Well
I am sitting here with pen in one hand and a piece of paper in the
other, wondering what I am going to put into the paper from the pen –
of course neither of these things exist, any more, as they have been
replaced by a keyboard and a screen.
Time
goes along and we are in a lock-down and not allowed to go anywhere
without permission from the police.
At
the bottom of the garden there are three of my neighbours and we take it in turns to dig the tunnel.
We
figure if we start digging near the back fence, which joins all our gardens, we should be able to sneak through and get as far as
Pinner Green by Christmas; 2021.
I
have never been a fella who feels cooped up when at home as lots
of times it wouldn't worry me if I never opened the door again. I
have everything I want here, all the things I have purchased over the
years: guitar – in fact two guitars, a banjo. six harmonicas, at
least, a pair of drum sticks but no drums.
Never
bothered me before; I used to be the solo drummer when I was in the
army cadets between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. One of my
duties was to teach the drummers joining the band how to play a
military drum. In the breaks in the canteen – the NAFFI – we
would sit around with our sticks and practise our paradiddles and quavers on a table. So I can do that but when I have recorded songs, here, I
have used a drum machine. Although once in a while I would use my
fingers on the desk, a packing case and on one song I slapped my bare
knees; now that hurt.
The
upshot of it is that I am not using either of my guitars, harmonicas
or drum sticks; why? Because at the moment I have so much time to
spare that I haven't got the time.
I
am editing my little film but nine times out of ten when I sit down
to do it I notice a joke on Face Book, or a comment I have to answer
or a brilliant saying will come in to my head and I have to put that
in my 'news feed' instead. Unfortunately, like a drunken insult, it
doesn't look so brilliant in the cold light of day.
I
was talking to a pal of mine the other day, shooting the shit and
reminiscing, putting the world to right and the thought came to me: I
was like this as a child! My folks would send me out to play and I
would stand at the bottom of the garden looking at the house. My dad
would come out and say 'go and play!'
It
was the same when we went on holiday. I liked the caravan (sorry my
American friends a caravan – a trailer??) who knows - and I liked the
tent when I went away with the boy scouts – I just found a photo of
me when I was 5¾ so you can see how
inquisitive I was; I look quite satisfied.
That was
when I had been at school for 12 months.
I hated school and that was
a school photograph. That was the one my dad carried around with him
in his wallet. I remember when I first saw it as I can't remember
looking at it when I looked like that I also remember school at that
time and I hated it. I couldn't see the point of going there. I
suppose I found out all the kids there spoke with a different accent
from me and maybe that confused me.
I
walked to school with a neighbour and on
the way we would walk down St Paul's Road, in Birmingham, which had a
railway bridge going across. The roadway, under the bridge, was very
small, maybe just about enough room to drive a car through, but my
mother wanted me, when I went by myself a year or so later, to cross
the road outside Doctor Cronin's surgery.
I
could never, even at that age, figure out why it would be safer to
cross the road by the doctors. Maybe she thought if I got hit by a
truck the doctor would come out and save me. So I would walk with the
gang of kids and their mams and let them go ahead to cross the
road where it narrowed and I would nip over through the morning
traffic by the croakers
– salvation or bandages.
I have
often wondered if this place, the UK, became something like
Yugoslavia, with several fighting factions, that we would be figuring
out a way to get to Pinner – half a mile away. Would I go over the
gardens, sneak through the trees or get into the River Pinn and swim
there. The River Pinn, by the way, is hard to see, as it's in a ditch
at the side of some roads. It's near our current doctors' surgery
which would please my mother but the fact is I would have to walk
down the river as there probably isn't enough water around there to
sustain me – it gets a bit deeper by the doctors so if I get into
difficulty in the water the doctor can come out and save me.
Tunnel, funny bit.
ReplyDeleteLovely post Chris, and the photo is just perfect, thanks!
ReplyDeleteMany thanks, Karyn.
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