National Poetry Day : Heroes

Although I'm a day late, I still want to write; every year I like to write a poem and celebrate the topic they chose. This year it's heroes and heroines. I sat around and thought about it, waiting for inspiration. As a child I loved heroes. I loved the comicbooks - in fact, don't tell anyone, but I still do. My secret... not so secret :o)

I'm still waiting for the inspiration; but, some words did come, and those I share until the proper poem comes.

Super © NI

No cape, no wardrobe malfunction
I mean underwear on the outside
No powers, nothing special
no identity needed to hide
not unsung, not recognised
yet the simple things you do
look deep inside yourself
and find a hero true

looking out the window of a train (or random rambling)

Looking out of the window of the train, I see the looks people wear upon their faces. I wonder what is going through their minds; the blonde on the platform opposite (in the black and white, flower patterned dress; shoes heels but with a strip up the front, slightly gladiatorial) stands with her legs crossed in front, a face looking fixed with concentration, or maybe annoyance. I wonder if she saw me on my train, sitting, looking out the window at her. My face, I think, slightly more focused but generally happy – in spite of the stinking cold I’m carrying around with me right now.

Some of the faces you see show the same emotions. Maybe it’s something about rail travel, and the perpetual waiting for trains that have a tendency to turn up whenever they feel like it, rather than whenever it is they’re timetabled (of course, I don’t want to curse fate here; my trains have all been on time so far, touchwood, and all that); a curse that I’m all too familiar with. I bet that’s what it was, with this woman, that the train she was waiting for was delayed and she had far better places to be. At least when you’re on the train you’re moving towards your destination rather than counting down the hours being spent waiting for a train when you could be doing something far better instead. A curse that is only one way – the trains expect you to wait for them, but never give you an extra 30 seconds on that day when you’re running late and really need to get on board.

I find when I travel my mind wanders. Whether I’m walking, on the train, in the car, on a plane; it doesn’t matter the method of travel, but, when I’m by myself my mind will wander. If I start a journey with an empty mind, it is full by the time I reach my destination – and, fortuitously the opposite is true. When I start with a full mind, my thoughts empty and I find I’ve come to some sort of understanding about whatever it was that had been troubling me.

Sometimes I travel and I listen to music. Sometimes I play games, watch a DVD or read a book. Sometimes I stare out and let my mind wander.

I used to be one of the people on the platform, like the nameless blonde, who would be annoyed and upset at being kept waiting for a train that never seemed to arrive. Somewhere along the line though I changed; I became more at ease with the world and able to just relax and take it easy. Enjoy the waiting, or make better use of it than sitting and feeling rage building up inside of me. Rage that would have nowhere to go, and would effectively spoil my evening (I would rarely get upset at being held up going to work... well, I am only human!)

Sometimes, when waiting, I’ll sit and sketch; or I’ll do the things I’d be doing when on the train. Or I’d get take out and eat my dinner on the platform (typically splitting my take-out time between subway and McDonalds; of the two, Subway was always preferred – although I’d never venture further than the ubiquitous ‘Sub of the day’ – and always the 6” – typically overloaded with salad (I like everything, but, in particular love the black olives and jalapeños, I’m probably some sort of sub-freak-of-nature (I know I’m setting myself up there... never mind though, just one of those things. If you can’t laugh at yourself and poke fun at yourself, who can you?))

There are many things I believe in this life; one of the most important to me is that it isn’t arriving that’s the most important; it’s the journey you take to get there. (okay, sometimes the arriving is important too – but – shhh, don’t make me all time-stressed again; that ruins the whole thing!)

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TWTW(end)TW

So that was the August bank Holiday weekend. Another few days with my girlfriend in Bath, just being together; just spending time with each other and the family. Friday was take out, a movie (“Mamma Mia” which I finally watched and – don’t tell anyone, shh – our secret, I actually enjoyed) and more Mellow Magic moments of intimacy before retiring for the night.

There is something about being with the one you love. I know, some people disbelieve, detract, assume it cannot be real because we’ve not spent some pre-determined quantity of time together in each other’s company; but really, you know love when you have it – there isn’t a law that quotes some pre-ordained amount of time prior to which you cannot feel love. Some of our best moments together are our simple ones. The ones when we’re just together, not necessarily doing anything; just being close to each other. The times when we catch each other’s eyes and see nothing but each other; just loving, wanting, needing, desiring.

