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Thursday 29 April 2010

Laceby



Leanne and I took these in the fields behind the village where I live, it was a bright day but the wind was still sharp with winter teeth. The sun hanging low like a drunk in the sky, cast shadows for miles. The mud slid and sank beneath us, sucking our feet under like quick sand. It wasn't a long walk but we took our time, climbing through barbed fences and getting lost in the footpaths and trails. We used her polaroid camera which was a new thing for me. It's quite hard to get the composition and to see anything much but it was a surprise. Here are the two I managed to shoot.

Wednesday 28 April 2010

Rabbit Emergency

Like most days, I have had my mother on my mind since I opened my eyes this morning. People say it's unhealthy for the soul to dwell on the past. If I didn't I could forget her completely. Frames and flashbacks of her crop up on occasion which brings loving relief followed by a void of depression and habits. I panic that I somehow create or enhance these memories to satisfy my wants. I struggle to remember her face. I remember her voice and her mannerisms most. We went on a family holiday to Lanzarote, which was the last over seas holiday I have been on. She was adorned with jewelry and beads and I recall the melody it composed as we skipped along to meet my father by the pool. I can't be sure if I had turned four yet. It was then or shortly after.I had with me a toy. A baby rabbit from the Sylvanian families collection which I adored. I fiddled contently next to her while she sunbathed and multiplied her freckles by a hundred. I had them on my face but she was wrapped in them. Head to toe. She applied cold sun block to my shoulders and nose. I can still smell it. It was child friendly, bright purple and smelt fruity, which only encouraged the wasps. The red brick floor was damn hot. Too hot for my tender little feet to step on so I stuck to my lounger, dressing my rabbit in her miniature dungarees. I have no idea what I did to provoke him but my brother, Guy, who was about seven at the time, sprinted over and snatched the rabbit. Knowing I couldn't follow him over the hot scarlet ground I pleaded for him to return it. He turned to the adults pool and hurled it into the centre. He laughed and ran off to tell his new friends. I was inconsolable and wouldn't make do with any other toy. My father, at the request of my mother, dove in to rescue the rabbit. When he emerged with something in his balled up hand I shut my mouth and gulped down the huge lump in my throat. She had gone bald in the chlorine ridden water. I was still miserable. He scooped me up, placed my astride his shoulders and galloped toward to reception making the sound an ambulance makes, occasionally shouting "EMERGENCY." When we got there he enquired as to whether the lady had a first aid kit and she quickly obliged while looking somewhat baffled.He took out a bandage, cut it up small and wrapped it around the bunnies head. I put some little plaster on her and was happy with my little patient. He took my hand and led me to the bar where he bought me a banana milkshake, my favourite. That is one of the clearest memories I have to date and possible the sweetest thing my Dad has ever done. My mum grinned as I returned a smiley chubby little lady. I sat there with her for the rest of the afternoon. She died shortly after we arrived home and left an unfathomable, eternal gap. Despite not being lucky enough to have known her I miss her famously.

