Floods and young footballing gods ...

Seeking a hole in the wall, I walked down a canyon of guest houses - I passed a pub called The Bee Hive - I knew that I would have to be in deep cover to drink Spun Gold there -

I gazed at Carlisle United's stadium - there was a statue of a young footballing god outside the gates - 

Warwick Road was an invisible river of diesel fumes - 

The hole in the wall was outside a Fort Apache newsagents - 

That morning, we'd heard about the flood - I was admiring a noble full English - 

Our landlady fixed us with the mesmerising stare of an Ancient Mariner -  

We were all in bed she said - I heard a police siren, going on and on - it was after midnight - I went downstairs - I looked out of the window - there was water everywhere - it just came in - more and more of it - it was all dark - there were no lights - 

That bridge you came over - that was completely under - the biscuit factory was flooded to the roof - the night shift was on at the time - all their cars were floating away - 

There was one old lady drowned down the road - two other people were killed  - 

We were shown a photograph of Warwick Road, each Victorian mansion like an ornate stone reef, lapped by a dark lagoon - 

We got it all spanking new afterwards - the insurance you see - some good came of it - 

09.00

July 14 2014

Courtfield Guest House

Carlisle

Finding grapes in Staunton Road ...

My mum asked me to go with her around the garden - we walked down the curving gravel path, stepping off the small patio - 

Earlier, I'd mowed the lawns - my mum had watched me, sitting in her folding chair - 

My dad was asleep indoors, in his armchair, dreaming of vivid skies - there he was, not yet twenty, stepping onto the foredeck of a cruiser - the air was scented with cloves and sandalwood - 

My mum, perhaps, was remembering the school for soldiers' daughters - scarlet colonels would give her half a crown if she could recognize a regimental cap badge - on Sundays, the girls would venture across the Heath in giggling crocodiles - 

We left the garden, wandering slowly around the garages - 

We saw some grapes, hanging in purple clusters over a wall - 

It was like finding a paradise next to a Poundland - over the wall, I saw a secret garden, cloaked by wisteria and vines - 

My mum ate one of the grapes - further along, the wall was covered with an arras of ivy - 

We saw a long arm of bramble, jewelled with blackberries -  

I imagined Havant being swallowed by greenery, the parked cars hidden by joyous flowers -  

15.00

October 5 2014

Staunton Road

Havant 

Hats ...

Leaving my parents' house for the twenty four hour Tesco, I passed a row of hats in the hallway, under the ships' crests - 

There were my mum's two woollen berets - there were my dad's two flat caps - 

I thought of how I'd seen my dad, on his way into Havant, wearing his cap - I'd be walking behind him - my mum would be pushing the sholley - she'd be wearing her beret - 

How many times had I seen them walking up West Street? I knew every detail of the street, every hedge, every parked car, every pebble dashed house -

How many more times would I accompany them to Wilcos, I thought - how many more times would my dad reach for his can of Tanglefoot?

I left the house, walking briskly, keeping up with Anne -

Later, I found great comfort lying beside her, sharing a secret world - 

19.30

Friday 3 October 2014

Staunton Road

Havant 

Mist over the water meadows ...

After breakfast one morning, unsettled by reading Printer's Devil Court, I walked out of the house - I made my way to the river -

Mist filled the valley - the new sun was still low in the sky - I thought of Tolstoy's evocation of the field of Austerlitz before the battle - 

I breathed in the chill air - I stood upon the bridge, gazing downwards - there were deep pools here, the lair of eels and pike - 

The water meadows were silvered with dew - 

I had entered a silent pristine world - 

I forgot those thin outstretched arms, those blank eyes -  

08.00

September 2 2014

East Stoke

Walking to The Rex to see Until I Sleep ...

When I walked down West Street, it was early evening, just before seven - lamps were being lit in darkening rooms - shadows stirred in attics - the pavements were empty - earlier, I'd seen a lurid sky over the water meadows - 

I'd parked the red Peugeot before The Walls - I'd sat there for a while, staring at the sky, listening to Neil Young singing Harvest Moon - I was wearing a green cotton shirt, open at the neck -  

Soon I was inside The Rex, ordering a bumper of Merlot in the tiny bar - 

Leigh had been bought up in Simla - she'd seen me yesterday, she said, in the High Street - 

I watched Nicole Kidman in Until I Sleep - Colin Firth was cast as a murderous brute - 

I watched some scenes between my fingers - 

When I left the cinema, it was dark - the gentle town was silent - 

I gazed at each sleeping house - a white half moon shone in the starless sky - 

22.00

1 October 2014

Outside The Rex

West Street

Wareham

Courtfield Guesthouse, Wetheral and the quest for Mr Larsen ...

My attic bedroom in Courtfield Guesthouse was reached by a narrow mazy stair - I wallowed in a scalding bath, closing my eyes, turning on the hot tap from time to time with my toes - I imagined myself lolling on a divan, sipping a rare cordial - 

Downstairs, we'd been greeted by the landlady - she zinged with northern energy - I quailed before her piecing eye -

From my bedroom window I could see reefs of Victorian villas - I heard the low murmur of traffic - 

Before my bath, I drank gallons of tea in Alyson and Penny's bedroom - we agreed to meet later in the lounge - 

That evening we had dinner with Julia's cousin, Richard - he met his Swedish wife, Marguerite, at Newcastle University - 

Richard was a retired GP - I felt at ease with this wry thoughtful physician - 

I gulped a bumper of icy Wainwright Ale - 

Richard and Marguerite told us of their recent Baltic cruise - they'd spent some time in St Petersburg - 

They piped us ashore said Richard - 

They were tracking down information about Marguerite's great grandfather - he changed his name from Larsen to Alquist - 

There was talk of a child left in Sweden, whose name was recorded in the 1901 Census - 

Julia said, mysteriously - I wondered how much he'd tell -  

The cruise ship was caught in a gale off Rugen - the immaculate decks had heaved up and down - 

We sat down to a chicken tagine fit for a jaded pasha - 

When we left Wetheral at ten thirty it was still light - I tottered up the labyrinthine stairs to my chamber, falling at once into silky dreams - 

Evening of 14 July 2014

Court field Guest House, Carlisle

Wetheral, Cumbria

The bridge before Carlisle, my I phone becomes a burning coal ...

Outside Carlisle, my clever I phone snared 3G - along the Wall, upon the crags, or on wind blown uplands, I'd been off grid - I'd gaped at my phone like a cargo cultist at a charred radio from a downed B52 - 

But now, there it was - once more I could WhatsApp cronies, view UFO footage on You Tube or post appercus on Face Book - 

I had no real desire to do these things however - 

I had grown used to emptiness - I had felt happy hearing just the sighing wind - 

We walked through a gritty park - young men unleashed pitbulls - light aircraft flew overhead - 

We crossed over the wide river on an iron bridge - 

We took photographs of each other upon the bridge - 

I felt civilization turning my I phone into a burning coal - 

16.00

September 13 2014

Outside Carlisle