17-11-2021: Day 160
I was strolling into town, kicking piles of autumn leaves like a carefree kid, as the wind shuffled the red, yellow, and burnt orange leaves like a card deck. Looking up into the tree branches, still thick with leaves, I wondered whether the unusual seasonal heat was now tricking the trees into holding their leaves deeper into winter. Maybe the trees were waiting for the first fingers of Jack Frost to cool tickle under their branches, to release the multi-coloured bounty in a cold snap. Just a thought bubble bursting in my mind.
Today, there seems to be a collective fatigue blowing in the wind, of another winter of discontent lingering round the corner. The long shadow of the Virus asking the questions. To mask or not to mask? To boost or not to boost? To travel wide or not to travel wide? Even the trees seem confused in this calamitous climate. Time to flip over a new leaf, maybe.
20-11-2021: Day 163
Deep sea diving into the vibrant memories of yesteryear, the underground tube train pulled up into the Angel Islington, the old stomping grounds from a former life in the city. One memory surfaced on stepping onto the station concourse – of a dream from the Dali Journal – of encountering a Neolithic fire-breathing dragon while wandering through the underground tube network at midnight. I was there to rendezvous with an old mate, and everything represented a blast from the past.
I wondered as I wandered, whether the Angel of Islington was still watching over her turf, from the squeezed estate blocks off the Essex Road, to the monied tree avenues off Caledonian Road. A thought occurred, of my deceased maternal grandmother, watching over her old manor from another spiritual dimension. And I dived into a local boozer to order a pint of prime gentrified ale and wait for my mate.
21-11-2021: Day 164
It was in the dying minutes of the game, the fists started raining down. Blow-by-blow, the skirmish kicked off following some nail-biting goal mouth action, as the Under 15’s football match descended into a full-on punch-up. In a matter of seconds, the referee, the linesman, and the managers were wading into the thick of the melee. In something akin to an Asterix cartoon fight, it was a classic Sunday league scene doubtlessly being played out across the UK parks and pitches.
It was a reminder of how the passion of the game, like an emotional heat map, could spread like wildfire. These iron riveted rivalries, played match by match, cause angry flare ups in a flash of a card.
And so, the red card came out, names were taken for officialdom, and it took a good fifteen minutes for the boiling blood to simmer down amongst the kids and grown-ups involved. Here was a new grudge match for the ages, kicking off at a neighbourhood recreation ground anytime soon.