Category — stuff

He lay prone, face down on the pew in the kitchen, left arm dangling limply onto the floor. On his face was a look of utter hopelessness, the vacant stare of the condemned man, the innocent about to be consigned to an undeserved fate.

There had been a time in the run up to that moment where he had sat there earnestly, waiting for the good news to arrive. The radio was on in several rooms leaving nothing to chance. There was no way, when that announcement came, that he would not hear it. So there he had remained.

He displayed none of his usual appetite while he waited. Such was his concentration, intensified by an anticipation that told you the stakes were high.

The others had heard of their good fortune quite early on in the process and had already begun to celebrate. This did not help. In fact it was part of the problem.

As the kitchen clock ticked, the remaining time shrank away and the realisation that it was not going to happen finally hit him. His shoulders dropped and pure anguish radiated from the shapeless form.

His school stayed open whilst his older brothers and sister got to stay at home to play snowballs because theirs had shut!

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That place between sleep and full consciousness is a lovely one to savour. The dream hasn’t yet been forgotten and the usual neighbourhood morning activity outside is only starting to become apparent. Car doors slamming, engines starting up, rubbish vans reversing far too quickly up the one-way street beeping as they go, the odd bird jumping about on the slates above my head. This morning there was a cockerel. It wasn’t part of the dream, it was a proper, real, cockerel with as good a cock-a-doodle-doo as they get. I wonder if Cardiff City council are re-introducing them in an attempt to bring nature back to the inner city. Or perhaps it’s just another installation by the local art centre. Either way, it was good to hear. If it’s still there in six months in can add its voice to all the other birds (mostly seagulls) that wake me up at 4am every day.

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Brightly party coloured frocks and heels with emigrants sequined mingle at Lime Street.

Stepping onto the platform feels as if we are heading towards an ocean liner and a new life.

The Steam Bar is only a partial destination. A woman adjusts her set.

The black ties have upped and gone and the dark haired barmaid with the cleavage has wiped the table. Gold lame and glittering red but no regulars.

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Passing conversation in the queue at one of the mens toilets in the Millenium Stadium – one person coming out talking to another going in. It lasted five seconds.

Hey how’d the MOT go?
Not bad thanks – only forty quid.
Good, got away with that then!

They continued on their separate ways.

He turned to me and said – that was my dad.

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Smart grey suit with dark lapels, grey silk Liberty handkerchief, crisp white shirt & expensive watch on his right wrist

Effeminate voice.

Completely out of place at the buffet bar on the 7.29 from Newark Northgate to London Kings Cross.

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It’s getting dark outside. The clocks went back last week and the nights have closed in on us. I like this time of year. This afternoon I cleaned the grate out and set the fire ready for a cosy evening on the settee.

As I fetched in some kindling from the woodpile at the bottom of the garden a small bird flew across the lawn and into the hedge. Getting ready for a quiet nestle in the nest for the evening no doubt.

We are all at it. All is well.

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I saw him in a bar in the City. He was stood on his own with a newspaper and a beer, dressed casually at a time when most others were pouring out of their offices in their city slicker suits. Although we nodded at each other as I caught his eye I made no effort to engage with him. I was in the company of business associates with a specific discussion to be had.

I had heard that he had moved on from his job with one of our competitors “to spend more time with his family” or some such motive. He was outside my threesome and suddenly it felt as if he was a total outsider. I no longer saw him at industry gatherings. He was completely out of the picture. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him. I just had other priorities and now very little in common.

I continued with my closed conversation and when next I looked he had gone.

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All last year he was there, ushering, waving, shepherding. I got the occasional nod of acknowledgement as I stopped at his polite but firm behest. Sometimes I stopped before he had even asked. I felt in tune with him. If I was early he would be there leaning against the hedge, waiting for his punters to turn up. Dressed in his bright yellow coat and carrying his lollipop he was always there. It was comforting. You felt good to be with him, albeit for the few short seconds it took to drive past, or to slow down and stop, then pass. You felt you were part of his community and that his short working day was a wonderful contribution to that community.

This morning as I drove to work it occurred to me that I didn’t see him on the first day back to school. Then I didn’t think about it for a few days. I must have been away for some of that time and so as I drove up to the traffic island opposite the school today I looked out for him. There he was, or so I thought from a distance. That bright yellow coat and black hat. However something didn’t seem right as I drove closer. It wasn’t the old lollipop man! It was a lollipop lady and not him. It depressed me. I have nothing against the lady but I felt that my links to that community were suddenly strained. I became concerned..

His was another walk on role in my life. Really a background piece of transient action as the tapestry rolled on.

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You are now entering the congestion zone
6th form college enrolling now
High Quality Offices To Let
Marks and Spencer – Simply Food
Paul Ponsonby Specialist Distribution
The Firm – in cinemas September 18th
not completely confident female cyclist
Crouch End Number 91
London Euston
Internet Phone Booth
Dorian Grey – in cinemas 090909
Going Green for London
Mayor of London’s Skyride Sunday 20th September
OMG! my chunky just got funky?

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The lawn has been mowed and I finally managed to get the tent back into its bag after last year’s camping holiday. The detritus from this year’s holiday is now more or less stowed in various appropriate (and some inappropriate) cubbyholes. The birdseed holders have been refilled. The children are busying themselves elsewhere in the house, quietly. They are playing an interactive game with a friend over the internet. I have made enormous progress with my jobs list. The third Ashes Test match at Edgebaston is on Test Match Special on iPlayer. I’m also following it on www.cricinfo.com. The Aussies have just been bowled out for 263 in their first innings. I’ve just had a second cup of tea. Later we are going to the cricket club for the lads to have some time in the nets. Afterwards we will probably have a beer (lemonade) in the clubhouse and watch the game. Curry is on the menu for tonight. I’m still on holiday.

All is well with the world.

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Walking through the alleyway on the way home from my photography class last night I heard someone coming up behind me suddenly bursting into song.

Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
Old Mother Nature’s recipes
That brings the bare necessities of life

Whereupon I felt it incumbent on me to add “You better believe it”. He replied “Yeah” and trotted off into the darkness.

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A big thank you to everyone who turned up for the Burton Road Strip event yesterday. I think everyone enjoyed themselves and all concerned felt that the event had been a success.

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Hi is that Rafi?  This is Marcel here.  Marcel Sartre from ballroom dancing.  I’m just ringing to make sure that you got Dorothy’s message about ballroom dancing being cancelled.  Oh you did, good.  I’m going to run an additional class the week after next. Thank you.  Bye.

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When I was small my dad had to do jury service in the village of Dolgellau in North Wales. The last case on the Friday was a small time poacher who everyone on the jury knew and who they all knew was almost certainly guilty.

The judge informed the jury that if he was found guilty then they would have to all return the next day, Saturday, for sentencing (we are talking 45 years ago here).

Dad was refereeing a school rugby match the next day, someone else had a hairdressers appointment etc etc.

Funnily enough the decision was “not guilty”.

If you don’t want the jury service to go on longer than necessary…

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