There are strangers about. Visitors. The Marine is open, as is the Pier Nightclub. The harbour is jam-packed with cars and mobile homes. I heard distant shouts as I walked, and two kids were kicking something in the railway station. My hackles rise, I feel a little unsafe. I was just coming down South Road and turning into Bridge Street when I heard the sound of someone approaching. I stepped into the road. A light mizzling rain had been falling ever since I’d set out and I’d put up my umbrella against it. The man, for it was a man, was clearly shocked at seeing me. He was small but thickset and wearing a bold striped shirt and carrying what looked like a takeaway burger carton in each hand. Jesus Christ, he said (stressing heavily on the Jees), you bugger. I let it pass and walked on. A large seafood lorry waited in the harbour, it’s refrigeration generator still humming but driver asleep, the fishermen are clearly not yet due.
A day for my own work. Letters read, emails done and the sun begins to come out. I never thought it would.
I dreamt frequently last night. The influence of the moon still playing. He was to wait for me, I’d been away. I couldn’t see him in the gloom. I want to go away, he said, to India. For good, it seemed. He laughed when I told him of it at breakfast. Another dream had me in the food floor of a department store unable to choose what to eat. No explanations needed there.
I put her card up on my pin board. Some blue irises by Elizabeth Blackadder. It takes me back. How I loved her. Still do. But time and experience has separated us. I just want to kindle it a little. I will write soon. x