A Visitor

26th April 2010. 13:30

Sam arrived yesterday so I speedily finished writing and left you to rest in my bag. I don't quite know if it was due to embarrassment or not wanting to appear rude. Probably a mixture of the two. It was breezy and getting cool so we walked to town with the intention of going to the usual watering hole. I had forgotten it was a Sunday and it was closed. So we floated back to the park were we had met in the first place, Sam rode his sister's bike slowly, struggling to stay on board. The sun was back and it washed over the park bringing with it an army of people, dogs and babies trying to enjoy the day while they still had chance. We found a hole in the hedge surrounding the unoccupied care takers house, which was boarded up but not covered in graffiti, a reasonably strange thing to notice. In a small garden was a petite private patch of overgrown ivy and weeds, the trees gathered a roof above our heads with gaps and holes where the light beamed down in stripes of heat. We sat down on the ivy carpet and each made a joint. We were at the edge and the only thing separating us from the street was plant life. It felt sneaky. We soon moved on to a spot of dirt and roots at the waters edge. We sat facing the sun, the scene and the ducks. There was plenty of small, downy ducklings learning the ways of the world. Sam lit his and we passed it back and forth while discussing various scenarios, trying to understand what each duck was going through. They weren't so removed from us and our actions. We watched the humorous displays of masculine authority, a miniature mother and father fended off a big feathery yob and protected their babies well. I soon lit mine. Then, out of nowhere we witnessed a conception. There was a cloud of noise. I looked up to see a raft or drakes with only one female. Two or three pecked and nipped at the back of her neck as she struggled to stand, while one male mounted her back, flapping and screeching with excitement. He finished and another one clambered for his turn. She seemed to hate all this and was resisting and yelling for help. They were all having a go. It was uncomfortable to see and the whole ordeal was terribly violent. Eventually she managed to squirm free. She clumbsily flew off and the lads gave chase. We sat there silent and horrified yet I felt blessed by this insight into the cruel life of a duck.
We smiled and smoked and let the sun flood our eyes. The bright light illuminated my pale skin and for the first time in ages, I felt glad to be out where there were people. We spied enormous clouds shimmying toward us. The silver highlights sprawling across the dense blanket of floss. I sensed a single, cool droplet on my skin and knew we were in for a substantial downpour. We wandered over to the new band stand which sat proudly on a mound of green. It looked out over the entire pond. We waited for the rain to arrive and cut through the muggy atmosphere. I felt safe and watched the wet clear the field and benches of folk. The ducks didn't care. They had bigger things on their plate.
An older man, a broken, slightly dirty man approached us from the hill behind us. We said Hello and he put down his bag of cider and sheltered with us. We slowly fell into a conversation with him, despite my first gut reaction of ever so well hidden fear. He mentioned he had epilepsy and I immediately thought of my mother. I shot that thought point blank and out of my path and focused on what the old man had to say. He complained of brain damage and had on a pair of sunglasses with only one arm. He claimed to have a PHD and confessed to having taught university students and had been all over the world. He wasn't ashamed of being an alcoholic and didn't make any excuses to justify his decline into alcoholism and homelessness. He did, however, want to make it abundantly clear he "didn't do crime." He told of how he was born here in Lincolnshire and lived in various villages till he was eighteen. He left out huge gaps which made me wonder if it was all a fib but I didn't question him and let him have his fifteen minutes of fame. He seemed a kind person but was very keen to correct anything I said. I didn't take offence. I just didn't say much else. He said he was thinking of settling here and explained he was staying in a drop in house and was just out to get away from the unsavory characters that occupied the other rooms. I asked "Why here?" He informed me that I was probably blind to see how pleasant and kind the people of Grimsby and Cleethorpes are because I have lived here since forever. I instantly thought of all the negative in GRIMsby and events that have confirmed my hatred. A visitor doesn't see the entirety of a town. They see the pretty fluorescent bulbs of the amusement arcades and eat the renowned fish and chips. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was. Either way there is room for both qualities in most towns. It's the ratio that has the effect. Grimsby has it's share of shit bags and is most definitely a dump but this one man's opinion made me realise how much Grimsby has changed in an anti social behaviour kind of way. A small improvement. This park was no exception. It used to be full of Perverts and bored teenage aggressors. He piped on for quite a while so I chain smoked role ups till he had run dry of cigarettes and asked directions for the nearest shop. The rain had let up but we didn't leave, we returned to our spot at the roots of the tree and smoked another till it was time, for us both and the sun, to leave.


Parklife

25th April 2010. 14:30

Soaking up the mild, warm spring rays, I watch a blue shirted man try to reunite an infant bird with it's mother. It's hard to be sure but I think his attempt at kindness failed. The smell of his manufactured skin on the bird may have rendered it an outcast. Banished from a once loving family. Hell, I can relate to that. I envisage what might become of this tiny miracle. Will it die alone or triumph over the crippling isolation? I watch the different families of duck as they slurp and suck at the invisible treats of mother earth. I shiver despite the gift of sunshine and try to ignore the paranoia that will surely ruin my mood and lead me to be a terrible social companion for the remainder of the day. The bees and wasps stalk fresh summer frocks and unsettle the family time of strangers. This park used to be a mess. A mess I felt safe in. I think back to my adolescent years when we used to come here and would all go to the log (a fallen tree trunk) and sit in a long row of arrogance, drinking and smoking pot, despite not being able to handle the two combined. But we didn't give a shit. We were young and strong and powerful. I never touched the harder stuff though. I didn't have the balls.

Birthday Blues

24th April 2010. 15:35

At the age of twenty two I am ashamed to admit that you are my very first journal. I am not entirely sure why. Perhaps a matter of privacy. The fear that anyone at all could reveal the contents of my irrational and somewhat overbearing brain. To call you a diary would only magnify the fear. I imagine a diary brimming with untold secrets, a catalogue of shame. Shame is something I would gladly remove from my being if I possessed such power.
An unwanted feeling has hung over me for weeks. A mixture of worry and resentment. For who, I don't know. A niggling sensation that time is concentrating on the end and that I will miss an unexplained opportunity. Whether I manifest this deliberately is another story.
I am approaching my twenty third birthday and don't really know what to make of it. Birthdays don't overwhelm me any more. Compared to the child hood enthusiasm, the anticipation of gifts, the birth of the six week summer holidays, the thrill of an 'every kid for themselves' water fight and the envy of my older brother, it's a day like any other, only a day I cannot ignore. I am always asked the same irritating question on my birthday, "Do you feel different?" The answer is always no. Should I? What does a person feel at turning a certain age? I don't feel old or young. I don't feel better or worse or any wiser. It makes me ponder why humans celebrate birthdays at all. To be joyous at the birth of a child is understandable. To relay the event to every year after? It sounds desperate. Like an excuse to be happy for at least one day out of the year. Maybe this year I will encounter something more than the traditional bitter birthday pill.