Anythin' Ya Like!

'Strawb'ries! Apples! Bananas! Everythin' fer a pound! I say pick your own, then take 'em 'ome! Move along people! We're losin' light!' *phew* And fruit stall done. Now it's on to queue for cheeses. Brie for a quid? Yes. Of course. Please. Cheshire? Stilton? Leicester? Ummm... yes. I mean no! I mean, can you put it in a bag please? Wait here, I'll go buy tomatoes, you browse the junk stalls, anything you like, nothing you need, and is 70 pence too much for a row of stringer beans? I have no garden. Right. But I will. In two weeks. Should I wait? Or buy tomato plants now? And an 'erb garden? Good price on that, but don't drop the bloody 'h'. Will the offer still be there in two weeks? Can't decide. Not enough time. Is there ever enough time?

Never on a market day.

I'm Feeling Week All Over...

Something peculiar has happened this week. Something sinister. And it's not just me. Ever had one of those weeks where every day you could swear it was one more along? On Monday, you can't help but think it's Tuesday, and so on, until you get caught in the twilight zone of a second Friday and finally collapse shivering into the weekend. We've all had those weeks, only this week, everybody seems to be feeling it. We, as a nation, have universally lost track of time and are feeling the working week crawl past. As if Monday's quite simply fucked off for a couple days holiday, and will be returning tomorrow under the guise of a Friday. But I don't want her to return... I want her to quietly assimilate herself into the weekend, and bother me no more. A pox on all Monday's! I strongly feel.

Can't trust that day...

Five, Six, Seven, Eight!

'And rock step, triple-step, five, six, triple-step, rock step, turn and five, leads keep the frame, six, pressure on the hands, triple-step, rock step...' are the words the instructors are calling out. Meanwhile,on my side of the dance floor: 'And rock step, triple-what?, no, spin this way, seven, pause, eight, rock step, what's the lead, no, wait, maybe if I... damn. I'm really not good at this, sorry, forgive me, did I just trod on your foot? I'm sorry, it won't happen a second... oh, sorry, that was the other foot. Here try, no, this move, I mean...'

It's just like that. Nearly... Whose idea was this anyway? Swing dancing classes as a way to meet people and show off my highly developed second left foot? Shyah. Smooth move. Although really, if I tell the truth, it's not so bad. Yes, I do often have two left feet, but still it's so fun! And the above was all my lament on lindy hopping. We've moved on now. A little something I like to call the Charlestown. Couple more weeks and I'll be leaping in the air and spinning girls round my shoulders like the heroes in all the cool swing dance movies. Just you wait and see.

Charlestown is my town.

The Pain of the Morning Rain

How will we react when confronted with our own mortality? When faced with the final curtain call... Will life become a manic rush to complete that list of things to do before we die; to see the world and make up for all the time we’ve lost in the living? Or will we pause to reflect on the lives we’ve already led and spend our days in quiet reflection on time well spent? Maybe we’ll simply carry on, stoically ignoring the inevitable. Mocking all around us for proving vulnerable, while we quietly prepare for the next journey. It’s something we can’t dream of ever having to face. Something that stretches beyond the limits of our perception. Our generation is unable to contemplate the prospect of death, for we still possess that greatest of all the gifts of youth: a sense of immortality.

You and I are gonna live forever.