I was sat quietly trying to figure out some bizarre game Hawklad had loaded onto my phone. It wasn’t going well, I can now add not being able to cross strange characters across busy roads to my litany of other incompetences….
As I unintentionally squashed more and more characters, a couple that looked about my age came into the sparse waiting room. Sounded like their daughter was having a counselling session at the same time as Hawklad. Unlike me they weren’t particularly quiet…. As my character death toll climbed relentlessly I had to listen to a families not so private backstory. Let’s just say it’s a family dealing with some stuff.
But one thing the bloke said stood out.
For whatever reason he had clearly missed quite a lot of stuff, important stuff and he knew it. To something his wife said, he mentioned having to miss his daughter’s school concert because he had a meeting. His wife pointed out with clear frustration that he missed last year’s concert as well. This year he had also missed her awards ceremony and sports day. To this he responded with
“Work is work, I will make it up to her, definitely NEXT SCHOOL YEAR.”
The sigh I heard from the woman to that sounded like she might have heard that before.
Maybe Work is Work but LIFE is DEFINITELY LIFE. Time rolls on. You only get so many chances to show up to things life school concerts, award ceremonies and sports days. All too quickly the chances end for good and you are either left with wonderful memories or painful regrets. That is inevitable.
A trip along the wonderful North Yorkshire Moors Railway. The very same railway that featured in the recent Indiana Jones and Mission Impossible movies.
Built in 1944, this locomotive did a grand job pulling my large backside over the Moors. Trust me that’s some mighty effort required up those hills….
As a kid I had a treasured Hornby Train Set. It was one train that looked a bit like 44806, two carriages, one small platform and a few track pieces. Just enough track pieces to build one really small loop. That train went round and round and round and round and round, getting nowhere fast. Yet hour after hour, lost in my dreams, that little loop track became a train winging across countryside, through cities, over huge bridges, through cavernous tunnels under great mountains. Mile after mile, endless possibilities.
That was several decades ago. Where did that boundless childhood imagination go as I got older. I miss it…..
Driving along a certain road, a route I frequently venture down. It’s not a bad trip at all, nice country views, not too much traffic and memories. Just on the outskirts of the city, the road runs by a little road side cafe.
A smile. Always a smile.
Mum’s 70th.
That cold, frosty and beautifully clear morning, Mum had just landed in a farmer’s field….. A so called bumpy landing, ‘came in a bit hard’ …. A hot air balloon flight over the city and countryside. Mum now had a tale to tell, so the family gathered to listen in this small roadside cafe. Tea and Cream Scones, sat huddled on the wooden benches outside. Much laughter. All the funnier as mum revealed a secret, she was scared of heights… If we had known earlier she might well have had a birthday boat cruise down the river.
Over the proceeding years the cafe has physically not changed much, maybe the wooden benches are looking a little more creaky. But one change is that it’s increasingly become a bit of a biker pit stop haunt. Yamaha’s and Motörhead Jackets reside on the wooden benches alongside couples and families, cream teas still being consumed by all. Mum would find this amusing.
Feels like a timeless memory to me.
There is another road, often ventured as well. Nice road, very like the other road. This one had another memory.
But no smiles this time, they have slowly faded..
This road runs by a derelict pub, one that’s been up for sale for too many years. Sadly the years have not been kind to the old building. Windows broken, part of the roof have collapsed, weed filled car park. Surely it can’t be too long before the bulldozers move in and put it out of its misery. Yet this was still the site of a memory. For weeks we had kept our work romance quiet but finally it was time to come clean. A Christmas office quiz night and meal at an old country pub. Back then it was a place full of life and character, really well kept and stylish. The big reveal ended up probably not being a romantic one, rather that the seemingly clever bloke from Finance in the three piece suit was in fact a monumental idiot whose useable pub quiz knowledge was limited to football and football…. Plus wow, was he an embarrassing dancer. Little did they know that it took years of practice at the TopDeck in Redcar to get this bad….. WHAT on earth could she see in him…… What she did do that night was to convince me to go on holiday with her to Switzerland, our first trip. That old pub and that night proved to be our gateway to The Alps. And as we left, it started to snow, snow just a couple of days from Christmas.
