I’m beginning to feel the fact I’m living in a hotel now, despite the free lunch and the fact it’s in a lovely island to be in. I’ve mostly run out of clean clothes again and will either have to prevail upon somebody’s kindness or pay cash in order to solve the problem and get them washed. And the days are rushing by again as I mostly just try to remain hopeful and patient. I’m looking forward to getting home to a washing machine as much as I’m looking forward to anything else.
I know about six people on this island these days and it didn’t stop me from running into one of them in St Helier. It’s tiny here, but then that sort of thing happens in London reasonably often as well. Perfect timing to see her though, as I was starting to hanker for human contact. We went shopping together. She had a good long list and while I was grateful for the familiar human company, she was grateful for the extra hands. Four of those checkered laundry bags, two butternut squash, broccoli, eggs, mushrooms and I slipped quickly into the familiarity of a trip to the shops.
“Would you like a copy of the paper,” I was asked at checkout. I was reading the headline of The Jersey Evening Post with curiosity. “I’m fine,” I told her. I don’t know what’s going on in the world out there all though. Not a clue. I’ve noticed many of the flags here are half-mast, but that might be for something like Prince Philip. Royal mourning always takes a good amount of time. At Harrow we all had black ties in mourning for the death of Elizabeth I. That’s due to carry on until 2109 and I expect they’ll overlap it with another 500 years for the second Elizabeth so all the pupils don’t have to go and buy a new tie. That’s assuming that she’s gone by 2109. You never know.
I feel completely out of touch here, but I knew I would and again it’s why I chose now in order to do it. I can click back into gear pretty quickly when I get back to London. The thing I need to remember is that we are all out of touch. We have all been in the equivalent of beige hotel rooms for so long we can barely remember the alternative. The world is carrying on though, and at some point I’m gonna have to jump back on. For now, the waiting, the connecting with the past. Ten days more in Jersey and no doubt I’ll be back before long. I feel like a champagne cork after its been twisted. Come on!
I even forgot to publish this. My routines are all shot. How now brown cow.