Sunday Mornings With..

Sunday morning bed laying, knees still hot and aching from middle of the night waking in pain and, as always, overheated.

I’m reading my book – I say ‘my’ book, but it’s obviously not by me, of course, I don’t write things. Robin Ince is saying about solitude being a safer place than groups for many of us – I’ve known that feeling but I now crave humans though from within a shy mind.

As I read, several conversations run in different directions as ticker tape, Teletext: trains that pass and I can hear the brief snippets of passengers as they pass by – passing by in all directions – trains, people, chatter, fill my mind and mingle with words and thoughts from the book.. and wondering about the weather, the wind, the sea.

A thrumping in my left ear – not quite a sound, not quite a pain, adds a distortion and a sip of luke warm coffee some soft brown with a hint of green, a thickening – things that foods do – colours and textures – and who can eat foods that are just browns and muddy yellows.. at least have some mushy peas.

Knees burning.

Robin says about how people tell him their anecdotes and he observes (perhaps he merely thinks he does) the moments when they, as he does, as I do, lose faith in our words mid story – we feel suddenly that all we are saying is boring and we remember that usually it’s best to say nothing as, when we do, surely we are boring.

Just like dad, just like dad, just like dad. Fuck, he could bore for England and he did it with such a passion. He’d spot the twitches of an urge to leave and move in closer, getting tighter in, into comfort zones, inside personal spaces – bitter, turdy breath, in my nostrils. We’d be in for as long as we’d stand for it… I learned to break away and often that’d require rudeness as he wouldn’t respond to the usual body language or polite excuses by which people usually express their desire, their need, to move on. Enough, enough, do shut up, can’t you get it.. it’s not interesting, shut up.

Coffee, back to the book.. or the Spanish. Or get up. Breakfast. But swimming.

The book is taking a while to read.