That memory would bring a smile every time I passed this pub. But that was when it was a busy, working pub, when it had life. Watching it fade away started to change the feel of the memory as well. As the life slowly ebbed from the pub, the gloss and magic went from the memory. The memory became less vivid, less colourful, faded, transient. Now when I pass here, I struggle to see the memory anymore, I just see a sad old derelict building. When I do try to recall the memory it feels really ancient, from a different world, almost artificial. Compare that with Mum’s birthday memory which feels alive, vivid, as if it was yesterday. But heres the thing, both memories were born just a few months apart.
Memories are delicate, can’t be taken for granted. Yet is it also possible that some memories are intrinsically tied to something like a location, a sound, a smell. Things that stimulate a certain reaction from our senses that link to a memory. If that thing is damaged, the memory is also damaged. But surely it might also be possible that we can find memories that are more embedded, tied to things we pick up on which feel like that have more permanence. Let’s say locations that appear untainted by time, places where we can still talk about timeless personal memories.
Time for a little piece of Switzerland. So many memories flow from just looking at these photos. Memories that feel as fresh as ever.
We have a bit of a tradition going now. On the Longest and Shortest Days, we head off to the Moors to hopefully see the sun slowly set over the distant hills. A favourite little parking spot on a hardly used byway is the perfect spot. We only share these moments with sheep…
We like this spot because quite often, immediately after the sun sets you get a few brief moments of optical illusions. Often it appears that we are now looking down on the coast. A golden sea with islands. This always takes me back, back to my climbing days and the trips to the West Coast of Scotland.
Always poignant thoughts. I vividly recall standing by my car, near Torridon, watching a stunning sunset over water. Then getting in my car to drive overnight back to the rat race in England. Thinking, I can’t wait for my next climbing adventure here, already drawing up plans as I drove. That was over 20 years ago and I still haven’t returned.
Time moves on….
Here’s the crazy thing, if I had been told back then, it could end up being at least 20 years of no returns, then I would have almost certainly made more of an effort to find the time. To actually make that trip way before now but life can have a habit of just slipping through our fingers if we are not careful.
Nearly the longest day and it still doesn’t feel like it’s nearly summer. A walk along the bitingly cold Yorkshire Coast.
These are really unstable cliffs. After high tides and especially after storms, you will see intrepid fossil hunters scouring the base of the rocks for fragments of a past world. Locally it’s known as the Jurassic Coast.
No T-Rex hunting for us this day, way too cold. Hands much better employed stuck in the pockets avoiding frost bite. Is it really the longest day in a few hours…. As we eventually headed back to the warmth of the car we passed a bare chested Surfer marching briskly towards his inevitable frozen doom in the North Sea.
“You might need a few more layers on….”
“Probably. The secret is to not scream too loudly and look like you enjoying it.”
“I thought the secret was to surf somewhere way warmer”
“It is but then you don’t get to surf round Icebergs. Plus if it was warmer my wife would have me cutting the grass….”
I had a conversation with a friend a few weeks back on how his view on life had changed drastically with time. He talked about how for years he desperately wanted to see the world, home was just not enough. Home time often felt like wasted adventure time. Adventure, adventure, adventure. But over the last few years, increasingly, his home, his garden, the countryside immediately around him, was his world, it was more than enough. He felt like he had done enough travelling and adventuring now, experienced enough of that in person. Now he could relax and fully appreciate that LOCAL LIFE which had previously seemed way too claustrophobic and restrictive for him.
Why take his paintbrushes and sketchbooks thousands of miles, through countless stressed filled hours in concrete departure lounges…
Why damage the world in search of ever more exotic adventures when there was more than a lifetime of adventures and wonderful subjects to paint, just a few moments from his front door….