Over the weekend we had fresh baked bread, apple and blackberry crumble and some great meals made by her mum; who is a really excellent cook, and loves to make good food.

Her niece, L---- also stayed over part of the weekend; and I might have made a bit of an impression (I love kids and had her laughing when I was doing silly voices for the toys. She is a great girl, a great imagination – like most kids; making us some sort of desert-y mix thing on Sunday (pretend, of course – using ornamental wooden cups, spoons and coasters from the lounge)

We did a fair bit of walking, heading into town a couple of times and having a brunch/lunch together (once under the old station on Saturday, once in a little eatery place near her house), another time walking to the Royal Victoria park with her niece, sister and K--; as well as the usual dog walking. (One of the things I miss most when we’re apart is walking on the field with her)

The weather was a right mix - we’re truly into autumn now; well, on the edge of it at least. Some days sunny, some days wet, some days both - with little warning of the variation that was to come. Not that it mattered.

Coming home is always hard. I know it’s only a few days before we can get together again, but goodbyes are never easy. I’ve been through hard goodbyes (you know my situation right?) and I’m usually better when saying goodbye, tearful and sad afterwards. I know we both look forward to the one day when we don’t have to part, and the home we go to is one we share.

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Bath-ward ramblings.

A different route this time around, quite a bit quicker and easier (And cheaper – using a “buy a ticket to one point, then another from another” sort of wheeze to save about £15. Not that I didn’t try other things, but, me being too old for a “young person’s” travel card; too young for a “senior citizen’s” travel card, no children to travel with for a “friends and family” card – and not going the right way to benefit from the network railcard (seems to only work around London). So no third off my tickets, but still, a bit of creative purchasing and I’m on my way).

This is my second trip to Bath, by train, to visit my girlfriend. Using up a little bit of my owed time saw me leaving work just after lunch and it being a bit of a three-day-weekend-and-a-bit, what with the bank holiday and everything. She’s been suffering this past week, a bout of tonsillitis – I hope it wasn’t down to me and all the kissing we’d gotten up to the weekend before! (touchwood, I seem to not be suffering with anything – and I hope that nothing untoward comes on over the weekend; that would really suck (lemons?))

I travel by train almost every day (the notable exceptions being those days that I don’t; usually due to working at home or it being one of those rare days that I have off (not counting the weeks I take off when I go and visit my girls in the states)); but despite the constant travel, I still enjoy myself a huge amount. I love looking out the windows and watching the scenery fly by, often with music in my ears (today, as an example, sees me listening to a bit of Camera Obscura on my way down, but it varies so much from day to day – largely depending on my mood and how awake I am). One of the things that I like is the change between countryside and towns, cities as we rush through. Everywhere seems to have its own character – and I wish I was much better at geography so that I could talk with confidence of the places I passed; instead I’m limited to the rail stations we pass. This train, for example, passed as far as Gloucester before darting off in a different direction. When I was a student, and was looking for job experience in my gap year, I was sent to Gloucester for a job using Delphi (imagine visual basic for PASCAL – if you remember what that is!) and one of the few things I remember is the guy interviewing me telling me that Gloucester has some of the most beautiful girls in the country. (I’ve still not seen enough of the country to form a solid opinion one way or another, but I think everywhere has its mix of people (plus, I think I've found the most beautiful woman in the whole country))

As it was, I didn’t get the position; instead I wound up working at the University where I would graduate from, then fall into a position (I am a firm believer that things happen when they’re needed, people enter your life when they’re are meant to, etc. etc. etc. Kinda like fate a bit, but more a “fate, if you chose to accept it”) and find myself in a pretty good position after having worked for a number of years.

I wonder if I would ever move from my current place. If you don’t have time to do anything but commute, does it really matter where you live? I mean, at the end of the day, my house is just a place I leave my stuff and sleep (occasionally, I eat there too). I really don’t know. Maybe.

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Is in a relationship with...

