7.10.2021: Day 118
It’s been a red-letter day. Or should I say red-letter afternoon. The morning was spent drifting aimlessly swallowed up in the Trenches, but something flicked the inner mood switch, and later I find myself floating energetically somewhere near the ceiling, listening to the new Elbow tune. Guy Garvey is banefully cutting through the miserable grey drizzle outside and even the house flies spiralling round the kitchen are causing some amusement.
It can be as simple as locating the missing key in a muddled drawer, unlocking the rusty lock, and letting the sunshine in through the mind’s prison cell door. Or finding the final rogue piece of the 1000th piece jigsaw puzzle under the sofa, snapping it into place, and lighting up the mood rainbow colours of the soul.
So, I gleefully set about swatting flies with a rolled-up magazine, throwing shapes for days, and swigging down the umpteenth coffee with abandon. Relish and reward the red-letter moments, the enigmatic holy grail on the well-trodden rocky trail of life’s roadmap.
11-10-2021: Day 122
The girl selling the Big Issue had a sunny disposition, smiling at the pedestrian footfall coming and going into the busy town supermarket. Clutching her magazine to her chest, at other times she looked forlorn and frustrated at her apparent invisibility to the bustling shoppers.
She was an immigrant hailing from the old East European bloc and would migrate from a sink estate in Slough to work the streets of Shoreham-by-Sea. Her brother cleaned offices in Brighton, and she would make the journey along the coast for her pitch outside the local convenience store.
Talking, she reminded how poverty disgusts some people, especially those in higher office, who feel motivated to turn the other jowl. Digging a little deeper, her story tugged hard on the heartstrings – five months pregnant, bleeding, with a booked caesarean two months off – she was troubled about buying powdered milk to feed her premature baby.
And, as the conflicted cynic inside felt the painful pluck of the heartstrings, I pressed a few quid in her palm, and left the scene brewing over her future fight and plight.
12-10-2021: Day 123
The sun was sinking in the west, turning the sky a shade of orange, and the streaky bacon clouds were kissed with purple linings. The homes on the corner of Southwick Rec were forming black silhouettes on the horizon and I could feel the remains of the day being squeezed out for the night. Somewhere in the shadows the clock hands were being turned back and Winter was coming. The moon was hanging at half-mast, just above the power station.
I was waiting for the boy to finish his football training, contemplating the stillness from the seclusion of my car. Apart from the occasional cider swigging teenagers or panting joggers, the world was resting in peace with itself.
Scrolling through the internet, I was looking for a bite of something different, some sustenance for the mind, but the socials were all laced with amphetamine and angst.
My thoughts turned to the changing man, of cocoons and butterflies, as the illuminating light of the mobile phone faded, and darkness descended.