I’d noticed that something wasn’t there when I was by the harbour yesterday. And it wasn’t until I walked there again this morning that I realised that the poor, neglected shabby boat on stilts was gone. I’d say it’s name whenever I walked past. Miss Me. Was it a plea or a statement or even a command, I’d wonder. It had had a for sale sign leaning on its bow for what seemed like years. Has someone bought it, finally, or has it really gone to the scrap heap? I suppose it isn’t cheap having it there on the quay. Bless it. There is always change, even in this slow old town.
I wanted too much from myself this morning, and the drawing was shite. I got down in the mouth. If I can’t rely on myself to always pull it off, what am I? He tries to encourage. It’s all in your head, he says. And he is right, but the desire to hurl my sketchbook across the cafe’s floor (I was drawing people in Caffe Nero) and then lie on the ground and kick my feet, screaming was a hard one to resist. We moved on. And it got better. A bit. Then we walked on the Prom and I made plans for tomorrow.
Work still isn’t coming. Has it dried up completely? Chase them, he said. Shall I?
Her husband died yesterday. She is sanguine. Or just too tired and depleted herself to show the grief she must feel. 31 years they have been together. Death is always so close, these days. Will we have another day, and another? Keep him safe. And may he rest in peace. I didn’t know him well. A shy man but a kind one, I think.
