Skipping Man

I saw him yesterday as I walked the Prom. He was coming towards me. He held a radio to his ear, which struck me as oddly quaint, and was singing and skipping as he did so. He didn’t cease as we passed. He was lost in his joy.

She talked while he walked beside her. She was a wide-hipped blonde with just a pink boob tube on in this cold. So basically, she was saying as they strode down North Road, since she left him….

Town was busy this morning, full of kids. Two lads propped a friend between them, who clearly had lost the use of his legs, as they ambled there way back to Halls. Another two lads were sitting on the wall by South Beach, one was singing to something playing on his mobile phone. Well screeching really. How does it feel to be so carefree? Is it youth or booze?

He is trying. I am trying. Yesterday we both imploded. We walk through the same murk. I couldn’t get myself out of bed this morning. Lucky I have two alarms. I did it in the end and I walked. What super human strength it takes sometimes to take myself out there into that dark. Physio today. May she help my back. Please.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.