A weekend too nice to drive

Saturday was too nice a day to be heading to the allotment by car. This place can be visited on foot and with cider. So this is what I did. It took a little over an hour and I was in desperate need of a piss by the time I got there. 

En route, I took a lovely stroll through Kingston Cemetery. The sea of headstones brings a little special to the world, reminding me of our fragility amid the beauty. I’ve always liked a good cemetery. Always a struggle as to where to stand, you’re always stood on someone, but I stuck to the main path and forgot that worry.

‘Touching’ is the wrong word, and ‘nice’ seems a little odd, when used to describe my spying on the bereaved. But it was nice and touching to see the time-outs people were taking to spend with those they’ve lost. There was a lady with a picnic and tins. She opened a can and clinked the headstone. There were grandkids helping grandma tend to her husbands grave. There were families and balloons — lone sitters — dog walkers. And to me, all of it was quite beautiful.

Love transcends, and in a cemetery on a lovely Saturday afternoon, you can see it.

On Sunday, I met up with Jackie and her 2 nieces and went to this adventure park near Kingston Cemetery. Zip-lines. Swings. Climbing frames. Extraordinarily wide slides. The place looked better than it actually was, the zip-line wasn’t the best I’ve been on (there’s a better one in Cosham) and the swing seat was slippy. I found, due to slippage, I couldn’t get myself up like a bird. Jackie resorted to lying on her back and swinging but in my mind, that was suggestive.

Despite our grown-up complaints, the 3 and 5-year-old had a great time. The zip-line, although shit in my eyes was the best they’d ever been on because it was their first, and therefore probably the best to start with.

 


 

I have noticed, since getting a car, that although I need no excuse to drive by weekday, I find every one I can so I don’t on the weekend. It probably has something to do with the weather.

My current best excuse is, I’ve got a good parking spot. I don’t want to lose my parking spot, got to leave some convenience for Monday.

 


 

This evening, I met up with my mate Sarah (we met at the waterboard) for dinner at the Harvester on Eastern Road. I’m usually a little wary of a Harvester’s since one meal I had where the peas were covered in a white powder. But I thought, Why not? That was 26 years ago. The chef might’ve changed.

Indeed, the meal was nice. Bread, stale. Chips a little dregs of the barrel. I had scampi. I quite like scampi. They didn’t fuck them up. Needless to say, I didn’t eat the peas.

This is the first time Sarah and I have met since I got Bertie, so introductions had to be made.

I was telling her about how I can’t start him first time and how every seasoned driver who has tried, can. She got in and couldn’t. We’ve decided I need to go back to the garage. Sarah heads to her own car and Bertie starts up first time, no issue. Eager to go! (I think someone might’ve been listening.)

Tomos James

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