Last November, we stayed a few nights with Anne's sister, Sally, and her partner, Richard - as always, we were received with lavish hospitality - bumpers were drunk, wonderfully peppery dishes were placed before us, stories told - I reeled upstairs to bed -
I especially liked hearing about about the darts - the excitement of the crowd, the precious flight of the arrows caught on the screens - the cheery boozing - beyond the arena - the spectacle of Blackpool - the esplanade, with the innumerable hen parties and stag parties - the boys dressed up as chickens - the girls squeezed into Lycra, whatever their size -
Sally said - it was worse than Beirut away from the beach - I imagined icy skies over boarded up shops - near wrecks parked in front of a Poundland -
But Sally said how friendly and approachable the northern people were - she could talk to them easily and unaffectedly - I vowed to drive to the north when I could -
After breakfast, we went for a stroll upon the beach - the tide was out - large tracts of sand stretched out before us - I thought I might be able to walk out half way to France -
The sky above was a flawless, freezing, blue - we tucked our hands into our pockets - our faces became red with wind burn -
I stared at the glistening sand - delicate patterns had been left by the waves and tide - I wondered what they might mean - wooden groynes, their posts green and feathery with seaweed, divided up the beach - shallow pools of seawater reflected the white terraced mansions on the esplanade -
We walked for an hour or so, within the confines of this watery shining world - I felt that I might hear, at any moment, the music of secret songs - perhaps there were mermaids, just out of sight, combing their yellow hair - I might not ever find my way back to the dry world -
No comments:
Post a Comment