Sometimes the brain goes stale. The same song stuck in the head for days. Frustrating dreams in which the same actions and concerns are worrying and wearisome. How to get out of this state of mind? A walk is generally excellent panacea, but today it rained all day. Goodbye Toulouse by the Stranglers has replaced Green Manalishi (With the Two-Prong Crown) by Fleetwood Mac as this week's earworm. Rain all day, not much work (just a couple of emails), so a chance to sweep the floors, some extra exercises and do a bit of decluttering.
Kick it out - break out of the circle, turn it into a spiral.
Time to channel, and have a crack at automatic writing. Hello... I've caught something. Like an angler feeling a tug. "It's November and raining, the High Street lights reflecting off the wet pavement. I'll pop by the Crown for a large whisky and light ale chaser. The smell of rain on wet gaberdine and traffic fumes gives way to the nicotine fug of the saloon bar. Another working day over, time to unwind and forget that cancelled sales contract, the angry phone call to head office. Too much rivalry. Bad blood. We should be working together, not sniping at each other. I look for a quiet part of the bar to sit down in - but a group of long-haired students is hanging around the jukebox. At the bar, I make my order, plus a packet of salted peanuts. Barmaid's friendly smile - helpful. Sit down, table's sticky. First sip of scotch - I wait a while; take a gulp of beer, and that familiar warmth in the veins is putting the world to right... I belch, quietly. Relaxing my way into the upholstery. Another sip of scotch. Good stuff. And a mouthful of beer as a chaser. All's well.
Tonight. Tonight will be more than a few drinks, a saveloy and chips and flopping out at the Railway Hotel. Tonight will be different. It will be great. I shall conquer once again - I shall triumph. Me - the Pleasurer Among Towns. They will all bow down before me in Sales. All my rivals, revealed for once and for all to be useless. My car shall be the best in the car park - a Zodiac Executive with V6 motor, auto box, metallic blue, black vinyl roof, walnut dash - sporty luxury, reflecting my personality. Tonight would be different, but those bloody students and their rock music and long hair. Where are the birds? The dolly birds from the mills? Place should be rich with them by all accounts, chat 'em up, back to the new Crest hotel for a threesome - but it's Wednesday - not the big night, granted - but it's tonight. It is tonight. It has to be tonight. Tomorrow night I'll be back home, making up stories.
"Love, another large scotch and White Shield, if you will". I'm looking for a ten bob note that I was sure was in my wallet, when the door opens and in walk these three lovely birds, long hair, short skirts and go right up to those long-haired students. Bastards. They don't even stay for one drink - they're off, all of them. At least the jukebox has gone quiet. Just some old geezer in the corner. Close to the gents.
Shall I put something on? Got a bob? Back to the bar. "Love, got change of a quid?" Silently the barmaid opens the till. The Isley Brothers. F6. Put Yourself In My Place. Fine song. Yeah and walk a mile in my shoes while you're at it. "Come on and try it, baby, baby, try it." And I'm still driving a fucking E-reg Anglia."Another bag of peanuts there, and twenty Embassies. No - make it five Slim Panatellas." I notice I'm just a bit unsteady on my feet as I return to the jukebox to press F6 again. The Locarno, and that bird Dawn. She was more than alright. Nothing more than a happy memory. Just a few weeks ago. Double Diamond works wonders.
What's gone wrong with the world? Why isn't it like it should have been when I was young? Did I plan it wrong? It's half-past nine and the pub's empty. I catch sight of myself in a decorative Victorian mirror. Bloody balding, lanky hair down the sides. Barmaid asks me if I'd like some company. She can phone her friend. Reduced to this, I think. Haven't enough in my wallet. I fancy that saveloy more. So I say no, sup up put on my damp raincoat and leave for the chip shop. I am angry, I am dangerous. Cross me now, you'll fucking catch it.
The rain has stopped, but the street's still wet. I stare through the window of the Radio Rentals shop. Colour sets. Big colour sets. I want one. And a proper hi-fi. The Dougie Squires Dancers are throwing themselves all over the screens. What's on telly tonight? Bloody Wednesday Play load of lefty crap. Will my crappy hotel room even have a TV? I belch again, unrestrained this time, and start coughing."
This time last year:
Between wakefulness and sleep
In search of quintessential English countryside
This time eight years ago:
Behold and See - short story, Pt III
This time 11 years ago:
Another return to Penrhos
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