where art collides philosoperontap

It was a dark day in November or early December 1983. I remember it was a Sunday and I was down to my last pound. Some of it went on potatoes, baked beans and cardboard flavoured burgers from the local SPAR. The remaining fifty pence went in the electricity meter to cook the food. Then I sat on the settee in my sleeping bag in front of the TV until the meter ran out.

Next morning I stayed in bed under the blankets and sleeping bag, nose sticking out blowing frosty breath. No heating, no money to switch it on.

It felt dramatic but it wasn’t really. I hadn’t made any effort to find a job but it wouldn’t be a problem when I came to it. I had a big sense of freedom. No ties. I could do anything I liked when I liked, as long as it didn’t take money.

In the run up to Christmas I came under increasing pressure from my parents to get a job. I suspect that that dark Sunday made up my mind. Reluctantly, I relented, and got myself employment with Marconi in Lincoln starting in January. I never considered it would ever be a problem. It’s all about attitude.

I hired a van and moved all my worldly goods to Lincoln. Driving away I was leaving a phase of my life behind.

It’s strange to think that it is now 2008 and 25 years since I left. Since then I have pretty much always had a mortgage and have never repeated the feeling of freedom. Deep down I am not a responsible individual, I’m only a big kid, so not having that freedom doesn’t feel right.

It’s early. I couldn’t sleep so I’m up and sitting on the settee in the living room. The blanket that lives on the settee is covering my legs because it is cold. We are into the last week of October and it definately feels like the first week of winter. The weather forecast for today is wet with a maximum temperature of 7 oC, minimum -1oC.

It doesn’t really get cold that often. Not as often as most people would like I’m sure. We need to have proper winters. Reassuringly cold. It hardly ever gets cold enough for snow. Rarely do we get to go down the common with the sledge, or what’s left of it after 4 kids.

The sledging on the common bit is somewhat romanticised actually. The ten second rush of adrenalin doesn’t seem like adequate recompense for the five minute trudge back up the hill, the wet socks and cold, cold extremities.

One year, after Christmas, we took a cottage in the Lake District for a week. The whole country was covered in snow, except the Lake District. It was a bit of a disappointment and a waste of time carting the sledge all that way. It was a nice cottage, over the road from a nice pub. The pub had given the chef a two week holiday over Christmas though so there was no food there. The menu did look good. Bit strange I thought. Folk eh?

Still we had a good time and the cottage was warm and cosy with a wood burning fire. Mam and Dad came up and stayed on their way home from Ann’s and we had a second Christmas present opening. Hooray.

That was a good break. All too often we hang around at home between Christmas and New Year. Bored. It is a waste of annual holiday. I can see why people go off to St Moritz and Cloisters for New Year. Lots more to do. Plenty of action, mulled wine and fondues. Yes far more interesting. Don’t know why we don’t go!

The after that it’s Barbados or the Bahamas, for that bit of winter sun after the snow. Trouble is we have already booked a weekend in Center Parcs and we can’t do both. Maybe next year…