For years he only went into the garden to have a barbecue and reluctantly cut the grass. Now he sits for hours in his garden, happy, relaxed and content.
He was even thinking about if he could get rid of his car, did he need it now he had taken ROOT.
This got me thinking, could I do the same here, take root in this part of Yorkshire. Possibly, there are definitely worse places to become rooted. But I kept coming back to this one thought…
I could take root in Switzerland, I really could.I would right now if I could.
Not for the first time – sounds a bit like a Foreigner song.
How many times before I learn.
Why are life lessons so easily forgotten.
The older we get the more we are visited by loss, the more emotional baggage we carry.
Not for the first time, a character, a personality, someone with a rich story to hear, explore and understand. Let’s have that coffee next week, after this and that, let’s set something up tomorrow, maybe the weather will be better in a few weeks. Sorry busy, there’s a delivery I need to stay in for, shopping, work, housework, family….
Let’s have that coffee soon.
Time sometimes runs out…. I know…. I should know…. It’s happened before….
For months been talking about having a coffee with a wonderful chap in our village. A few decades older than me, lost his partner similar time to me, an artist. Much to talk about, share and discover. For this reason and that the coffee kept being put off till next week, then next week, then…..
He passed away a few days back. So many stories unheard, didn’t get to hear about his artist life. Just have to treasure the chats outside his house as I passed on the daily dog walk. Chats often quickly reverting to mutual disbelief at what is becoming of our country and its so called government. Little glimpses into each others worlds, a few tantalising snippets gained on an artist’s life.
If only that coffee had happened. If only I had asked this question and that question. Spent some more moments talking.
How many times have I thought that. Family, Partner, Friends.
Maybe this time, I’ve really learnt the life lesson.
Going through some old photos for this post and a TV news item about the upcoming election sparks memories. The Swiss Hotel Owner would always want to hear updates about UK politics. After the update he would always say something like
‘In the UK people don’t seem to go into politics to help communities, it’s about helping themselves. They want the political power too much…’
Oh that is so true, and my mind wanders. Some folks do want political power way too much 😂😂. This post is going off on a tangent now.
Recently I went to vote in the local Mayoral election. A trip to a little used, tiny village hall. The Presiding Officer, clearly bored, was having a good giggle at not accepting my photo id, as to her it was not a true likeness. Apparently my beard shape was different to the photo and she wanted me to restyle it before I could vote.
Maybe more ZZTop, or maybe more Idris Elba…..
In front of the bored official, on the desk, apart from the voting forms and electoral register WAS a Stephen King Book, a food pack up, several Mars Bars and a flask of something.
Memory time. I had completely forgotten that years back, I had been a Presiding Officer, just as bored as this beard focusing prankster.
The Election Team could never get enough people to volunteer to run all the polling stations, so the day before the election, desperate officials would walk round the government building where I was working, trying to entice people to volunteer. AND I was one of the willing….. Why was I so willing….
Run this past me again, you want me tomorrow to not come into work, at this really busy time, to go to a deadly quiet village hall. Then instead of working my butt off, I can read a book, drink coffee, have a picnic, and I just have to hand out a few voting cards for 12 hours.I’m your man…..
But the secret was not to look too keen, make it look like a real chore, a real inconvenience. Eventually they would agree to pay your normal salary for the day rather than just volunteering.
And you are going to pay me to do nothing for the day…. Just GRAND. Now you can sign me up.
You would turn up at the voting centre and basically vegetate. In most of these remote polling stations your were lucky to get 10 voters turning up during the whole 12 hour shift. Normally a super relaxed shift. Yes, sometimes boring. One time I can remember trying to convince a voter that I could sort out a special voting bone for his dog, so the dog could vote as well. Yes I so understand her beard jokes….. But one year I had to do the voting centre gig with a trainee planner as an assistant. Way too keen. Have you done this, have you done that, is that wall poster on local conservation appropriate during voting. Never stopped. On top of everything, he then accidentally put his empty crisp packet into the vote ballot box rather than the bin. I forced him to fish it out with tongs I managed to find in the village hall kitchen. After about an hour it was too much for my sanity.
