Sunday Sun
UPDATE!! This is practically like looking out of our front door. Except up a bit. And it wasn't taken this morning. Or by me. But you get the idea.
What a bee-utiful morning! There isn't a cloud in the sky, or the menacing threat of storm to dampen the feeling that summer really is here. It's quiet on the streets as I make my way down through town and through the pavilion gardens. One middle-aged lady has already made herself comfortable on a particularly inviting stretch of lawn, and a small group of (German?) tourists hold me up for ten seconds while trying to get that 'gang in front of local landmark' picture just right.
I pad onwards through the flowers, whispering hello to the small grey squirrel I see practically every morning - he always runs for cover up the nearest tree, but I know he's glad to see me too - and then to the pair of mistle thrushes who have no fear whatsoever, and just sit there eyeing my up suspiciously.
The local tramp has woken and has Radio 3 on his wireless. He takes no notice of me as I stride past him. He just continues rummaging through his few belongings. All I can ever think of when I see tramps is 'how do you survive without showering?' or 'doesn't that manky stubble get on your tits?'. I know I should feel some kind of pity of remorse for their situation, but it just isn't the first thing that pops in my head. Oh, I'm such a heartless bastard.
I wish I didn't have to go to work, as I could quite happily walk around town, along the prom, down to Hove, up to the cricket ground, through the backsteets, up to Seven Dials, and back round to home. I could very easily find myself plodding up to that camping shop where I saw that squidgie frisbee - my latest object of desire - and handing over the cash to the poor sod behind the counter who, like I am pensively mulling over now, knows that there are an infinite number of more constructive, positive or life-affirming things they could be doing at this very moment, rather than having to slip into robot mode, with full 'thankyou sir', 'three bags full sir', or 'is there anything else I can help you with, sir?' pleasantries option selected. Flick the switch in your brain and it's easy. Turn off thinking mode and slide into autopilot. I'm half-asleep anyway so it's not a massive problem to act this way, when I'm awake however, it's a different matter.
But that's not for now. After visiting the store in question and purchasing my new toy I shall embark on a crusade of joy, and use all the persuasive energy I can muster to move my better half in the direction of the front door, up the steps, round the square, down the road, and up to the beautiful patch of perfect-for-a-top-notch-frisbee-session grass that we have utilised much of late. After that we may head on up the prom on our pushbikes - if it's not too windy; cycling is no fun when it's windy - and find a cosy quiet spot behind some breaker or groyne.
After relaxing and soaking up the evening sunshine for a while I can see us heading back past the other Sunday strollers and perhaps setting down for a rest on one of the lawns. The footballers would probably have dispersed by then, so there would be perfect peace, and maybe even another chance for some frisbee!
Then time for home, and a half hour or so in the hammock or the deckchair with the sound of Glastonbury on the telly floating through the back window. Much better than being there, and much less muddy. I'm sure many would disagree, but I prefer being able to choose where I stand, what I'm standing in, who I'm standing with, behind or in front of, and when I can go to the toilet. I can't stand inconvenience, and it's many a time that a tiny little thing, like having a slightly weak bladder, has utterly ruined a enjoyable experience. No, not for me thanks. I'll stay right here with my creature comforts and my hammock and my frisbee and my beautiful balmy sunny Sunday evening.
Now I've said all this, it had better not bloody rain.
I pad onwards through the flowers, whispering hello to the small grey squirrel I see practically every morning - he always runs for cover up the nearest tree, but I know he's glad to see me too - and then to the pair of mistle thrushes who have no fear whatsoever, and just sit there eyeing my up suspiciously.
The local tramp has woken and has Radio 3 on his wireless. He takes no notice of me as I stride past him. He just continues rummaging through his few belongings. All I can ever think of when I see tramps is 'how do you survive without showering?' or 'doesn't that manky stubble get on your tits?'. I know I should feel some kind of pity of remorse for their situation, but it just isn't the first thing that pops in my head. Oh, I'm such a heartless bastard.
I wish I didn't have to go to work, as I could quite happily walk around town, along the prom, down to Hove, up to the cricket ground, through the backsteets, up to Seven Dials, and back round to home. I could very easily find myself plodding up to that camping shop where I saw that squidgie frisbee - my latest object of desire - and handing over the cash to the poor sod behind the counter who, like I am pensively mulling over now, knows that there are an infinite number of more constructive, positive or life-affirming things they could be doing at this very moment, rather than having to slip into robot mode, with full 'thankyou sir', 'three bags full sir', or 'is there anything else I can help you with, sir?' pleasantries option selected. Flick the switch in your brain and it's easy. Turn off thinking mode and slide into autopilot. I'm half-asleep anyway so it's not a massive problem to act this way, when I'm awake however, it's a different matter.
But that's not for now. After visiting the store in question and purchasing my new toy I shall embark on a crusade of joy, and use all the persuasive energy I can muster to move my better half in the direction of the front door, up the steps, round the square, down the road, and up to the beautiful patch of perfect-for-a-top-notch-frisbee-session grass that we have utilised much of late. After that we may head on up the prom on our pushbikes - if it's not too windy; cycling is no fun when it's windy - and find a cosy quiet spot behind some breaker or groyne.
After relaxing and soaking up the evening sunshine for a while I can see us heading back past the other Sunday strollers and perhaps setting down for a rest on one of the lawns. The footballers would probably have dispersed by then, so there would be perfect peace, and maybe even another chance for some frisbee!
Then time for home, and a half hour or so in the hammock or the deckchair with the sound of Glastonbury on the telly floating through the back window. Much better than being there, and much less muddy. I'm sure many would disagree, but I prefer being able to choose where I stand, what I'm standing in, who I'm standing with, behind or in front of, and when I can go to the toilet. I can't stand inconvenience, and it's many a time that a tiny little thing, like having a slightly weak bladder, has utterly ruined a enjoyable experience. No, not for me thanks. I'll stay right here with my creature comforts and my hammock and my frisbee and my beautiful balmy sunny Sunday evening.
Now I've said all this, it had better not bloody rain.
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