Okay, let’s get it out of the way. I’ve rejoined facebook.This time though, I’m not going to fill my pages with all the time-wasting games; all those applications that steal my pretty pointless personal details (yeah, go on, steal my identity; for the most part you’ll find it pretty ordinary and like anyone else’s) – really I’m not going to, and I’m not in denial. But that’s not what this is about. One of the things I like, although can be abused, is spying on people’s relationship status. And, one of the first things that happened to me when I joined was that my status changed almost immediately to “being in a relationship with”

Somewhere around the beginning of the year I met someone on twitter. Not that you actually can meet people on twitter, 140 characters isn’t really that much to say much. But, in so much as you can meet, we met. Ups and downs in each other’s lives, we stayed in touch, gave each other 140 characters worth of comfort, support and encouragement. All of which led to, a couple of weeks ago, the pair of us getting in touch in a bigger sense. No longer limited to 140 characters, we chatted. We talked. We saw there was more to us than just friends and last weekend we met in person for the first time.

Everything we felt, everything we thought, everything. Apart from a little pre-meeting nervousness it was perfect. It was like we’d always been in each others’ lives. We gelled. We fitted together like a well thought out simile. The weekend passed quickly, but we made the most of it. I don’t think either of us had smiled so much before.

The weekend saw us spending every moment together. She showed me some of the people and things that make up her life. We walked, met family and enjoyed the sights and sounds, the scenery and so on. Just enjoying being together, be we walking the dog on the field or sitting watching the tv; cuddling in front of shows whose names I forget; slow dancing to the radio.

Everything was perfect. Everything was what I thought it would be. I am so happy now.

So anyway, now my status has gone from “single” to “is in a relationship with” ... I’m wondering how long it’ll be before it changes to “is married to”?

(don’t worry, we won’t rush anything; but...)

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Places we call home (1)

Sometimes I find myself walking to places I used to live. Places where there are a whole bunch of memories ready to be stirred by familiar surroundings. The other weekend, I took a walk on the canal and walked around my town. I found myself walking to the house where my ex wife and my children used to live, at least for the first twelve months that I lived in Kidderminster. It is always a bit odd, and a bit sad; remembering the things you did. The way things were. Those reminiscences – it’s always the same. The way I was walking, you come up the back – by where the bins are left and the garages exit. You can see the windows of the house – the attic windows which were the children’s’ bedrooms, the window of the master bedroom, the shed and summer house, the plants and trees. Everything being still pretty much the same way as it was when they lived there.

This is one of the houses that K---- used to get scared in at night. She was convinced that there were monsters lurking in the shadows in the night. I don’t know why. I don’t know if anyone knew why.

This is the house that I spent the first few months sleeping on the floor in, while I waited for my house purchase to complete; something which seemed to take forever while I waited for the seller to find some document or other to say work had been done adequately. (I did offer to pay to have a structural engineer go around and produce a report to say that it had been, but was told that the seller had the papers and it would all be okay; three months later they let me send an surveyor around to inspect and we completed shortly afterwards)

This was the house that had my ex-wife re-marrying and starting her life with her, then, third husband. This was the house that I spent my first Christmas in as a divorced man.

This is the house my children had Tara the dog (I forget the breed, but small – the sort used in duck hunting?). A really sweet dog, an excitable puppy (as I found out every morning when she would be let out to go toilet, but as I was between the garden and the kitchen she would run up and bounce onto me and lick my face). But in the end they had to pass her onto some people who actually worked the dogs, and she was trained to retrieve ducks (and as far as I can remember, was really quite good at it); they had to get rid of her because of allergies; like me, K---- suffers with them, and in this case it was leading to a build up in her ears that was slowly making her deaf.

This is the house where they kept the mice; the mice that kept escaping from the “mouse suitable” cage they’d been sold at the pet shop. (There is something about scampering mice running all over the place – you do find yourself jumping; even though you know there’s nothing to be worried about and that you’re just being silly.

I spent three months in this house, getting up early, coming in late. The Autumn months of 2003 (if my memory serves me); having spent Halloween in the Coventry house with my girls, then all of my stuff being taken and being put into storage “for a couple of weeks” through to the early months of 2004. I know it was only a short time, but, it holds lots of memories.

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