Back in blighty

As the light falls, I’m sitting in the staff car park at Glyndebourne Opera House. I’ve found a little block of wood to sit upon and I’m drinking in the sound of the birds, who are singing their hearts out for the setting sun. I just heard a high note coming from the building itself where the soprano is going at it full pelt, and it genuinely seems that the birds around here have been working just as hard on their delivery. Even the crows and doves seem to have more musicality than usual.

I woke up this morning in Poole, refreshed from a deeper sleep than I’ve had for a month in an Airbnb room right by the ferry port. The morning found me down at Poole harbour, looking at the Sunday morning crowds as I ate a full English breakfast outside. Much more litter this side of the channel. And the people somehow look a bit less fresh. I could take a higher percentage of them in a fight. Probably all the full English breakfasts they’ve been eating.

A slow puddle over to Southsea, stopping on the way to find a geocache or two and grab coffee, and then a delay in Southsea. I’m picking up sunglasses and a microphone from Dan, but he’s out frolicking so I fill the time watching England beat Croatia and eating roast beef. This hot summer day is not deterring me from filling myself with heavy meat, it seems. I barely get time to pass the time of day with Dan, though. I get the tour of his new place in Southsea and once again wonder why anybody lives in London. As I’m leaving he lends me an unopened Oculus Quest Virtual Reality Headset. This is his work. Hopefully there’ll be some bad weather before long, because that’ll be a whole week lost at some point in the not too distant future. But for today, no time to mess around. Back on the road through the heat, and here I am in the dying light, listening to the birds and the high notes as I wait for Lou to be released.

Lou sleeps early, but she finishes work here late – it’s tricky for her. She doesn’t have a car to rush herself home so my evening talks in Jersey have been filled with her tired tales of Odyssean disasters post show – missed trains and late buses, whirlpools with names, unexpected rainstorms on bicycles, one eyed giants eating her friends and late night cat piss surprises on her eventual return to the flat in book 15. I am here in plenty of time to operate as the winged sandals of Hermes for her tonight, although right now the car is not a comfortable ride for a passenger. It’s a carnage of potatoes and headsets and clothing and microphones and bottles and boxes and bags and jumpers and wires and coffee cups and packaging. I’m writing this first, then I’m gonna try and make some sense of it in the half an hour I’ve got left before she emerges so when she does I can just get her home. Then we can see Mao and relax properly on this warm summer night before it gets too late.

I’m probably not supposed to be here. But I am. People have started emerging and rushing off – a smartly dressed man – (maybe the conductor) – was out long before the audience. Smart work. That would’ve been me. I’m often in my own clothes with a pint before my friends in the house get to the bar…

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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