Cats asleep on the big bed. The bay a mish-mash of grey, brown, and dirty white. The forecast predicting 35 mph from the west but the sea-state tells a less aggressive story. It’s still strong enough to deter most of the dog-walkers who would be on the beach otherwise, however. A couple of lonely coasters ride their anchor cables, waiting for less wind or orders.
The Esplanade is unusually quiet on the motor traffic front. As are pedestrians. Maybe everyone’s having lunch? The postman was wearing shorts, despite the conditions. Wearing shorts and smiling and striding purposefully. He’s to be envied.
There’s a list written in large ink letters in his A4 diary. It’s not long and the items described are not, to anyone’s standards, difficult to do. But they are. It’s poor stuff old mucker, poor stuff. Get on with it.
A couple of items have been crossed off, completed. One of which was writing to the council planning department and the relevant ward councillors. Some peeps called Goldex Developments want to turn what was until recently a nice house lived in by an old West Indian lady and her pets, into an apartment building with 5 self contained two bedroom flats. So what was enough room for a lady and three cats to live in comfortably, is to be enough room for what (?), twenty people to live in comfortably? Blimey. Says a lot about what we’ll accept as satisfactory doesn’t it. The UK we understand, has on average the smallest houses in Europe. A British citizen has less house metre-age than any of his Euro compadres. Not good is it. Yet these sorts of developments are going ahead every day, everywhere, in our island state. Squeezing more and more folks into smaller and smaller boxes. And making shed loads of profit at it to boot. Call allatsea old fashioned but surely it’s the job of the planning offices and protesting citizens to prevent this squeeze creepage progressing? Bring it on and kick the practice out.
Anyway, all that said and done, yes I will hoover the car out (last done January 2014), tidy up the garage. . . . . . . . a bit, order some coal (smokeless of course), have a shave, ring mad mother, get the tea ready, buy some cat food, pay the lecky bill, de-weed the drive, wash the van, be more enthusiastic about work, stop fretting, shoot some clays at Greenfields, lose weight, eat less, smile more, bring the word ‘tolerance’ into my vocabulary, write more frequently, read less indulgently, stop believing The Archers is true-life, turn the amp down and be nicer. The shower fitting in the bathroom can wait. Bugger it.