I went prepared for rain. It was a 75% chance when I left home. I had two layers of waterproof trousers but nothing else under my waterproof jacket. My skin can cope with a drenching, my clothes take longer to dry. But after all that planning, including gaiters over my boots, it was dry. So be it. My hips jarred painfully all the way there to the harbour and all the way back. I walk with a distinct hobble now. Not a good look, as they say. Two kids in their early twenties where attempting to climb over a short wall near where we used to live. I saw them as I limped down Llanbadarn Road. He got over all right, but the girl, a large pizza takeaway box under her arm, took a little long. She had shorts on and a black leather Donny Osmond hat.
The weekend-father, who we’ve named smoker (2) on account of smoker (1) aka the lecturer/PhD student having left the estate, wakes early. We can see him from our upstairs window having a cigarette through the window of his bedroom. His bed is all black; black sheets, black head board. He keeps his clothes airer out all the time. I saw him sitting on his bed this morning, chest bare. I feel for him. There is a loneliness to him. Or am I just imagining it. In his kitchen downstairs he has a row of neon lights that shine through the venetian blind.
So much work to do. But I look forward to spending the day with her voice.