Ok, I’m going to make you Acting Presiding Officer.
Really, can you do that.
Yes, I will even get you a name badge to tell everyone about your new role. You can then run the process and I will just sit over there and de stress.
He was so happy, even happier when I stuck a postage note on his chest telling everyone of his new role. Then I sat in the corner and read while the new Acting Presiding Officer enthusiastically dealt with the handful of voters over the passing hours, only once did I have to intervene to stop some form of bureaucratic madness from him. Always thinking, when will he look at his name badge. He never did, at the end of the day, he threw it in the bin and went off a happy bunny, full of the new political power he had exerted. I kinda hoped that at least one of the voters had read his name badge.
No it didn’t read……
I’m the Acting Presiding Officer
Much more importantly it read….
I’m the Acting Prime Minister.
I’m sure that act of personal silliness broke several electoral laws and Revolutions have started over much less.
Each Day, Dad would pick up the local newspaper, briefly glance at the main headline and then it was straight to the same old page. He would turn to the Death Notices which bizarrely was on the same page as the previous day’s horse racing results…. I’m not sure what message the Editor was sending there.
Each Day, Dad would carefully scan the names to see who had died. I never understood Dad’s seeming obsession with that.
Now after all the years, I understand…..
Last night I had a series of bizarre dreams. Not bad dreams, just odd ones. One featured a friend from college, a long forgotten friend. Hadn’t seen her in decades, we met up a couple of times in London after college but then we just lost touch, we headed in different life directions. No idea why she suddenly popped up randomly last night but after that dream I wondered what happened to K. So I headed online to see if I could find any mention of her. After a bit of searching I think I maybe found one brief reference to K, right name, right age. If it’s K then she has become some form of Judge, I had heard years back she was training to be a solicitor. Hope this means it’s a good life scenario.
But here’s the thing, alongside hopes of finding news of K in a wonderful life setup, a big part of me was just hoping she was ok, still with us. I think Dad would understand that feeling.
Walk around any store and look at all the food labelling. Detailed information and warnings on all sorts of things which these days means that you can try to shop wisely and safely. It can be done….
A really grey, wet and chilly May Day. We needed to get out so we ventured to the local cinema. Only two films about to start as we arrived. One about Apes running the planet and one about a big blue imaginary monster friend. Looking at the posters, what to go for. Well hardly scientific, we have already seen the Kong movie recently, that’s probably enough Ape for one year. The other movie looked quite cute and funny. Plus as it was rated ok for small children, it should be safe, untaxing entertainment, perfect way to vegetate for a couple of hours.
IF only we had more detailed movie labelling….. AND NO it’s way too late putting a brief disclaimer on the screen that the movie contains depictions of death, bereavement, adult themes, strobe lighting or whatever barely two seconds before the movie starts. If they can do it then they can do it on the trailers, movie posters or what’s on cinema ticket booth screens.
Ok yes, the movie had lots of cute, funny and harmless entertainment. It was a really good movie. BUT all sandwiched between a 12 year old girl trying to deal with her mum dying of what appeared to be cancer and her father in hospital facing the prospect of a major life threatening heart operation. Quite a lot of the movie was the girl visiting her father in hospital and being petrified of losing him as well…..
Definitely brought the occasional tear to this grizzled lump, Hawklad struggled. But was it suitable for really young children, especially those who might have already experienced loss. And what about the two poor parents who brought their really young children to see the cute film. One child had to leave in tears early on and the other had to be taken out to buy some distracting ice cream during one tough scene.
IF only those parents had some film labelling and warnings before they bought the tickets.
A Dad trying to cope with the loss of his Partner and becoming a single parent. 