Transition period

My nephew turned eighteen today – on this cold wet Monday. I took some time out to go and see him and my brother and family, and a huge platter of meat.

First of all though I started on the list of things to do – but it keeps getting bigger and it’s almost feeling like if I try to actually list all of the things I need to do I’ll be eighty before I’ve even finished the fecking list. Still, I now have a little pocket pad and I know where it’s located, and I know what I’m doing tomorrow, so that’s a starting point.

I’m home for the evening, writing in my bed, listening to the rain on the window. I’ve switched the heating on but it’s been off all day so it’s freezing and a bit damp. Last night I dropped an entire pint of water onto the side of my bed, myself, my laptop and a live extension plug socket. It was 3.20am and I had been fast asleep drinking (I’m a voracious sleepdrinker). I fumbled it after one sip. Needless to say I was wide awake in seconds and once I figured everything was safe again there was no getting back to sleep. I’ve been up since 3.30. When these damp sheets warm up properly I’m gonna sleep like a baby, and keep a sealed flask next to my bed instead of a pint mug. Safer. I had to do it when Pickle was here or she’d drink from my glass and I’d get a mouthful of hair. It’s a miracle that after years of sleeping with pint over a plug that’s the first time I’ve done it. It’s also lucky I didn’t electrocute myself. That would solve the to do list. And it would warm me up…

It’s cold. This time last year I was in Washington DC walking around with a T-Shirt on, gainfully employed as an actor on tour. Now I’m stuck in this damp country and they’re trying to set fire to our sector and get us all to work in cyber. “Ballerinas can get to the back of the queue”. It’s gonna be a long dark tunnel and we need to work hard to keep the light burning in our eyes or we might lose our way. It seems that the government is hiding bright screens in the tunnel which we might mistake for the exit. Proper job angler fish. Be vigilant. The government has turned into that fucking relative at the family gathering who with limited perspective and long dead eyes knowingly says “So when are you going to get a proper job like the rest of us?” and instead of detaching their head with a can opener you just have another gin and say something anodyne.

My nephew has just walked into this world of adulthood. Eighteen. I had chicken pox and was adapting Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy for the stage. Not much has changed. Now I’m still shut inside for fear of contamination and I’m adapting a book for stage.

He’ll have to be making his own way soon working out what he can be and how he can be it. He’s got the example of two vocational parents and a vocational uncle. I wonder if it pushes him to be in somebody else’s office forever hitting targets until they give him a watch and he takes it with wrinkled hands, or if he takes a plunge somewhere. His older brother is switched on, and is chasing the money on his own terms with fervour and success. Nic’s just starting out, but he’s got a war coming. It’s tough out there. Tougher than ever with the cove and this lot in charge  I wonder whether the slapfaced clown brigade will fuck up his A-Level results next summer. If so maybe we can both get a career in cyber. First thing I’ll do in cyber is hack the internet to replace Oliver Dowden’s face with a raw chicken breast in every image. The beauty of it is, nobody will notice for years.

In case you missed it, this is where the cyber stuff comes from. Plus I can write captions on pictures! Oooooh

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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