I meant to write about him yesterday but only remembered it as I got into bed – so it is with an ageing brain, I fear. It had happened when I was walking in the rain yesterday and getting soaked. I’d decided to turn back as my gloves were sodden and rain was getting into my boots, so I’d taken a left into Pier Street. He was standing outside Chickin’ Lickin’. I heard him before I saw him. Fuck off, he was shouting, you just fuck off. My heart fell. I sneaked a quick glance at him. He was alone. Who was he talking to? Did you just tell me to fuck off? he said. No answer. Well, you can fuck off, he continued, just FUCK OFF! By then I was almost running.
It’s Fresher’s Week, or as the banners around town would have it, FRESSURE. They are everywhere, poor loves, looking lost and wide-eyed, making friends where they may. Pairs of girls wander around. I heard two yesterday, as I walked back from drawing in the bus station. It was definitely beyond Premier, one said, no doubt trying to remember where their digs were. I drew outside the SPAR and tried to sketch a boy, much-tattooed and sporting a bright pink quiff underneath his black beanie, and then listened to a group of school kids trying to work out where to go now that school was ‘out’.
Pier Pressure night club has clearly opened its doors again in celebration of the students’ return for they can be seen making their way back up the hill in the early hours or sitting on the Prom’s benches, coatless and in the rain. I saw one sleeping standing up in the doorway of Godwins Solicitors.
He leaves me notes for when I wake in the morning, purportedly from John Kettley, the weather man. Ketters here, he writes. I love seeing them on the stairs. He got it wrong this morning. Some light shower! So be it. It is only weather.
Not feeling 100% today. It will pass. It always does. Meanwhile there are things to do, things to do…..
