The parking attendant orchestrated. A room at the back of the club shop provided the kit for the day.

Yellow stewards bibs abounded. Black clad doormen, wired for sound, occasionally touched an ear and accepted his presence as he entered the inner sanctum, a place known only to players, managers and mascots, the elite.

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The service was due to start at 2pm but by 1.40 if you weren’t already in you weren’t going to get a seat. We sat there in our Sunday funereal best biding our time. I was glad I had dressed soberly although I had considered doing otherwise. This didn’t stretch to a tie.

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