I’m in The Barley Mow in Kemptown. I’m wearing my battered “Choose Love” T-Shirt – one of the few garments I took with me on Camino and still had at the end of it. I’ve been looking after little miss fishyfussyface. She is eating again. She went off her food for two days after I arrived. I started to worry, but I think she was trying to manipulate me into giving her nothing but treats and she can call it food. I think one of her carers can be manipulated thus. Not I. If I didn’t have to syringe medicine into her face in the morning, she would never get a single treat out of me. As is she gets the bare minimum to sweeten the medicine deal.
Around me in the pub, life is happening. There’s a guy on the table behind me who loves to speak in absolutes. He’s greybearded and maybe a touch older than I am. He’s a mystical bore. I hope I never get to the stage where I think I’m Gandalf. He seems to. Yes, life and love and blows and time help hone our instrument. I’m piping clearer now than I was. But he seems to think his instrument is superclear even if his tune is reflecting to himself. It all might be more about his *instrument* than his instrument. The young women he is with are polite. Save us all from ever being targeted by such politeness. oop and they’ve just now found their excuse to leave. Tough luck, Gandalf.
A lovely huge fellow came by just now and thanked the bar staff for a raffle prize. The Barley Mow had donated something to the rugby club. They had a raffle and raised over £750. “That’s a year of cleaning!” he told me happily. The prize might be connected to the fact that two big lads with sports gear to my right are currently stuffing themselves happily. Maybe they won the bar tab. They’re talking about love and expectations. “Mark my words, five years from now Jo is gonna realise…”
I like this part of the world. There’s life here, and nature is close, and we have THE SEA THE SEA just there, bringing the swift weather and the freshness and the salt. All the wipers on all the cars are rusted in Lou’s square. It’s corrosive here. Metal is attacked. A strong and moving seaside reminder of how arrogant we all are thinking we’ve made something endless.
MAN: “I HAVE CREATED BIG IRON RAILINGS”
SEA: *continues to do what it always does*
MAN: “Until there is no money, I can always pay workers to protect my big iron railings with filing and care and paint! Ha. Screw you, sea!!”
SEA: *continues to do what it always does*
MAN: “Sea! I’m buying Bored Ape nfts at the moment. Can you stop on the iron railing for a bit until I get my investment back?”
SEA: *continues to do what it always does*
MAN: My iron railings have collapsed and now I have to put scaffolding up my whole building.
SMALL VOICE: Why?
MAN: Just you wait, soon my railings outside my home will prove that man is stronger than sea! Yeah! Hoo-Ah!
SEA: *continues to do what it always does*
SMALL VOICE: Maybe actually nature is going to take over when we finally make ourselves redundant.
All this shit we do will come back to nature. If we all simultaneously died right now, I reckon at least half of us would be part plant in six months.
I met a guy called “Steve”. He hammered into all this as I was writing. He’s angry. He’s been banned from the casino and loads of the local pubs. His anger drew me but I quickly wasn’t interested in being truthful to him. I lied to him hard and lots. He was very very results driven and he wanted me to be interested in sex with him.
I fabricated that I was cat-sitter for a rich lady, just because when he asked me my job I said “catsitter”. I’ve long ago learnt that I don’t want to have to have the fucking actor conversation. He was flirting so hard. It was mostly just annoying. We reached an accord.
Nice guy. He’s been banned from the local casino. He’s a troublesome angry man. We passed the time. That was enough. I’m home.
AlBarclay 