There’s north in the wind and a grey chill. The waters of Westbrook Bay are rippled with a hint of menace and the pantone of the grey brown water is almost identical to the sky. It’s not a day, to be frank, that a chap who’s feeling a little bit sad, is going to be lifted by the environment he’s in. There’s a chap called Donald who allatsea worked with over the summer at SOLAN who would, without doubt, at a time like this, advise robustly that I ‘take a spoonful of cement and harden up’. Perhaps he’s right?
The house is quiet. For a wonderful near month long hiatus from our normal empty lifestyle, the place was full of the Oz contingent, and offspring from the Oz contingent. Each room had a purpose, there was vibrancy and noise about the place. Shrieks of laughter and piles of clothes by the dhoby engine. Shopping was was for ‘proper’ quantities, a purpose existed and things and tools that had lain unused for a decade, were brought to life. Now that’s all gone again and things are as they were and it’s all terribly dull and pointless.
We all I guess, live in fear of ghastly things like cancer, debilitating conditions, poverty, war, pain and similar, allatsea certainly does. But the thing he fears most, certainly as he gets older, is loneliness. The odd and daft thing about that, is that probably within 500 metres of where he sits tapping away at a keyboard, there are dozens of people with similar angst. Daft old lot aren’t we!!
And on that thought, it’s clean those peggies time. Then a shave with an open razor time (Thiers Issard of course) and if he survives that, off out of the door for a walk on Westbrook beach. It isn’t so bad.