Here it is, more or less transcribed from my ballpen
notes, which I can’t be bothered to turn into the usual deathless prose (Ed: what, no internet? No computer?
No typewriter? Me: nope):
Ridiculously long evening shadows.
Excessively friendly flying insects.
Grass cutting, of the sort that causes passers-by to
concentrate hard on not shaking their heads.
Watching friends playing with unfeasible numbers of
grandchildren while wishing they’d invite me down the pub.
Watching four unfeasibly gorgeous girls and their three (Ed: three?) boyfriends photographing
everything, occasionally smiling up at me.
Smiling back and wishing they’d invite me down the pub.
At twilight on Saturday, down between the trees, a small
boy insistently jumping the tiny ankle-high waves, because that’s what he’s
doing; he turns to his laughing mother to confirm this, which she does.
That’s about it. Eating. Drinking.
Sleeping. Breathing. Yawning.
My neighbour B: “You should come down for longer.”
Can't you just go down the pub with a copy of Nietsche under your arm and look interesting. Always worked for me.
ReplyDeleteActually, that's true, I've always had someone approach me to ask what I'm reading when I've been in a pub on my own with a book.
ReplyDeleteTim, isn't it about time for another party?
Go with the right book or newspaper and you'll get really hacked off if anyone does talk to you... or maybe that's just me...
ReplyDeleteI wonder if Zoe took a copy of "Thus Sprake Zarathustra" and kept her hand over the "arathustra"?
ReplyDeleteJust a thought
If any of you had ever been to the Wisemans Bridge Inn, you'd know that sitting quietly in a corner with a book is NOT an option.
ReplyDeleteRog, you now take the G, S and B for Polyscim comment of the year!
Sounds like the sort of place in which to sit noisily at the bar then - probably without a book.
ReplyDelete